“No idea,” I admit, making a note to ask Sofia about it. Sofia makes sure to know all of her brother’s business. “But if Marco actually brought someone to a family wedding, it must be serious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with the same woman twice.”
I eye Siobhan speculatively. Is there a reason why she’s asking? “You ever think about, you know…” I gesture toward Marco with my champagne glass.
Siobhan looks confused for a moment before understanding dawns on her face.
Her expression shifts to one of pure revulsion, like I just suggested she eat raw fish.
“Absolutelynot,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “Never. Sweet Christ, I could eat that man for breakfast and still be hungry for lunch. He’s far too pretty and polite for my taste.”
I snort with laughter, feeling champagne bubble up in my nose. So she was just curious, not jealous. “Fair enough.”
“Besides,” Siobhan continues with a wicked grin, “times change, but not that much. Look at you—a year and a half ago you were a college student playing at being dangerous. Now you’re a mother, a wife, and one of the most feared leaders on the EastCoast. But me chasing after Marco Renaldi? That’s where I draw the line.”
“I prefer ‘respected,’” I correct mildly.
“Feared, respected—in our world, they’re often the same thing,” she points out with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Either way, you’ve done well for yourself, girl.”
The reception flows around us as the afternoon stretches into evening.
The Morettis have claimed a table near the dance floor where little Maisie is attempting to teach Giovanni some complicated dance move that involves a lot of spinning and giggling.
Dante looks relaxed in a way I’ve never seen before, his arm around Sofia’s shoulders as they watch their daughter play.
It’s strange how normal this all feels now.
If you asked me a year ago, the idea of attending a family wedding where everyone was genuinely happy and relaxed would have seemed impossible.
Too much history, too many old grudges, too many reasons for tension.
But looking around this garden, watching children play while their parents laugh and celebrate, I realize that we’ve actually managed to build something new.
Not just alliances based on mutual benefit, but genuine relationships built on respect and shared experience.
“You look deep in thought. Care to share?” Alessandro asks, returning with a much calmer Romeo who’s now fascinated by the string lights overhead.
“Just thinking about how different everything is now,” I tell him, leaning into his warmth as he wraps his free arm around my waist. “How we’ve all managed to become actual family instead of just business associates.”
“It helps that we stopped trying to kill each other,” he points out reasonably as he sheds his jacket and loosens his tie.
“That was definitely a step in the right direction,” I agree, laughing as Romeo makes a grab for the lights that are well out of his reach. “No, lovey, you can’t have that,” I coo to my baby.
The music shifts to something slower, and couples begin drifting toward the makeshift dance floor.
Mario spins Elena carefully, both of them glowing with happiness, while other guests join them in the gentle celebration.
“Dance with me?” Alessandro asks, shifting Romeo to one arm and extending his other hand to me.
“What about Romeo?” I ask, even as I’m already reaching for his outstretched hand.
“He comes too,” Alessandro says, as if it was completely obvious. “Multi-tasking. You should get used to it.”
I stick my tongue out at him but follow him to the dance floor, where I find myself slow dancing in a garden with my husband and infant son.
Romeo seems to enjoy the gentle swaying, his blue eyes—just like mine—tracking the movement of lights and flowers with the serious concentration that already marks him as a DeLuca.
“Dad’s right. He’s going to be trouble,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his soft hair.
“The best kind of trouble,” Alessandro agrees, spinning us slowly as the music swells. “Smart, strong, and absolutely convinced he can take on the world.”
