Dante frames my face with both hands, his eyes searching mine like he still can't quite believe this is real.
"Mine," he whispers.
"Yours," I agree.
The kiss is soft and sweet, appropriate for our audience but containing a promise of more later. The chapel erupts in applause. Sofia shrieks "Papa! Mama!" and Mila is crying while pretending she's not and somewhere in the front row, my father is definitely going through his second handkerchief.
We turn to face our guests—our family, our friends, the people who stood by us through impossible circumstances. Alexei raises his glass in silent salute. Maria dabs at her eyes with her apron. Delilah is already planning the bachelorette party I refused to let her throw, probably scheming with Mila about future opportunities for chaos.
The reception unfolds in the vineyard itself, long tables set under string lights that twinkle against the darkening sky. Wine from our own grapes fills glasses raised in endless toasts. The food is perfect, the music is perfect, and Dante holds me close during our first dance like he never wants to let go.
"Having fun, Mrs. Sokolov?" he murmurs against my hair.
"Mmm." I lean into him, exhausted and happy and so in love it hurts. "Ask me again in fifty years."
"I plan to."
Later, as the sun sets and the party continues around us, I find a quiet moment at the edge of the vineyard. The view stretches for miles—rolling hills painted gold and purple by the fading light, our home nestled among the vines, the chapel where we just promised each other forever.
Dante appears beside me, Sofia asleep against his shoulder, her flower girl dress rumpled and her face sticky with cake.
"Mila's teaching your father to dance," he reports. "I'm not sure who's leading."
I laugh softly. "He'll survive."
"He's a good man." Dante's voice is thoughtful. "I understand now why you fought so hard for him."
"He's family."
"Yes." He shifts Sofia to his other arm, then pulls me close with his free hand. "And now he's my family too."
We stand there as the last light fades, watching our guests celebrate, listening to the music and laughter drift across the grounds. Mila runs past with a sparkler, chased by one of Alexei's security guys who's been roped into babysitting duty. My father twirls Delilah across the dance floor with surprising grace. Maria passes out plates of dessert with the efficiency of a general commanding troops.
This is what we built. This is what we fought for. Not power or money or an empire—but this. Family. Love. A home where our children can grow up safe and happy, where the violence of the past can't touch them.
"No regrets?" Dante asks, echoing a question he asked me once before, in another life.
I think about the woman I was two years ago—the one who walked into a Chicago bar looking for a boring accountant and found a mafia king instead. That woman would never recognize me now. Would never believe the life I'm living, the man I'm married to, the family we've created together.
She would probably think I'm crazy.
Maybe I am.
"Not a single one," I tell him honestly.
He kisses my temple, then my lips, soft and reverent.
"Mama." Sofia stirs against his chest, blinking awake. She reaches for me with chubby arms. "Mama up."
I take her, settling her against my hip, her head drooping onto my shoulder. She'll be asleep again in minutes, worn out by the excitement of the day.
Dante's hand comes to rest on my belly, where our second daughter kicks in greeting.
"We should get this one to bed," I say.
"We should." But he doesn't move, just stands there looking at me with an expression that makes my heart squeeze. "I love you, Hannah."
"I know."
