Laughter fills the room.
He raises his phone with exaggerated dignity. “By the authority vested in me by a very legitimate website, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may?—”
I do not wait for permission.
I pull Izzy into my arms and kiss her.
Cheers erupt around us. Applause, laughter, someone whistling loudly from the back of the room. When we finally break apart, I feel her laugh against my chest.
“Bouquet toss!” the bridesmaids start chanting. “Bouquet toss!”
Izzy laughs. She theatrically turns her back to the room and gives the bridesmaids and flower girls just enough time to get in position, then obliges.
The bouquet sails through the air and lands squarely in the hands of a stunned woman near the back.
Crystal. One of the flower girls, and also Izzy’s cousin.
She stares down at the flowers like they might explode. “Oh my God,” she says with an unmistakable teenager cadence. “No way. Take this back. I’m not ready to get married!”
The entire room bursts into laughter.
I watch the scene unfold and feel something settle quietly inside me.
For most of my life I believed peace was temporary, something fragile that could be broken at any moment.
But standing here with my wife beside me and my son asleep in a chair nearby, I allow myself—for the first time in many years—to believe that this might be real.
That the dark and the light have finally learned how to coexist.
Like stars in the night sky.
25
EPILOGUE: IZZY
FIVE YEARS LATER…
Five years later, Notte Bianca is still standing. Not just standing, it is thriving.
Sometimes I walk through the dining room before service starts, look at the tables filling up, the staff moving confidently across the floor, the kitchen humming with life, and I still have to stop for a second to let it sink in.
This place used to survive in spite of the people running it.
Men like Donald and the Bernardi family tried their hardest to rot it from the inside out. But women like Erin, Savannah, Rose, Amber—and yeah, me—kept it alive anyway. We were the ones actually running the floor, smoothing over disasters, keeping customers happy, holding everything together with sheer stubbornness.
Turns out that stubbornness works even better when you’re the one actually in charge.
Now, Notte Bianca runs the way it should have all along.
Every time I see the sign glowing outside the door, I feel a quiet little spark of pride in my chest.
Inside the restaurant tonight, the anniversary party is in full swing. Five years since the new Notte Bianca opened. Five years since Nico and I got married.
The dining room is packed.
Laughter rises from every table. Glasses clink. Music drifts through the air. The restaurant feels alive in the way I always dreamed it could be.
Somewhere near the bar, Savannah is arguing with Riccardo about a dish. Erin is leaning across a table talking business with Luca. Rose has turned the flower arrangements into something absurdly beautiful again. Amber is behind the bar pouring drinks like she owns the lounge—which, in spirit, she kind of does.
