He kissed my forehead, then Lucia's. "Come back to bed. She'll wake us again in three hours demanding breakfast."
As we walked back to our bedroom, Lucia asleep in Luca's arms, I felt a peace I'd never known growing up. This was what family was supposed to feel like—not transactions or alliances, but genuine love and protection.
The morning brought chaos, as mornings always did.
Marco arrived at 9 a.m. for our weekly strategy meeting. Isabella video-called at 9:30 to update me on her college applications. By 10, I was dressed in a sleek black pantsuit, Lucia secured in her carrier against my chest, reviewing financial reports while she napped.
"The nightclub revenues are up fifteen percent," Marco said, pulling up spreadsheets on the tablet. "And the new cryptocurrency ventures are performing better than projected."
"Good. What about the restaurant holdings?"
"Francesco's doing well at Mulberry. No issues. He's requested permission to expand to a second location."
I considered it. Francesco had proven his loyalty repeatedly over the past months, running a legitimate business and staying far from family operations. "Approved. But keep someone watching for another six months."
"Already on it."
Luca entered mid-meeting, freshly showered and dressed for the day. He pressed a kiss to my temple, then Lucia's head, before pouring himself coffee.
"Vito's bringing the quarterly reports this afternoon," he said, settling into the chair beside me. "And we have the Calabrese delegation at three."
"Lucia has her pediatrician appointment at two," I reminded him.
"I'll handle the Calabrese. You take her."
This was our rhythm—dividing responsibilities, supporting each other, building something neither of our fathers could have imagined. We led together. We parented together. We'd created a partnership that was both personal and professional, intimate and strategic.
After Marco left, Luca pulled me into his arms, careful not to disturb our sleeping daughter.
"I have something to ask you," he said quietly.
"Should I be worried?"
"Maybe." He smiled, but there was nervousness beneath it. "I want to renew our vows."
I pulled back to look at him properly. "What?"
"Our wedding was... not ideal. You hated me. I was manipulating you. It was strategy, not love." His hands cupped my face gently. "I want to marry you again. The right way. With choice and love and witnesses who are celebrating instead of calculating political advantages."
Tears stung my eyes. "Luca—"
"You don't have to decide now. Just think about it. Maybe next month, or whenever you're ready. Something small, just us and the people who matter. Isabella, Marco, Angelo. Lucia as our flower girl even though she can't walk yet."
I laughed through tears. "She'd probably just sleep through the whole thing."
"Probably." He wiped my tears with his thumbs. "But I want to stand before you and promise to love you, protect you, partner with you—not because of empires or alliances, but because you're the only woman I've ever loved. The only woman I'll ever love."
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll marry you again. Properly this time. With choice and love and terrible timing since we're both sleep-deprived and covered in spit-up most days."
He laughed, gathering both Lucia and me into his arms. "Perfect. Absolutelyperfect."
One month later, we stood in the same private chapel where we'd first married, but everything was different.
I wore a simple white dress—elegant but understated, nothing like the elaborate gown from our forced wedding. Luca stood at the altar in a dark suit, his eyes never leaving mine as I walked down the aisle.
