Page 83 of Shattered Engagement

At the altar, Papa gently lifts my hand and places it in his. Their eyes meet, and a silent nod of understanding passes between them.

The officiant begins, but my eyes and ears are glazed over with love.

“Miss De Angelis, your vows, please?

I take a deep breath and look into the eyes of the only man I ever want to be with.

"You came into my life like a storm I didn’t know I’d been waiting for. I wasn’t prepared to love a man forged in shadows, a man who wore silence like armor and carried pain beneath every command. But I saw you. Not the enforcer. Not the legend. Just the boy raised in love and hardship. And I fell for him—completely, irreversibly.

You didn’t promise me safety. You gave me truth. And in a world that bent me into what it needed, you were the one who let me unfold into who I truly am.

Today, I don’t vow to complete you—because you are already whole. I vow to stand beside you, to rule with you, to soften your edges without dulling your blade. I will be your peace when the world forgets what mercy looks like.

You are not my fairytale. You are my revolution. And I will love you—fiercely, freely, for all the days we’re given, and even the ones we’re not."

He lifts my hand, kisses my knuckles, and begins to say his own vow.

"I never believed in redemption. Not for men like me. I was born into violence, raised by ghosts, and taught to take before anything could be given.

But then you walked into my life—sharp-witted, stubborn, beautiful. You didn’t just challenge me. You refused to be owned, and in doing so, you made me want to be worthy of you.

You saw the man behind the bloodstained name. Not because you were naïve, but because you were brave enough to believe I could be more.

I vow to protect what we build, not with fear, but with honor. To never silence your voice, to never dim your fire, and to always remember that you are not beside me because I chose you—but because you chose me, when you didn’t have to.

You are my home, my war, and my peace. And for as long as I breathe, I will spend every day deserving the crown you place in my hands today."

We’re pronounced husband and wife.

He leans in, kisses me like we’re sealing a pact that’s bigger than either of us. And maybe we are.

When we turn to face the small circle of people who’ve stood by us through every storm, I grip his hand and whisper to myself:

“This garden once held my childhood dreams. But today, it holds my future.”

The breeze smells like salt and sun-warmed stone as we step into the villa, high above the sea. Everything here is quiet. Untouched.

No security detail. No ringing phones. No distant hum of engines or footsteps shadowing our lives. Just the sea below us, stretching into forever.

I breathe it in. This stillness. This luxury that isn't bought but earned through survival.

Stefano watches me with a private sort of satisfaction as I take it all in. The stone walls are kissed with ivy, the furniture aged with love, not wear. The villa curves around itself like it was built to hide lovers from the world.

When I turn to him, he simply says, "It’s just us here."

That evening, we eat on a candlelit terrace that looks out over the water. The sun melts into the horizon in streaks of gold and rose. We don’t say much. We don’t need to. His hand stays on mine the whole time, thumb brushing gently over my knuckles, like a vow he keeps repeating in silence.

Later, when he carries me inside, there’s no urgency in him. Just reverence. His touch is slow, his kisses reverent. The weight of everything we’ve endured makes the moment feel holy.

“There’s no power play here,” he whispers, his lips brushing my collarbone. “No legacy. Just us.”

“And that’s everything,” I whisper back, cupping his face like it’s the only thing I want to hold onto for the rest of my life.

In his arms, nothing hurts. Nothing haunts. Only the man and the woman who chose each other, above all else.

The morning light is soft when I wake. A breeze drifts in through the open windows, carrying the rhythm of waves and the scent of salt. I stay still, wrapped in his arms, listening to the beat of his heart beneath my cheek.

He’s still sleeping, his brow relaxed, his breath steady. No one else gets to see him like this. Not even Vittorio.

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