Page 108

The beach has been transformed. White chairs are set up on either side of a simple aisle strewn with flower petals. An arch of tropical blooms frames the endless blue of the ocean. Nothing extravagant—we both wanted simplicity—but it’s perfect in every way that matters.
Tony stands at the path leading from our villa to the beach, dressed in a light linen suit, looking so grown up that my breath catches. The past few months have changed him too. Sobriety looks good on him. So does the acceptance letter to the architectural school that came last week.
"Wow, sis," he says, eyes widening as I approach. "You're gonna give the old man a heart attack."
I swat his arm playfully. "The 'old man' is only thirty-five."
"Ancient," he teases, then his expression turns serious. "You're happy, right? This is really what you want?"
I take his arm, squeezing it gently. "More than anything I've ever wanted in my life."
He studies my face, then nods. "Good. Because if he ever hurts you?—"
"You'll what?" I arch an eyebrow. "Take on the Monster of Chicago?"
"If I have to." The response is immediate, without a trace of the fear that would have colored it months ago.
I lean up to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Tony."
"Love you too, sis." He clears his throat, clearly embarrassed by the emotion. "Now let's go before your fiancé sends out a search party."
The soft strains of music reach us as we approach the aisle. Not the traditional wedding march—nothing about our relationship has been traditional—but a gentle acoustic melody that reminds me of waves and wind and new beginnings.
And then I see him.
Stefano stands beneath the flower arch, tall and imposing even in the casual elegance of his linen suit. His hair has grown longer during his recovery, curling slightly in the humid air. The scars from the warehouse fight are barely visible now, just a thin white line at his temple, another peeking from his collar.
He keeps saying he’s going to cover the scars with new tattoos, commemorating his survival. We decided last night that I will get some art to cover my own scars that will help me remember that we survived, that we are so lucky to be here.
His expression as he sees me steals my breath. Raw emotion transforms his features—love, wonder, disbelief—all the carefully maintained control stripped away, leaving only the man. My man.
And in his arms, dressed in a tiny white outfit, is our son. Gianni's little face turns toward me as if he senses his mother, his perfect rosebud mouth forming what might be a smile or just gas, but it doesn't matter.
The sight of them together—the two most important people in my world—makes my heart feel like it might burst.
Each step down the aisle feels significant. Meaningful. A journey I'm making by choice rather than necessity. A path toward the future I never dared to dream of.
When we reach the altar, Tony places my hand in Stefano's, his expression serious as he says, "Take care of her."
Stefano nods, the simple gesture carrying the weight of a solemn vow. "With my life."
The officiant—a cheerful local woman with kind eyes—begins the ceremony, but I barely hear the lilt of her words. I'm lost in Stefano's gaze, in the solid warmth of his hand holding mine, in the precious weight of our son nestled between us.
This small gathering is our family now. Tomasso stands as best man, his usual stoic expression softened with rare emotion. Angela and Tony flank us like bookends, the siblings who have been through so much. Alessia watches from the front row, tears tracking silently down her cheeks.
No Fiori family. No criminal empire. No guns or threats or fear. Just love, binding us together more securely than any forced vows or legal documents ever could.
When it's time for our vows, Stefano hands Gianni to his grandmother and takes both my hands in his.
"Ava," he begins, his voice rough with emotion. "I have loved you since we were children, since you showed me your knife trick behind theVeneregardens and made me believe in magic." A smile touches his lips at the memory. "I searched for you for ten years, never knowing if I'd find you again. And when I did, I made every mistake possible trying to keep you."
He takes a deep breath, his thumbs tracing circles on my knuckles. "I tried to cage you, to control you, to force you to be mine. And in doing so, I nearly lost you forever."
I blink back tears, remembering those desperate days—the forced wedding, my attempts to run away, the warehouse showdown that nearly cost us everything.
"I promise you now," he continues, "that I will never cage you again. That I will earn your love every day for the rest of our lives. That I will protect you and our son without suffocating you." His voice drops lower, meant only for me. "That I will follow you anywhere, just like I promised all those years ago."
Tears spill freely down my cheeks now. I start to speak, but it takes a moment to find my voice.