Two small figures burst out from behind the leather chair, shrieking with delight as they race toward me.
“Banca!” they yell in unison, launching themselves at my legs with the kind of enthusiastic affection that only toddlers can manage.
I scoop them both up, one in each arm, staggering slightly under their combined weight. Giovanni immediately starts chattering about something involving trucks and cookies, while Arianna pats my face with her small hands like she’s making sure I’m real.
“Were you hiding from me?” I ask them with mock suspicion.
“Surprise!” Arianna announces proudly.
“Good surprise!” Giovanni agrees, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek. Matteo’s eyes soften and my heart melts.
Looking at their bright, innocent faces—Giovanni with Matteo’s dark hair and serious eyes, Arianna with Bella’s delicate features but the unmistakable DeLuca bone structure—I realize something that’s been bothering me for months.
This is family. Not the blood that runs in my veins or the genetic inheritance I can’t escape, but the people who choose to love you even when you’re difficult, even when you make mistakes, even when you discover you’re capable of things that should probably scare them.
“I love you guys,” I tell them, meaning it completely.
“Love you too, Banca,” Arianna says solemnly, like she’s making an important declaration.
“Cookie time?” Giovanni asks hopefully.
I laugh, setting them down but keeping hold of their hands. “Sure. Cookie time.” I look back to see Matteo watching us, his eyes suspiciously bright but he looks happier than I’ve seen him recently. I swallow the lump that’s suddenly developed in my throat. “Should we get Daddy some cookies?” I ask the twins.
“Yes!” They shriek, jumping up and down. “Cookies! Daddy! Cookies!”
Matteo laughs heartily, leaning back in his chair as he looks at the children affectionately. “Chocolate chip only,” he tells them. “No yucky oatmeal.”
“You heard him,” I tell the delighted twins. “Oatmeal cookies for Daddy. Yay!”
As we head toward the kitchen—the twins chattering excitedly in their baby talk while I listen with genuine interest—I catch sight of a family photo hanging in the hallway. It’s from last Christmas. Matteo and Bella looking disgustingly happy, the twins in matching outfits that probably lasted all of five minutes, and me standing slightly apart but clearly part of the group.
We don’t look like a traditional family. But we look likeus. Complicated, occasionally dysfunctional, bound together by choice rather than just biology.
Looking at that photo, I realize something that’s been true all along but took me all this time and a war to understand: thefamily that chooses you is more powerful than the family that creates you.
Giuseppe gave me his blood, his intelligence, his capacity for violence.
Sophia gave me her cunning, her survival instincts, her ability to read people.
But Matteo gave me something neither of them ever could—the knowledge that love and power don’t have to be mutually exclusive. That you can be dangerous and still choose mercy. That strength isn’t about inspiring fear, it’s about protecting the people who matter most.
And these two little hands in mine, chattering about cookies and trucks and whatever else fills their growing brains—they represent the future I’m going to build. A legacy based on loyalty and love instead of fear and control.
I may be Giuseppe’s daughter, but I’m also Matteo’s. I’m Bella’s stepdaughter and Alessandro’s partner and Giovanni and Arianna’s big sister.
Most importantly, I’m choosing to be all of those things.
And that choice makes all the difference.
29
BIANCA
The private dining room at Le Saint-Martin feels different this time.
Maybe it’s because I’m not walking in as someone trying to prove herself, but as someone who’s already proven everything that needed proving. Maybe it’s because Alessandro is beside me, his hand warm and steady in mine. Or maybe it’s just because I finally know exactly who I am and what I’m capable of.
The same crystal chandeliers cast their expensive light across the mahogany table, the same cut-glass windows offer views of the Montreal skyline, but everything feels changed. The air doesn’t crackle with the tension it did during my trials. Instead, there’s something that feels almost like respect.
