Page 163 of Scorned Obsession

“And the frittata?”

My eyes crinkled at the corners. “That can be a snack. I have a feeling our family is going to stay up past midnight catching up.”

“Or play Monopoly.”

“You have cookies in the freezer?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’re set,” I told her. My heart was getting overwhelmed. My daughter was safe. And I finally trusted Sandro to look after her. I was devoting my time tomyobsession.

Ava De Lucci.

My wife.

Epilogue

One yearlater

Bianca

“You look beautiful,carina.”

I turned to face my dad. The first man I loved with all my heart. He stood at the entrance of the parlor room of my childhood home, the row house on Tenth Street. Handsome in a tuxedo, he held my attention with his eyes. They were glassy with emotion—of pride and the bittersweetness accompanying a day in which he was symbolically letting me go.

He stepped into the room. “The day I held you in my arms for the first time, the way you stole my heart was different from what I had experienced with the boys. With them, I couldn’t wait to teach them to be strong and fiercely protective of family. I didn’t fear the day they would marry because I knew Ava and I would teach them how to be good husbands and how to cherish their wives.”

“Oh, Dad.” I started crying.

“The second I held you in my arms, there was so much love and joy, but also fear. I dreaded this very day. I had convinced myself no man was good enough for my Bianca. No man could treat you better than me, love you better than I ever would.” Dad was in front of me now. And his tears finally escaped his eyes.

“And now?” My voice hitched. It was a rhetorical question. Ever since Sandro rescued me from drowning, it was like a switch had been flicked. An understanding had been forged between them, born from a mutual goal of protecting me.

“You couldn’t have picked a better man.”

I gave a brief laugh through my tears. “I did pick him, didn’t I?” I couldn’t believe my prophecy had come true. That I was marrying Sandro in the wedding of my dreams. No expense was spared. He and Dad argued about who was paying. Dad won. We were marrying in the same cathedral where all the De Luccis said their vows, and were having a wedding reception of eight hundred guests.

Dad reached into his pocket, and when he opened his palm, antique earrings were nestled in it. They belonged toNonna, Dad’s mom, who I’d never met because she died before I was born. “Ma would have wanted you to have these.” He started fixing one in my ear. He cleared his throat. “It was meant to go to the daughter of her oldest son.” After clasping on the second one, he stood back. “You really are a gorgeous bride.” He compressed his lips together briefly, as if not knowing what to say next. Or maybe he was trying not to make me cry too much so I wouldn’t have puffy eyes for the wedding.

“Thanks, Dad,” I croaked. The features of his face became blurry. “Our bond will always be there.” Dammit, I made myself ugly cry.

Dad cupped my face and pressed a kiss to my forehead. He inhaled a ragged breath, trying to suppress a sob.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” a voice said beside us.

Throughout our father-and-daughter moment, we forgot the photographer was in the room. He was a friend of the family and knew how to be discreet.

I swiped at my eyes. I might have ruined my makeup.

“Cesar, I told you not to make Bianca cry,” Mom admonished, coming back into the room with an entourage of McGraths and De Luccis. Despite how Sandro and Dad got along, Dad was still having the hardest time with the wedding, so they gave us the privacy without the videographer. I was sure Dad would say part of what he said to me during the father-of-the-bride toast.

“Nothing I can’t fix.” My aunt Kelly moved in front of me. I realized how this wedding had come full circle. Kelly was half McGrath and half Rossi and this wedding reunited not only two, but three families. And as Kelly repaired my makeup, I thought back to how the past year had been a year of healing. It started with many funerals and continued with Sandro’s hard work, stepping up as the boss of the Rossi crime family.

Dom recommended a new manager for Club Aristos. The Rossi mansion had sold. There was a bidding war, and the buyer paid fifteen percent more than its original asking price. More soldiers had joined the family and more legitimate businesses had replaced the revenue streams from the toxic assets. But we were a crime family, after all, so the illegal was still there. My eyes fell on my bouquet sitting on the side table. A bouquet made mostly of sunflowers, but their varied faces made me smile. In the mix were the regular bright yellows, while some were streaked darker with black tips. Sandro knew what they meant to me. To live with my husband in the shadows and understand him, I had to be a little dark, a little gritty. I would forever be the sunlight he needed so we could support each other and thrive.

Sandro and I bought a Victorian-era revival residence in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park South. Too small to be called amansion, yet too big to be called a house. We found the property eight months ago and, being that it was in a historic district, we had to abide by regulations when making upgrades and renovations. It was all worth it. We’d been living there for three months now.

I was still Bianca, just a little tougher. Who was I kidding? I’d become a little gangsta.

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