Married to the wrong Caruso

Welcome to the wonderfully chaotic world of the Caruso and Romano families!

Happy reading! Enjoy the story, have fun, and I hope you find a favorite character to love! ❤️

Sofia Romano’s POV

On the morning of my wedding, my mother checked my veil three times, my younger sister threatened the hairstylist twice, and my older brother announced that if Lorenzo Caruso was even five minutes late, he would personally go and get him.

Meanwhile, I was trying to drink a cup of coffee.

Without much success.

“Isabella, if you touch my hair one more time, I’m cutting yours off,” I warned my sister.

“One strand is out of place.”

“It was perfect a minute ago.”

“Then you ruined it when you moved.”

“Sorry for breathing.”

Isabella stepped back with an offended expression, although the smile spreading across her face made it clear she wasn’t offended at all.

She was nineteen, beautiful, stubborn, and firmly believed that most of the world’s problems could be solved with the right outfit or a perfectly timed insult.

Sometimes she was right.

Unfortunately, neither was going to help me that morning.

I was sitting in front of the mirror in the upstairs suite of my parents’ Manhattan home. The hairstylist had finished, the makeup artist had packed away her things, and everyone in the room was behaving as though we were preparing for the most important social event of the century.

In some ways, we were.

The Romano and Caruso families had been at war for twenty years.

Not the kind of war newspapers reported in detail. There had been no official declarations, no uniforms, and no front lines marked on maps.

There had, however, been missing shipments, burned warehouses, attacked men, and funerals where family members no longer bothered asking who would be next.

The conflict had begun long before I was born.

Everyone had a different explanation for what started it.

According to my father, the Carusos had broken an agreement.

According to the Carusos, the Romanos had done exactly the same thing.

One of my uncles once told me the whole thing started over a deal at the docks. Matteo insisted that was merely one of the consequences, not the original cause.

But everyone agreed on one thing.

Both families had lost people over the past two decades.

And now I was preparing to marry Lorenzo Caruso, the son of one of my father’s most dangerous enemies.

I wouldn’t have called it a romantic love story, but in our world, marriage wasn’t always about love.

Sometimes it was about business.

Sometimes alliances.

Mine was about both.

“Sofia.”

I looked up at the sound of my mother’s voice.

Elena Romano stood behind me, reflected in the mirror. Her dark brown hair was arranged in a flawless updo, and she wore pearl earrings with her deep green dress. At forty-nine, she still moved with an elegance Isabella and I had spent our entire lives trying to imitate, with varying degrees of success.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

My mother studied me.

“I’d like the truth.”

I set down my coffee cup.

“I’m not in love with Lorenzo, Mom. But you already know that.”

“I do.”

“He can be kind. Sometimes he’s entertaining. And when he actually takes things seriously, he’s a reasonably intelligent man.”

Isabella snorted.

“So, twice a year.”

“Isabella,” my mother warned.

“What? Sofia said you wanted the truth.”

I smiled.

Lorenzo Caruso was twenty-seven years old. Handsome, wealthy, educated, and perfectly aware of the effect he had on women.

During our first official dinner, he’d spent twenty minutes talking about his new sports car.

At our second dinner, he’d asked what kind of music I liked.

I considered that progress.

I wasn’t naive. I knew Lorenzo enjoyed having a good time, and I knew there had been plenty of women in his past. But he’d told me he was ready for marriage, and I’d believed him.

Not because I was in love with him, but because I thought a twenty-seven-year-old man might be capable of taking responsibility for the promises he made.

“Your father would never have forced you into this,” my mother said quietly.

Our eyes met in the mirror.

“I know.”

And it was true.

My father had first approached me about the possibility of marriage when serious peace negotiations began between the two families.

He explained what the alliance would mean. What we stood to gain. And what we could lose if it failed.

He never claimed Lorenzo would be the love of my life.

And I never asked him to make that promise.

I was twenty-three when I agreed to the engagement. Almost a year had passed since then.

I’d had plenty of time to change my mind.

I hadn’t.

“If you backed out today, your father would stand by you,” my mother continued.

“I know, Mom.”

“So would I.”

I took her hand.

“But I’m not going to.”

