Silence.
"Then it's done."
Filomena moved toward me. I stood, rigid.
"Julia." She took my hands. "I loved him. But I loved my son more. I'm so sorry."
"I know," I whispered.
She kissed my cheeks. "Be happy, bambina. Marry that man tomorrow. Build something good."
"I will."
She turned to Quentin. "Take care of her."
"I will," Quentin said.
Silvio approached me. "Jules. Cugina."
"Go," I said. "Just go."
They left. Walking out of our family. Out of our lives.
Forever.
The door closed.
Carlo raised his glass. "Tomorrow, we celebrate life. Tomorrow, Julia and Quentin get married. We move forward. Because that's what family does. Salute."
"Salute," everyone echoed weakly.
But the toast was broken.
Dinner continued, but quietly. People left early, murmuring condolences and congratulations in the same breath.
Quentin and I stayed until only Carlo remained.
"Tomorrow will be beautiful," Carlo said, pouring three glasses of wine. "I promise."
"Thank you," I whispered. "For letting me choose mercy."
"He was your father. You deserved that choice." He looked at Quentin. "And you. You could have demanded blood. You didn't."
"Julia wanted mercy," Quentin said simply. "That was enough for me."
Carlo studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "You're good for my sister. Better than I thought."
"I'll spend my life trying to deserve her."
"See that you do." Carlo raised his glass. "To family. The ones we're born with, and the ones we choose."
We drank.
"Now go," Carlo said. "Rest. Tomorrow's a big day."
In the car, Quentin held me while I cried.
"You okay?" he finally asked.
