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"She's proud of you too."

"I know. She treats me differently since Bianca came into our lives though." The tone of our son's voice makes it clear that by different, he means better.

"Your wife has helped Ilaria see both of us through different eyes." I hope my son can hear the gratitude I feel for that in my voice. "You couldn't have chosen a better woman to bring into our family."

Salvatore's eyes widen and then he looks at me with pride. "Thank you for saying that. Bianca still thinks you don't approve of her completely."

"I'm working on fixing that." And on that note, I walk over to greet the women.

First, I kiss my wife which makes her blush and I'm smiling when I turn and lean down to kiss my daughter's cheeks and then Bianca's before greeting my sister-in-law.

A month ago, I would have greeted Aria first to show respect for my brother's widow, but showing love for my daughter by marriage is even more important.

The ladies clearly expect me to join my son and nephew, but I've spent all day with made men. Now, I want to spend time with my wife.

When it becomes apparent to them I'm not leaving, Bianca offers to scoot toward Nerissa so I can join them on the sofa.

I smile. "Thank you, cara , but I've got a seat already."

She looks at me in confusion that turns to shock as I lift my wife up, take her seat and then sit her sideways on my lap.

"Sal! What are you doing?" Ilaria smacks my chest with the back of her hand, but she's laughing and that blush that always turns me on gets brighter.

The way she goes still tells me she can feel what she's doing to me.

Soon, my son and nephew join us, dragging over chairs from the dining table. When Ernesto arrives, they all play musical chairs so he can sit beside my daughter. Bianca stands and offers Ernesto her seat beside Nerissa.

He looks torn between being polite and refusing and his clear desire to be near my daughter. Bianca doesn't give him a choice, pushing him to sit down. My son makes a sound that causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise when she puts her hand against another man's chest.

Ernesto sits.

Aria rises from her chair, insisting someone else take her larger seat to save space like I’m doing with Ilaria. She sits down in one of the dining chairs, her expression serene, but we all know that look.

And it means she won't be moved from her choice.

After initially trying to get her to go back to her seat anyway, Miceli and Salvatore immediately start arguing over who gets the armchair.

It would be perfectly acceptable for one of them to tell Ernesto to move and take his spot, but neither do, accepting his place beside my daughter like I'm still struggling to do.

"Róise's not even here," Salvatore points out.

Miceli scowls. "She'll be here soon enough. Her last class ended thirty minutes ago."

I'm pretty sure my nephew is about to play the don card when Ilaria clears her throat. "Miceli, caro , call the concierge assigned to the suite and get two more settees brought in. They can remove the table and chairs to make space, and we can all be comfortable."

As long as my wife stays exactly where she is, I don't care about the seating arrangements. With no intention of offering my spot to my don, much less my son, my arms tighten around Ilaria's midsection.

She lays her hand over mine, lacing our fingers. This woman.

"They'll do that?" Bianca asks, her voice tinged with disbelief.

She still doesn't fully realize what it means to be a De Luca in New York.

"Of course, they will," my wife replies. "The Five Families funded this hospital and supply the majority of income that keeps it running."

"Wow. I mean I knew Salvatore had more say in my care than he should have, but I thought it was because of the mafia thing." Bianca makes air quotes when she says mafia . "Not because you all pay their wages."

Miceli, who had stepped away to follow my wife's suggestion returns, pocketing his phone. "It'll take an hour."

I don't ask why so long because if it could have been done faster, my nephew would have made it happen.

Salvatore doesn't ask either. Instead, he drags one of the remaining dining chairs over and places it right next to his own. Once again pride fills my chest at my son's behavior.

He is a capo, but his cousin is don and Salvatore shows respect for that distinction by leaving the armchair for Miceli and Róise.

Normal conversation resumes as we all wait for an update from the birthing room. My eyes aren’t on the room full of family though. Not really. They’re fixed on my daughter.

Even sitting there on that small sofa with her boyfriend, Nerissa owns her space, not as the consigliere’s daughter. Not even as her brother's second-in-command, but as a made woman in her own right.

She’s sharp today, dressed in tailored black slacks and a blood-red blouse, boots that are stylish but would allow her to fight if she needed to.

Small gold hoops glint in her ears. I miss her afro, but long hair can be a hindrance in a life and death situation and she keeps hers cut close to her scalp.

Her tiny tight curls are beautiful though, as is my daughter. Inside and out.

She laughs, her smile genuine, not the tight-lipped, practiced one reserved for her public facing role as a capo's second.

The reason for her amusement? Ernesto Ferrari.

His posture is relaxed, but he's alert, watching her back even in a secure space. He’s dressed down, no tie, sleeves rolled to the elbows, ink covering his forearms. I wouldn't be surprised if my daughter's name is there amidst the other art.

They're that serious.

Fuck. My little girl isn't the fourteen-year-old I rescued form the streets and brought home to Ilaria. She's not a little girl at all and isn't that truth a stiletto straight through my heart?

Even I have to admit that Domenico’s second-in-command is a good man. He's damn good at his job too. He's been at the young capo's side since the beginning, laying the groundwork for the cyber intel gathering they do, taking our online money laundering business into a whole other realm.

I know he’s smart. Loyal. Dangerous enough to keep his place in the chain of command.

But is he worthy of her ?

She says something I can’t hear, and Ernesto’s mouth quirks. He answers in a low tone that makes her eyes flash, her head tilting with interest. She pushes his chest lightly with her hand, and he lets her.

Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smirk. Just waits her out, patient and unshakable.

She’s fire. He’s iron.

And in this moment, I realize they fit.

Not like I expected. Not like I would have chosen. But they fit .

Ilaria nudges my chest with her elbow. "They remind me of us," she whispers.

I grunt. "I didn’t wear damn hoodies and build firewalls."

"No, you wore thousand-dollar suits and built a life I was afraid to believe in." Her eyes soften. "But I did believe. And so does she."

I look at my daughter again, this time not as a father measuring a man against impossible expectations, but as a consigliere who’s seen soldiers rise, fall, and fail. Ernesto isn't going to do anything but rise. And on his own merits.

Just like my son. Despite the advantages my position could have given Salvatore, he proved himself time and again.

Nerissa's boyfriend isn’t flashy; he's solid and more confident than a lot of men twice his age. He doesn’t blink when Nerissa takes the lead. That matters more than connections or family legacy, to a woman determined to make her own mark in our world.

He respects her.

And that’s everything.

Managgia la miseria . That really is everything.