We walk.
Each step feels unreal, heavy, and perfect.
I pass the first pew and see Luca standing there, watching.
His expression is unreadable in the way powerful men learn to master.
But his eyes are bright.
Elena is beside him, holding Alessandra. Alessandra is waving at Nico.
I see Giovanni and Bianca a little farther down, Bianca’s face glowing with tears.
Roberto is beside them, jaw tight, eyes sharp like he’s holding himself together by force. The image is completely broken by the little girl in his arms.
Olivia is next to him, smiling so wide it makes me laugh again through my nerves.
Antonio catches my eye and gives me a slow, dramatic wink like he can’t help himself.
Caterina is sitting at the end of the row, posture perfect.
And Vito—
Vito is standing at the edge of the aisle, arms crossed, watching the room.
But when I pass, he looks at me and his expression changes.
Something soft flickers there and disappears.
He gives me a sharp nod.
Like approval.
Like welcome.
I reach the front.
Nico steps forward.
My dad stops.
For a second, everything is perfect. My two men standing here next to me.
My dad looks at Nico, and I can feel the weight of everything that’s happened between them and around them.
My dad’s hand squeezes mine one last time.
Then he puts my hand in Nico’s.
Nico’s grip is firm and warm.
His thumb slides once over my knuckles like he’s checking that I’m real.
My dad leans in toward me, close enough that only I can hear.
“I love you, kiddo,” he murmurs.
My throat closes.
