"Your bride is impressive, Monti."
Don Caruso materialized at my elbow, his weathered face approving. "Well-spoken. Composed. You chose well."
"I know." No false modesty in this world.
"The Lombardo alliance was a smart move. Your father would approve." The mention of my father—dead six years tonight—landed heavy. I’d been trying not to acknowledge the grief I still felt these years later at his absence. Not surprising, but abrupt. Like a guiding light in my life snuffed out in a moment.
Across the room, Paola gestured animatedly, probably discussing art. My art curator wife finding common ground.
"Family built on genuine affection lasts longer than mere strategy," Caruso said quietly. "Your Bianca has fire. Intelligence. I have to say, I’m a bit surprised; we’d heard that Bianca Lombardo was more ice than fire. I’m impressed. She'll make you strong."
He moved on, leaving me watching her.
When had I started thinking of her asmineinstead ofthe wife?
I crossed the room, my hand finding Paola's lower back—a claiming gesture everyone recognized. She leaned into the touch.
Progress.
"Excuse me, Signora Battaglia. May I steal my wife?"
I guided Paola toward Don Caruso's circle, leaning close. "Don Caruso wants to meet you properly. Old guard. Traditional. Let him do most of the talking."
"Understood."
We approached the cluster of older Dons—men who'd built this world with blood and strategy.
"Don Caruso," I said formally. "May I properly introduce my wife, Bianca."
Caruso turned his full attention to her. "Mrs. Monti. A pleasure."
Paola didn't hesitate. "The honor is mine, Don Caruso. Cesare has told me you knew his father well."
Perfect. She'd done her homework—or had the instincts for this.
Approval flickered in Caruso's eyes. "Vittorio was a great man. His son follows in worthy footsteps." He looked at me. "Six years is no small accomplishment in these times."
"I've had good counsel," I deflected. "And now, a strong alliance."
"Indeed." Caruso turned back to Paola. "Tell me, Mrs. Monti, how are you finding married life?"
The room quieted fractionally. People listening, measuring her response.
A test.
Paola met his gaze directly. "I'm very fortunate, Don Caruso. Cesare is..." A pause, brief but weighted. "Everything I could have hoped for."
That hesitation was perfect—it suggested genuine emotion rather than rehearsed script.
Caruso chuckled, raised his glass. "Spoken like a woman in love. Good. To Don Monti and his beautiful bride. May your union bring many years of prosperity."
Glasses raised around us. Voices echoing the sentiment.
My hand tightened on Paola's waist. She'd passed the first major test.
We circulated. I greeted allies, measured rivals, tracked Viktor's position like tracking a predator.
Piero appeared at my elbow. "You both look devastating tonight. Status report: everyone's talking about her favorably. The alliance looks solid."
