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" S weetheart, is this really all you wanted?"

My mother’s voice is soft, warm with the same maternal concern that has never wavered, even now that I’m a grown man. I turn to her, a slow grin spreading across my face as I take in the scene before me.

Our backyard— our home —is filled with the people we love.

The smell of grilled meat, fresh bread, and imported whiskey lingers in the air, mixing with the distant scent of blooming jasmine from Aella’s carefully curated garden.

Laughter rings out from one side of the patio, while the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar blends with the DJ’s mellow rock playlist.

It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"Aella and I didn’t want a big party. We’ve been married for four months already, Mom," I remind her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "This— good food, music, and our people —this is what we wanted."

She hums, nodding, though she doesn’t look fully convinced.

"Well, nothing’s wrong with it," she concedes. "But we do Sourdough Sundays all the time."

I chuckle, understanding her need to make this more , but I shake my head. "Mom, I promise you, this is exactly what we wanted."

Her eyes soften, and she pats my cheek before stepping away to check on the bread table, where generations of sourdough recipes are proudly displayed instead of traditional wedding gifts.

The atmosphere hums with warmth and familiarity.

Junior sits at a table with the usual suspects—Ono, Liam, Connor, Balor, and some big fucker who’d been introduced to me as Gaetano Ricci, Ono’s cousin.

Their conversation is a mixture of serious talk and easy laughter, drinks clinking as they swap stories and inside jokes.

The women sit together, heads bent as they gossip and giggle, looking happy and carefree. My sister, Andrea, is right there among them, whole and unscathed after everything that went down.

T hinking about Santos—even just for a second—makes my jaw clench, but I push it aside.

Not today.

Today is for celebrating.

I scan the yard again, my gaze sweeping past my father and father-in-law, who seem locked in yet another playful argument. Judging by the smirks on everyone’s faces, it’s not serious. Probably some competitive bullshit between the two of them.

Then I see her.

And everything else fades.

Aella steps onto the patio, and it’s like the whole fucking world stops.

The sunlight catches in her dark hair, turning it into a river of midnight silk. The apple-green dress clings to her curves, a dress made to be touched, gripped, worshiped.

And I will.

Later.

Right now?

I just need to get to her.

I move, cutting through the crowd, my body pulling toward her like it always does.

“Sammy,” she whispers when I reach her, breathless, as if she can feel the weight of my need pressing against her skin.

I don’t stop.

My hand finds the delicate curve of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as I pull her in, claiming her lips with a fierce, deep, unapologetic kiss.

Loud cheers erupt from our friends and family, the clinking of forks against glass echoing in the air

But none of it matters.

Not when she’s here.

Not when she’s mine.

"Jesus Christ, do you two ever stop?" comes the familiar, exasperated groan of Angel Fury.

I smirk against Aella’s lips, but she pulls back just enough to turn her head, grinning at her father.

“Stop it, Dad. I love him!” she shouts, unapologetic.

My girl.

The crowd erupts in laughter, and before I can even think, I grab her hand and twirl her straight onto the dance floor.

The DJ’s voice booms through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for the newlyweds!”

Next, I am dancing with my wife.

I hold her close, my hands splaying against the small of her back, pressing her body into mine.

Aella’s arms wrap around my neck, her fingers curling into the hair at my nape.

She’s looking up at me, and fuck, I swear I feel the earth tilt beneath my feet.

I’ve never seen eyes so bright.

So full of love.

I’ve never deserved something this beautiful.

But I’ll never let her go.

"You know, I never thanked you," she murmurs, voice barely audible over the music.

I brush my lips over her temple. "Don’t thank me."

She pulls back just enough to level me with a stare.

"No, I mean before then," she insists. "It’s like I was walking around, missing a piece of me for my whole life. And then that night in Vegas, you claimed me. And suddenly, I was whole . Sammy, I am so lucky to have you."

Her fingers tighten around my shoulders.

"I love you so much."

I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking move.

She’s looking at me like I hung the stars.

Like I carved the universe just for her.

I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this— to deserve her —but I swear to fucking God, I will never stop proving I’m worthy of this woman.

"That’s how I felt, too," I confess, voice low, rough with emotion. "Never whole. Not until I had you."

Her breath hitches.

I tighten my hold, locking her against me, sealing her fate.

"I love you, too, Wife," I murmur, dropping my lips to hers. "And I am never letting you go."

She smiles against my mouth.

"Good. Because I’m not either.”

And just like that, I fall a little bit harder.