“No,” he says firmly, his eyes—so much like mine—serious as they bore into me. “It’s what you needed to do. You took everything Giuseppe and Sophia gave you, everything I tried to teach you, and you made it into something uniquely yours. Something better than any of us could have managed alone.”
I feel tears prick at my eyes, which is embarrassing as hell when I’m supposed to be projecting strength and authority. But hearing him say that, hearing him acknowledge that I’ve become something good instead of something monstrous, means everything.
“You know,” I tell him, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be. I clear my throat and try again, “none of the Giuseppe being my real father changes anything important. You’re still my dad. The rest is just…details.”
The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything we’ve been through together. The lies, the truth, the anger, the reconciliation—all of it distilled down to the essential fact that nineteen years of love and protection can’t be erased.
Matteo’s not my brother—he’s my actual father.
Matteo’s—Dad’scomposure finally cracks. His eyes fill with tears that he tries to blink away, and when he reaches over to squeeze my shoulder, his hand is shaking slightly.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and there’s so much gratitude and relief in those two words that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying myself.
“For what?” I manage to get out, unsure if I can actually say more without bursting into tears.
“For still wanting me as your father,” Dad says. “For forgiving me. For becoming someone I can be proud of instead of someone I have to worry about.” His voice cracks slightly. “For being exactly who you’re supposed to be.”
Before I can respond—and honestly, I’m not sure I could form words around the emotion clogging my throat—Dad clears his throat and stands.
“I think that concludes our business for today,” he announces to the room, his voice back to its formal authority. “Thank you all for coming.”
The other family heads begin filing out, each stopping to shake hands with me and offer their congratulations. It’s surreal, watching these powerful men treat me like an equal, but I manage to keep my expression professionally neutral until the last one leaves.
The moment the door closes behind them, I feel like I can finally breathe properly again.
“How does it feel?” Alessandro asks, moving closer to slip his arm around my waist as he presses his lips against my head.
“Like I just passed the world’s most dangerous final exam,” I admit, leaning into his warmth.
Back in our suite, the formal atmosphere dissolves completely. Alessandro loosens his tie, Dad sheds his suit jacket, and I kick off the heels that have been killing my feet for the past three hours. We’re just family again instead of political figures making historic announcements.
“I’m proud of you,” Dad tells me as we settle into the suite’s living room. “Not just for today, but for everything. The way you’ve handled all of this.”
I open my mouth to say something back, but there’s a knock at the door. Bella’s voice calls through. “Can we come in? Someone insisted they needed to see Banca.”
“Of course,” I call back, and the door opens to reveal a frazzled Bella trying to corral two excited toddlers who clearly have no interest in being corralled.
“Banca!” Giovanni and Arianna shriek in unison, racing toward me with their arms outstretched.
I scoop them both up, laughing as they cover my face with sticky kisses and chatter excitedly about their day. Their innocent joy and unconditional love fills the room with something brighter than all the political maneuvering and formal declarations.
This is my family. The people who choose to love me and who I choose to love back. The people who make all the politics and violence and complicated legacy worth fighting for.
“You know what I figured out?” I tell Alessandro quietly.
“What’s that?” he asks, plucking Arianna off the back of the couch.
“It doesn’t matter whose blood I have or what genetics say about who I am.” I look around the room—at Matteo with his proud smile, at Bella settling into the chair beside us, at the twins who are now fighting over something only toddlers care about. “What matters is the family I choose and the family that chooses me back.”
Alessandro’s smile is soft and warm as he reaches over to brush a strand of hair out of my face. “That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said,” he teases.
“I have my moments.” I grin then turn my attention back to Giovanni, who’s trying to tell me an elaborate story involving trucks and dinosaurs and I can only understand maybe one of every four words.
As I sit here surrounded by the people who matter most, I realize something important: I’m not Giuseppe’s daughter trying to prove I’m worthy of Matteo’s love, or Matteo’s heir trying to live up to an impossible legacy.
I’m just Bianca. For the first time in my life, that feels like more than enough.
It feels likeeverything.
