I lean forward, needing him to understand if I want to leave this room alive. “I want to give her stability,” I correct him. “Partnership. Someone who will stand beside her no matter what comes next.” I pause, searching for the right words. “Matteo, I’ve loved her since she was sixteen years old. I’ve watched her grow into the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known. I don’t want to complicate her life—I want to be part of it.”
“You’re already part of it,” he points out.
“As her partner inbusiness. I want to be her partner ineverything.” I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. “I want to give her a family of her own. I want to protect her, support her, and love her for the rest of my life. And I want your blessing to ask her.”
The silence that follows feels eternal. Matteo stares out the window, his expression unreadable, and I can practically see him wrestling with the decision. Finally, he turns back to me.
“Do you know what it’s like to raise a daughter?” he asks quietly.
Obviously not, but there’s clearly a point he’s trying to make. “No.”
“It’s terrifying,” Matteo sighs. “Every day, you’re torn between wanting to protect her from everything and knowing you have to let her make her own choices, even when those choices might hurt her.” His voice grows softer, more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it. “She’s been the center of my world for nineteen years. My little girl, even when she was being impossible and stubborn and driving me completely insane.”
He stands and moves to the window, his back to me as he continues. “I know she’s actually my half-sister,” he spits the words out like it’s poison. “And not really my biological daughter. But none of that matters. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine, regardless of who she marries or what life she builds.”
“I know,” I tell him quietly. “And I would never try to change that.”
“You better not.” He turns to face me, and there’s venom in his voice now as he leans over the desk, his eyes like ice chips. “Because if you ever—and I meanever—hurt her, disappoint her, betray her, or make her cry for any reason that isn’t completely beyond your control, I will destroy you so thoroughly that there won’t be enough left to bury.”
The threat is delivered with absolute sincerity, and I believe every word of it.
“Understood.”
“Good.” His expression softens slightly and it makes him look younger instead of the feared mafia don he is. “Though I suspect if you ever hurt her, I’d have to get in line behind Bianca herself,” he says thoughtfully. It doesn’t look like he’d mind that.
That draws a genuine laugh from me. “She’d definitely get to me first.”
“Damn right she would.” Now he’s smiling too, the tension in the room easing slightly. “She’s tougher than both of us combined.”
Matteo returns to his chair, studying my face with the intensity of someone making a final evaluation.
“You’ll be good to her?” he asks.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her.”
“You’ll protect her?”
“With my life,” I promise him.
He steeples his fingers. “You’ll support her ambitions, even when they scare you?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “Especiallywhen they scare me.”
He nods slowly, seeming to come to some internal decision. “Then yes. You have my blessing.” His voice grows stern again. “But Alessandro? She’s still my daughter. That doesn’t change just because she’s getting married.”
“I wouldn’t want it to,” I tell him honestly.
The smile that spreads across his face is pure paternal pride. “Then welcome to the family. Officially.”
The restaurant I choose is an hour outside the city, tucked away in the hills with views of the Hudson Valley that take your breath away. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t advertise, doesn’t take reservations from just anyone, and definitely doesn’t ask questions about why their guests might need absolute privacy.
Bianca looks stunning in a deep blue dress that brings out her eyes, her hair swept up in an elegant style that shows off the graceful line of her neck. She’s been curious about why I insisted on driving so far for dinner, but she hasn’t pressed for details—just trusted me enough to go along with whatever I have planned.
Which is definitely unlike her, but I’m not going to argue about not being pestered with questions when I’m a bundle of nerves.
“This is beautiful,” she says as we’re seated at a corner table with windows overlooking the valley. “How did you find this place?”
“I have my sources,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady despite the ring box that feels like it’s burning a hole in my jacket pocket.
