Chapter 8 - The Wedding Vincent Never Wanted
One year after Vincent's arrest, I proposed.
Not in a mansion.
Not at a gala.
Not surrounded by cameras.
I took Isabella to the same coffee shop where Marcus had first found her.
The table was still there.
The window had been replaced.
I put a small box on the table.
She stared.
“No.”
I laughed.
“You haven't even opened it.”
“I know what's inside.”
“How?”
“You've been acting strange for two weeks.”
She opened it.
Inside was a simple diamond ring.
She looked at me.
“Luca.”
“I don't need you to fix me.”
“I know.”
“I don't need you to save me.”
“I know.”
“I don't need you to prove anything.”
She smiled.
“I know.”
“I just want you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
The wedding was six months later.
My mother walked me down the aisle.
Marcus stood beside me.
The seven women Vincent had paid were invited.
All seven came.
One of them hugged Isabella.
Another apologized.
But Isabella told them something I would never forget.
“You don't owe him anything.”
She meant Vincent.
Then she looked at me.
“Neither does Luca.”
When Isabella walked down the aisle, everything else disappeared.
There were no billions.
No mafia.
No enemies.
No medical records.
No false diagnoses.
Just the woman I loved.
When she reached me, she whispered,
“Still nervous?”
“Terrified.”
She laughed.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because it means this matters.”
The ceremony began.
Then something unexpected happened.
A man entered the back of the church.
I recognized him.
Dr. Cross's former assistant.
He carried a folder.
He approached Marcus.
“I found something.”
Marcus opened it.
Then looked at me.
“Luca.”
“What?”
“It's about your father.”
I stepped away from the altar.
Isabella followed.
The assistant handed me a document.
My father had left another letter.
I opened it.
Luca,
If you ever find someone who makes you feel safe enough to be yourself, marry her.
My throat tightened.
Don't let Vincent steal another year from you.
I looked at Isabella.
She was crying.
I folded the letter.
Then returned to the altar.
The ceremony continued.
And when I kissed my wife for the first time, I realized something.
May you like
Vincent had spent seventeen years trying to make sure I would never experience that moment.
He had failed.
