Chapter 8 - The Wedding That Finally Happened
Two years after the day my first wedding ended, I stood in another garden.
This time, there were no guns hidden beneath tables.
No secret files.
No corrupt relatives.
No enemies waiting behind curtains.
Only white flowers.
Music.
Laughter.
And a little girl running through the grass wearing matching socks.
Emma had grown.
She was five now.
She still called herself the wedding planner.
Sophia stood beside me.
She wore a simple ivory dress.
Not a wedding gown covered in diamonds.
Something elegant.
Something warm.
“I can't believe you're nervous,” she whispered.
“I've faced armed men without blinking.”
“And?”
“This is worse.”
She smiled.
“Why?”
“Because I actually care what happens.”
She laughed.
“That may be the healthiest thing you've ever said.”
The ceremony began.
I looked at her.
Sophia looked back.
No lies.
No threats.
No manipulation.
Just honesty.
When she reached me, Emma stepped forward carrying the rings.
She nearly tripped.
Everyone laughed.
She recovered and gave me the ring.
“Mister.”
I smiled.
“Not mister anymore.”
She frowned.
“Daddy?”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
She handed it to me.
“Daddy.”
I kissed her forehead.
Then I turned toward Sophia.
“I spent most of my life believing people had to fear me before they could respect me.”
I put the ring on her finger.
“You taught me something different.”
She looked emotional.
“I love you.”
She whispered, “I love you too.”
When we kissed, Emma covered her eyes.
Then she peeked through her fingers.
The guests laughed.
After the ceremony, we danced.
My mother danced with Luciano.
Something I never imagined seeing.
Marco stood near the cake.
He refused to dance.
Until Emma dragged him onto the floor.
Even he couldn't refuse her.
For one evening, we were just people.
Not Morettis.
Not criminals.
Not witnesses.
Not survivors.
Just family.
Later that night, after everyone left, Sophia and I sat beneath the stars.
“How does it feel?”
“What?”
“To finally have the wedding you were supposed to have.”
I smiled.
“It feels real.”
She rested her head on my shoulder.
“I never wanted your empire.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you.”
“I know.”
“Even when I thought you were impossible.”
I laughed.
“You still think I'm impossible.”
“Sometimes.”
We sat quietly.
Then Emma came running outside.
“Daddy!”
“What happened?”
“I found something.”
She handed me a small box.
It belonged to my father.
Inside was a photograph.
My father holding me as a baby.
Beside him stood Matteo.
And behind them was Richard.
But there was another person.
Sophia.
Years younger.
Impossible.
She stared at it.
“I've never seen that.”
Neither had I.
Behind the photograph was a note.
We were all children once.
The choices made before you were born do not have to define the choices you make today.
I closed my eyes.
That was my father's final message.
Not money.
Not power.
Freedom.
I put the photograph away.
Then Emma climbed into my lap.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Can we have pancakes tomorrow?”
I laughed.
“That's your big question?”
She nodded seriously.
“Yes.”
Sophia smiled.
“Definitely.”
Emma hugged us both.
And for the first time, I knew the past couldn't reach us anymore.
Or so I thought.
Because the next morning, someone left an envelope on our doorstep.
Inside was a single newspaper clipping.
A headline from twenty years ago.
LUCIANO MORETTI DECLARED DEAD.
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Under it, someone had written:
He wasn't the only one who survived.
