Chapter 11 - THE WEDDING WITHOUT GUNSLuca wanted a small wedding.
He invited one hundred and eighty people.
“That is not small.”
“It is for my family.”
“You have one brother.”
“Marco counts as twenty.”
Marco, standing behind us, nodded.
“Accurate.”
We married beside Lake Michigan.
No black SUVs blocking roads.
No armed men pretending not to be armed.
Actually, Marco was armed.
I chose not to ask.
Matteo walked me down the aisle.
Before the doors opened, he looked at me.
“Your mother would be proud.”
I cried immediately.
“You can't say that before photographs.”
“Sorry.”
“You're not.”
“No.”
The music began.
Then I saw Luca.
He stood beneath white flowers.
His expression changed when he saw me.
The feared Luca Vescari forgot how to breathe.
That was worth every terrible day.
I walked toward him.
Halfway down the aisle, Nietzsche escaped from Rosa.
The cat ran directly toward Luca.
Everyone gasped.
Luca lifted him.
Nietzsche did not bite him.
A miracle.
The photographer captured it.
Our wedding photograph became famous for reasons neither of us understood.
Former Mafia Boss Marries Waitress Who Exposed International Crime Ring.
I hated the headline.
“I have a name,” I complained.
Luca kissed my temple.
“I know.”
The wedding was imperfect.
The cake leaned.
Marco got drunk.
Matteo danced badly.
Rosa cried.
Anika attended with her newborn daughter.
I held the baby.
Luca watched me.
“No.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
He smiled.
Years earlier, that smile would have frightened half the city.
Now it made my heart race for completely different reasons.
“Maybe someday,” I whispered.
His expression softened.
“Whenever you're ready.”
That was Luca now.
Not a man who took.
A man who waited.
At midnight, we walked to the lake.
My wedding dress dragged across the grass.
“I have something,” Luca said.
He handed me a small box.
Inside was my mother's necklace.
The one recovered from the fire.
Restored.
I stopped breathing.
“How?”
“Matteo found the jeweler.”
I touched the silver chain.
Luca fastened it around my neck.
“She saved you,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And you saved me.”
I turned.
“We saved each other.”
He considered that.
“Fair.”
I kissed him.
Behind us, fireworks began.
I jumped.
Luca laughed.
“You survived snipers.”
“I hate unexpected noises.”
He wrapped his arms around me.
I looked at the water.
For years, I thought survival meant running before anyone could find me.
I had been wrong.
Sometimes survival meant standing still.
Speaking.
May you like
Being heard.
And sometimes it meant spilling a bottle of expensive wine on exactly the right liar.
