And whatever came next, we'd face it together.
CHAPTER 19
Luca
Don Moretti died at 3:17 a.m. on a Tuesday, two weeks after Giuseppe's exile.
The call came from his attending physician—the one Giuseppe hadn't managed to replace. Sienna's father had slipped away peacefully in his sleep, the cancer finally claiming what violence and betrayal never could.
I found Sienna in our bedroom at the penthouse—we'd moved back from the underground apartment once the threats were neutralized—staring at her phone like it held answers she couldn't find. The pre-dawn light painted her face in shades of gray, making her look younger, more vulnerable than I'd seen since our wedding night.
"He's gone," she said quietly. Not a question.
"Yes." I sat beside her, close but not touching, giving her space to process.
She nodded slowly, like she'd been expecting this. Maybe she had been. Her father's illness hadn't been a surprise—just a ticking clock that had finally run out.
"I should feel something," she whispered. "Relief or grief or... something. But I just feel empty."
"He was complicated," I offered carefully. "You're allowed to have complicated feelings."
"He traded me like property. Arranged my life without asking what I wanted. Used me as a pawn in his games." Her voice was steady, clinical. Then it cracked. "And I still wanted him to love me. Isn't that pathetic?"
"It's human." I pulled her into my arms, feeling her rigid control finally shatter. "You can love someone and hate what they did to you. Both things can be true."
She cried then—not the desperate sobs from two weeks ago when I'd returned from eliminating Ricci, but quieter tears that spoke of older wounds. Grief for the father she'd wanted, not the one she'd had.
I held her through it, offering no platitudes or promises that everything would be okay. Sometimes the only thing you could offer was presence.
When the tears finally slowed, she pulled back, wiping her eyes with fierce determination. "The funeral. We'll need to—"
"Already being arranged. Marco's coordinating with your father's people. Three days from now, enough time to gather both families."
She studied my face, seeing the planning I'd already done while she slept. "You've been preparing for this."
"Since the night we eliminated the threats. Your father's doctor gave me a timeline." I touched her cheek gently. "I wanted to be ready so you didn't have to handle the logistics while grieving."
Something shifted in her expression—gratitude mixed with love. "Partners," she said softly.
"Partners," I confirmed.
The funeral was held at the Cathedral of Saint Patrick, neutral ground that had hosted Moretti family events for three generations. Both families filled the pews—Morettis on the left, Romanos on the right, an invisible line of territory even in death.
I stood at Sienna's side as Don Moretti's casket was carried down the aisle, my hand at the small of her back. She wore black—elegant, severe, every inch the mafia princess. But I felt the slight tremor in her spine, the only sign of how much strength this was taking.
Her younger sister Isabella sat on Sienna’s other side in the front row, seventeen and terrified, clutching her mother's photo. Sienna had insisted on bringing her from the boarding school upstate, protecting her from Giuseppe's reach. Now Isabella looked to her older sister like a lifeline.
The priest spoke of Don Moretti's contributions to the community—coded language for money laundering through charitable foundations. He spoke of family legacy—meaning the criminal empire built on violence and fear. He spoke of a man of honor—as if honor meant anything in our world.
I watched Sienna's face throughout, seeing her process each euphemism, each sanitized version of her father's truth.
When it came time for the family to speak, Sienna surprised everyone by standing.
She walked to the pulpit with her head high, every eye in the cathedral tracking her movement. This was her moment—the first time both families would see her not as a pawn or a bride, but as a leader.
"My father was a complicated man," she began, her voice steady and clear. "He built an empire through strength and strategy. He protected what was his with ruthless efficiency. He understood power in ways most people never will."
The Moretti side nodded approvingly. The Romano side watched with wary respect.