She watched me for a moment before nodding.

“Then it’s time to put on your dress.”

Isabella clapped her hands.

“Finally! I was beginning to think you were getting married in that robe.”

“It would be much more comfortable.”

“And terribly embarrassing for the family.”

“Our family could survive a bathrobe.”

“The Carusos certainly couldn’t.”

I laughed as I stood.

At the time, I had no idea how right she would turn out to be.

My wedding dress had been made in Milan.

Ivory silk, delicate lace, long sleeves, and tiny pearls adorned the gown. The skirt flowed softly to the floor, while the train was just long enough to look ceremonial without requiring three people to carry it behind me.

Isabella, naturally, disagreed.

“The train should’ve been at least six feet longer.”

“So I could strangle the guests with it?”

“No. So everyone could see how rich we are.”

“I think the cathedral, the flowers, and the three hundred invited guests have already made that clear.”

My mother laughed as she adjusted my veil.

The wedding was taking place at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan.

That hadn’t been a random choice.

Both families had insisted on a large, public ceremony. The marriage needed to take place not only in front of our relatives but also before the people who had spent the past twenty years trying to profit from the Romano–Caruso conflict.

The guest list included businessmen, attorneys, political connections, longtime family allies, and people whose names rarely appeared in the press.

After the ceremony, we had planned a reception in a luxury downtown hotel, where an entire ballroom had been reserved for the occasion.

Security for the event was being handled separately by men from both families.

Which, in itself, said quite a lot about the nature of my marriage.

At eleven twenty, Matteo knocked on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Depends,” Isabella replied. “Did you bring anything?”

“An envelope.”

“Is there money in it?”

“Not for you.”

“Then I’m not interested.”

Matteo walked in.

He was twenty-nine, tall, dark-haired, and, like our father, rarely showed when something worried him.

Today, however, he looked unmistakably nervous.

“You look beautiful,” he said when he saw me.

“Thank you.”

He kissed my forehead and handed me a small white envelope.

“From Dad.”

I opened it.

Inside was a short handwritten note.

Whatever happens today, you will always be my daughter. No agreement will ever change that.

Dad.

For several seconds, I simply stared at the words.

My father wasn’t a sentimental man.

At fifty-two, Alessandro Romano was the kind of man whose presence made most people instinctively straighten their backs.

But at home, he was the man who had taught me to ride a bicycle.

He was also the man who had once gone out at two in the morning to buy ice cream because Isabella had tearfully announced that only pistachio could make her feel better.

She’d been six.

My father had never forgotten it.

I folded the note.

“Where is he?”

“Waiting downstairs.”

“Is he nervous?”

The corner of Matteo’s mouth twitched.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Sofia, Dad wouldn’t admit he was nervous even if the house were on fire.”

“But is he?”

My brother nodded.

“A little.”

That meant considerably more than he probably realized.

We left at eleven forty-five.

Photographers were already waiting outside the cathedral. Security personnel had established barriers and were making sure invited guests could enter without being disturbed.

I sat beside my father in the back of the car.

Alessandro Romano wore a black suit with silver cufflinks. The family signet ring rested on his left hand.

He was silent for a while before speaking.

“Have you talked to Lorenzo this morning?”

“No.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

I looked at him.

“That he was looking forward to the wedding.”

My father turned toward the window.

“I see.”

“Dad.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

A faint smile appeared on his face.

“Your mother says the same thing.”

“Because it’s true.”

He took my hand.

“Sofia, I want you to know I’m proud of you.”

That surprised me.

“I’m not even married yet.”

“That’s not why.”

His voice grew more serious.

“I’m proud because this was your decision.”

I squeezed his hand.

“Then let’s hope Lorenzo feels the same way.”

My father didn’t answer.

Only later did I realize there might already have been something he wasn’t telling me.

The square outside the cathedral was crowded.

Black cars arrived one after another, security personnel discreetly directed traffic, and photographers raised their cameras every time a door opened.

Our car stopped beside a side entrance.

Matteo was already waiting.

I noticed something strange about his expression.

He wasn’t smiling.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Matteo.”

“A small organizational problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Lorenzo’s running late.”

I glanced at my watch.

It was five minutes to noon.

