"For making today special. Even in a courthouse. Even rushed. You made it matter."
"It does matter." I kissed the top of her head. "You matter. We matter. Everything else is just details."
"Details like my brother potentially murdering you tomorrow."
"Minor details."
She laughed, tired and genuine. "I love you."
"I love you too, Mrs. Vanetti."
"Say it again."
"Mrs. Vanetti."
"I think I like it."
"Good. Because you're stuck with it now."
We followed Stone and Serenity into the house, legally married, terrified of tomorrow, but somehow, impossibly, happy.
It wasn't the wedding I'd imagined.
But it was ours.
And that was enough.
∞∞∞
Later that evening, after we'd eaten takeout at Stone's place and gone over the plan for meeting Carlo, Julia and I sat on a swing in his backyard surrounded by a beautiful garden, complete with a mini waterfall. The moon and stars glittered in the sky, but my mind was on New York.
"Tell me about your family," Julia said quietly. "The ones who stayed in New York."
I gathered my thoughts. "Not everyone came with us when my father moved the business to Salt Lake. My uncle Riccardo and his family chose to stay. They got out completely—went legitimate with hotels and real estate. Built the hotel, La Stella and a few other boutique properties in Manhattan."
"Your father was okay with that?" she asked.
"Dad understood. After what happened to his parents—after watching them gunned down in their own home—he couldn't blame anyone for wanting distance from that life. Riccardo took his kids, Emilio and Gina, and built something clean. Something legal." I paused, staring at the moon. "Sometimes I envy them."
"Really?"
"They get to wake up without wondering if today's the day someone comes for revenge. Without looking over their shoulder. Without—" I gestured helplessly. "Without all of this."
Julia was quiet for a moment. "But would you trade it? Really?"
"No," I admitted. "This life made me who I am. For better or worse."
"For better," she said firmly. "Definitely for better."
Silence settled between us. I studied her profile in the moonlight, realizing how little I actually knew about the woman I'd married this afternoon.
"Sofia," I said quietly.
She turned to me, questioning.
"At the courthouse. When the judge read your full name—Julia Sofia Russo. Were you named after someone?"
She stiffened slightly, wrapped her arms tighter around herself, and just nodded.
