I recognize it from the picture he once showed me of his mother.
It’s her ring. His mother’s ring.
Emotion chokes me. “Nico…”
“Will you marry me,” he asks softly, “and rule beside me now and forever?”
I’m already crying. Because it’s too much. Too soon. And too perfect for words.
“Are you kidding?” I laugh through the tears. “Yes.Yes, Don Neri, I will marry you.”
He slides the ring onto my finger.
Then he stands and pulls me into his arms.
And when he kisses me, and the whole world feels like it finally settled into the place it was always meant to be.
24
NICO
The wedding happens faster than anyone expects.
It surprises people, but not for the reasons they think. Some assume it is impulse. That I woke up one morning and decided to marry Izzy immediately after everything that happened at the docks. That is not the truth. I am not an impulsive man. My life has been built on patience, calculation, and knowing exactly when to act.
But war teaches a man something important about time. And that is, when the moment comes, you do not hesitate.
So, we do not plan for months. There are no magazines, no reporters, no cathedral full of strangers pretending to care about love when they really want scandal.
We marry within the week. Midnight, at Notte Bianca, with the people who matter.
That is enough.
When I step into the restaurant that night, the room looks familiar and entirely different at the same time. Candles line the tables. Soft music drifts through the space. The windows reflect the dark water outside, and the lights glow warmly against the polished wood floors.
For years this place was simply neutral territory. A restaurant where the Dons met to conduct business, argue, negotiate, and occasionally threaten each other over expensive wine.
Now I know it is more than that.
This is where everything began anew.
Where a waitress with sharp eyes and a stubborn mouth first walked past my table pretending not to remember the spark between us.
I see her now at the far end of the room.
Izzy.
My queen.
Izzy does not look like the kind of bride the world usually celebrates. There is nothing fragile about her. She stands with her shoulders straight and her chin lifted, laughing softly with Savannah while Erin adjusts something in her hair. The dress she chose is simple but elegant, white silk that falls cleanly to the floor and moves gently when she turns. It softens her sharp edges without diminishing them. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in loose waves, and when she looks up and catches me watching her, her smile shifts slightly—less playful, more intimate.
It is a look meant only for me.
Across the room, the other Dons are already gathered near the front. Matteo notices me first and shakes his head with a faint smirk. “Took you long enough,” he says.
“You’re early,” I reply.
Riccardo leans back against the table behind him. “He’s been pacing for ten minutes.”
