When their dance ends, it's my turn with Mama, who cries through every second while telling me how happy she is and how perfect Liana is for me.
After the traditional dances conclude, the floor opens to everyone, and the real celebration begins.I make my way back to Liana, who's been swept into conversation with some of her mother's friends, all of them gushing about the ceremony and the dress and how beautiful everything is.
Bruno appears at my elbow with two glasses of champagne, handing me one with a knowing smile. "You keep staring at her like you still can't believe she's real."
"I can't," I admit, taking the champagne but not drinking it, too focused on watching my wife laugh at something one of the older women is saying.
"How does it feel?" Bruno asks. "Being married? Being someone's husband? Having a wife who's your actual equal instead of just someone who plays the part?"
"Great," I say, finally looking at my oldest friend. "Perfect in ways I didn't know how to want until I had it. It feels like I've been playing at being alive all these years and I'm only just now actually living."
"You did it, Boss," Bruno says with obvious pride and affection. "You actually did it. You figured out how to court a woman instead of negotiating for one. I'm proud of you, you know. Genuinely proud."
"Thanks, Bruno," I manage. "That means a lot coming from you. You've been telling me to pull my head out of my ass for years, so I guess I finally listened."
"Don't screw it up now," he warns, but there's warmth in his voice. "You've got something special here. Something rare. Hold onto it."
"I will," I promise. "I'm never letting her go."
Bruno claps me on the shoulder once more before melting back into the crowd. I find Liana almost immediately—she's finished with her mother's friends and is now talking with Gia near the edge of the dance floor. When she sees me approaching, her whole face lights up, and she excuses herself to meet me halfway.
"Dance with me again?" I ask, even though I don't need to.
"Always," she says, taking my hand.
We dance for hours after that, through dinner service and multiple toasts, moving together to slow songs and fast songs and everything in between, taking breaks only when protocol demands we dance with other family members or thank important guests for attending.
I dance with Mama again while she cries through every second of our song, telling me over and over that she's so happy and she can't wait to have grandchildren even though that's probably several years away if I have any say in the timing.
I dance with Gia, who warns me that if I ever hurt Liana the way I did during the kidnapping incident, she will personally make my life a living hell in ways I cannot even imagine. I believe her completely and promise to never give her reason to make good on that threat. Then she smiles and welcomes me to the family.
Between dances and conversations and social obligations, I keep finding my way back to Liana, pulled to her like gravity, unable to stay away for more than a few minutes before I need to touch her or see her smile or just exist in her space.
The toasts begin after dinner, a tradition I've been both anticipating and dreading because I know my friends aregoing to use this opportunity to simultaneously celebrate and humiliate me.
Bruno goes first, standing with his glass raised and that mischievous glint in his eye that means he's about to say something both touching and embarrassing. "I've known Santino since we were kids running around the neighborhood getting into trouble our parents didn't want to know about," he begins. "And I've never seen him like this. Happy. Genuinely happy in a way that doesn't come from achieving a goal or closing a deal or winning some kind of strategic victory. This is different." He looks at Liana with genuine fondness. "You did that. You shook him up and made him question everything and forced him to actually become a real person instead of just a walking contract negotiation. Thank you for that, and congratulations to both of you."
Dominic stands next, commanding attention just by virtue of being who he is—one of the most powerful Dons in the city, a man whose opinion carries weight and whose blessing means everything. "When I first arranged this marriage between my daughter and Santino," he says, his voice carrying clearly through the ballroom, "I thought I was doing what was best for Liana. I thought I was protecting her and securing her future in the only way I knew how. I was wrong about that. What was best for my daughter was letting her choose for herself, letting her find her own path and her own partner." He looks directly at me with an intensity that makes me stand straighter. "Take care of her, Santino. Not because I'm ordering you to or because tradition demands it or because contracts require it. But because you love her."
"I will," I promise, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "Every day for the rest of my life."
"I know you will," Dominic says with a small nod of approval. "I see it in how you look at her. How you listen when she talks. That's all a father can hope for—that his daughter finds someone who sees her value and honors it." He raises his glass higher. "To my daughter and her husband. May you be as happy as you deserve to be, and may that happiness grow with every year you spend together."
The cheering response thunders through the ballroom.
More toasts follow—from my father Vincent, speaking about legacy; from Liana's mother, crying through beautiful words about watching her daughter grow from a determined child into an even more determined woman; from Gia, keeping her remarks short but meaningful about sibling bonds and finding love where you least expect it.
Then comes the cake cutting ceremony, a massive five-tiered creation covered in delicate sugar flowers. Liana and I stand together before it, hands joined on the knife as the photographer captures every angle of this traditional moment.
"Don't you dare smash cake in my face," Liana warns me in an undertone that only I can hear, her grip on my hand tightening threateningly. "I mean it, Santino. I will absolutely kill you in front of all these witnesses if you do."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I assure her with complete sincerity, because I genuinely have no interest in starting our marriage by disrespecting her in front of everyone we know. "I like my face exactly as it is, not covered in frosting because my wife murdered me for ruining her makeup."
We cut the first slice together with careful coordination, then feed each other small bites of cake with tenderness. The cake is delicious—layers of vanilla and raspberry with cream filling that melts on the tongue.
More dancing follows, the celebration showing no signs of slowing down even as the evening wears into night. The band transitions from romantic ballads to upbeat songs that get everyone on the dance floor, young and old mixing together in the kind of multi-generational celebration that only happens at weddings.
I lose track of time somewhere between the third and fourth hour of the reception, caught up in the joy and music and constant stream of people wanting to congratulate us or share stories or take photos. But through it all, I keep finding my way back to Liana, dancing with her or standing beside her or simply holding her hand while we talk to guests.
