We moved to our usual VIP table for dinner. Small celebration. Champagne. Good food. Laughter that felt almost normal despite everything we'd been through.
Halfway through dinner, Elio mentioned casually: "Heard rumors from Chicago. Some internal family drama brewing. Someone important's son went missing. Don't know details yet."
"Should we be concerned?" Sandro asked.
"Don't think so. Chicago families don't usually involve themselves in East Coast business. Probably just internal politics." Elio shrugged. "But I'll keep monitoring it."
"Last thing we need right after the trial is more complications," Luca said.
"Agreed. Let's hope their problems stay in Chicago."
We drank to that. To avoiding complications. To peace after chaos. To getting to keep the lives we'd fought for.
The evening wound down. People left gradually. Diana first, then Luca. Eventually just Sandro, Emilio, Elio, and us.
"We should go," Sandro said. "Let you two have your wedding night."
Stefan flushed slightly. I pulled him closer.
They left. Stefan and I were alone.
My husband and I were alone.
"Ready to go home?" I asked.
"More than ready."
Our apartment—our home, officially shared now as husbands—felt different when we entered.
More real. More permanent. More ours.
Stefan stood in the center of the living room, looking around like he was seeing it for the first time. His ring caught the light. Simple gold band on his left hand.
"I'm Stefan DeLuca now," he said quietly. "Legally. Permanently. Irrevocably."
"How does it feel?"
"Right." He turned to face me. "For the first time in my life, my name actually feels like mine. Not something assigned to me by birth. Something I chose."
I crossed to him. Pulled him close. "You're mine now. Officially. Legally. In every way that matters."
"I've been yours for months. This just makes it legal."
"Legal matters. It means you can't change your mind. Can't wake up one day and decide to go back to being a Romano."
"I would never want to." He kissed me. "I'm a DeLuca. Your DeLuca. Your husband."
The word did something to me. Husband. My husband. Mine officially and permanently.
"Let me show you what that means," I said.
I led him to the bedroom. Our bedroom. The bed we'd shared for months but now it felt different. More significant. More ours.
Stefan turned to face me. His expression was soft. Vulnerable. Happy in ways I'd never seen before.
"I love you," he said. "My husband."
"I love you too." I cupped his face. "My husband. My Stefan. Mine."