The ceremony was supposed to begin at twelve.

“How late?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Traffic?”

“Probably.”

I didn’t believe him.

Not because Matteo was a bad liar, but because I knew him too well.

When something genuinely insignificant happened, he simply told me.

When there was trouble, his first instinct was always to try to fix it.

“Has anyone called him?”

“We’re working on it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

My brother glanced toward the cathedral doors.

“Sofia, please go inside. Dad’s handling it.”

I didn’t move.

“Where is Lorenzo?”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

“We don’t know exactly.”

Something unpleasant clenched inside my chest.

It wasn’t fear.

It was more like that awful feeling you get when you realize everyone knows something except you.

“Matteo.”

“Yes?”

“Look at me.”

He did.

“If something happened, tell me now.”

My brother remained silent for a moment.

“The Carusos say Lorenzo left his apartment this morning.”

“When?”

“A little after nine.”

“And since then?”

“He hasn’t answered his phone.”

The cathedral bells began to ring.

It was noon.

My wedding was supposed to begin.

And my groom had disappeared.

I spent the next twenty minutes in a small room off the side corridor.

A member of the cathedral staff brought water. My mother sat beside me. Isabella paced back and forth, occasionally making remarks about Lorenzo that, under normal circumstances, would have earned her a stern warning from our mother.

Today, Mom said nothing.

Quiet conversations drifted in from the hallway.

Men’s voices.

My father’s.

Matteo’s.

And a third, deeper voice I recognized immediately.

Vittorio Caruso.

I had met Lorenzo countless times during our engagement.

His father considerably fewer.

Vittorio Caruso was forty-eight years old and widely regarded as one of the most influential men in New York.

The Caruso family’s legitimate businesses included real estate development, shipping, hospitality, and private investments.

Nobody discussed their other business interests in public.

Vittorio was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair graying at the temples. He wore a neatly trimmed beard and had a way of listening so calmly that whoever was speaking usually started correcting themselves.

I couldn’t remember ever hearing him raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

When we’d first met, he’d kissed my hand, asked how I was, and then spent half an hour discussing port interests with my father.

He was polite, reserved, and exactly the sort of man nobody wanted to get into an argument with.

Now his voice carried through the door.

“I’m going to ask one last time. Where is my son?”

Someone answered, but I couldn’t make out the words.

Vittorio then spoke so quietly that I couldn’t hear anything.

And then there was silence.

Isabella stopped pacing.

“That sounds bad.”

“You didn’t hear anything,” my mother pointed out.

“Exactly. That’s why it’s bad.”

I stood.

“I’m going out there.”

My mother stepped in front of me.

“Sofia, wait a little longer.”

“For what?”

She couldn’t answer.

“Mom, I’ve been sitting here in a wedding dress for twenty minutes. My groom isn’t here, and the men in our family are whispering secrets in the hallway. I think I have a right to know what’s happening.”

My mother looked at me.

Then she stepped aside.

My father, Matteo, Vittorio Caruso, and Gabriel Caruso were standing in the corridor.

Gabriel was Vittorio’s younger brother. At forty-five, he was considerably more approachable than Vittorio, although there was nothing particularly friendly about his expression now.

When I stepped outside, all four men turned toward me.

That alone told me enough.

Something serious had happened.

“Where is Lorenzo?” I asked.

My father approached.

“Sofia…”

“Please don’t start like that.”

He stopped.

I looked at Vittorio.

“Don Caruso?”

His gaze met mine.

The lines beneath his dark eyes seemed deeper than the last time I’d seen him.

“Signorina Romano.”

“Do you know where your son is?”

He was silent for several seconds.

“Yes.”

My stomach tightened.

“Was he in an accident?”

“No.”

“Is he sick?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Vittorio’s jaw clenched.

“Lorenzo has left the city.”

I didn’t understand.

“Excuse me?”

Gabriel lowered his eyes.

My father moved beside me, but I raised a hand.

“Where did he go?”

Vittorio didn’t look away.

“To the airport.”

“Why?”

It sounded like a stupid question.

I had to ask it anyway.

Something appeared on Vittorio’s face that I’d never seen before.

Shame.

Not for anything he’d done himself.

For his son.

“He’s traveling with Camilla De Luca,” he said.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Camilla De Luca.

I knew the name.

Of course I knew the name.

She was Lorenzo’s old girlfriend.

Or at least that was how he’d introduced her to me at a social event.

I remembered her blonde hair, her perfect smile, and the way she’d touched Lorenzo’s arm when she thought no one was watching.

I’d asked him afterward whether there had ever been anything between them.

He’d said there had been, a long time ago.

And that it was over.

I slowly exhaled.

“He left with his mistress?”

Vittorio’s expression hardened.

“Yes.”

“On our wedding day?”

“Yes.”

“When did their plane leave?”

Gabriel answered.

“Eleven ten.”

The corridor suddenly seemed far too quiet.

Eleven ten.

While I was still adjusting my veil.

While my mother was asking whether I was certain about my decision.

While Matteo was handing me my father’s letter.

Lorenzo Caruso had already been on his way with his mistress.

“Where were they flying?” I asked.

“Saint Barthélemy,” Gabriel replied.

Isabella’s voice came from behind me.

“Of course. Because an ordinary motel would’ve been far too modest for the bastard.”

Nobody reprimanded her.

And then, unexpectedly, I started laughing.

Not loudly.

Just one short, disbelieving laugh escaped me.

Saint Barthélemy.

Lorenzo had chosen a luxury Caribbean vacation over our marriage.

He hadn’t even bothered to tell me in person.

“Sofia,” my father said.

I looked at him.

“Did you know?”

“No.”

“Did you suspect?”

His face darkened.

“If I’d suspected, he wouldn’t have made it to the airport today.”

I believed him.

Matteo took out his phone.

“We already know which private jet they took. My men—”

“No,” I interrupted.

He looked at me in surprise.

“Sofia…”

“You’re not going after him.”

“He humiliated you.”

“I know. I was there.”

“This can’t go without consequences.”

“It won’t.”

Vittorio turned toward me.

His voice was deep and calm.

“She’s right about that.”

I looked at him.

“Which part?”

“That my son’s actions cannot go without consequences.”

I said nothing.

Vittorio turned to my father.

“Alessandro, we need to talk.”

My father’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I think there’s nothing left to discuss.”

“There is.”

“Your son broke our agreement.”

“I know.”

“There are three hundred people sitting inside that cathedral. Half the city will know what happened before my daughter even leaves this building.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Then you know exactly what kind of position you’ve put us in.”

Vittorio’s expression didn’t change.

“My son put us in this position.”

My father gave a bitter smile.

“Is there a difference?”

“To me, yes.”

The two men stood facing each other.

Two Dons.

Two heads of powerful families.

Twenty years of hostility.

And me between them, wearing a wedding dress that had taken four months to make.

Suddenly, I’d had enough.

“Stop.”

Both men looked at me.

“You are not starting another war because of me.”

My father stepped closer.

“Sofia, this isn’t just about you anymore.”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

My voice came out sharper than I’d intended.

“I’ve known my entire life what this marriage meant. I knew what kind of family I was born into. I accepted the consequences of my decision. But right now, the very least I’d like is for you to stop talking about me as if I’m not standing right here.”

My father’s expression softened.

“Sweetheart…”

“I’m not a little girl.”

Vittorio watched me without moving.

Then he spoke.

“Sofia is right.”

I turned toward him in surprise.

It was the first time he’d simply called me Sofia.

“Your daughter is not responsible for Lorenzo’s decision,” he told my father. “And I will not allow her to bear all the consequences of it.”

My father regarded him coolly.

“What solution are you proposing?”

Vittorio didn’t answer immediately.

Gabriel glanced at him.

Something shifted between the brothers.

I couldn’t have said exactly what, but judging by Gabriel’s expression, he suddenly disliked whatever his older brother was thinking.

“Vittorio,” Gabriel said quietly.

The Don raised one hand.

Gabriel fell silent.

Vittorio turned back toward my father.

“The Romano–Caruso alliance does not have to end.”

My father laughed bitterly.

“The groom ran away, Vittorio. It’s going to be difficult to hold a wedding without him.”

“Not necessarily.”

Matteo slowly lifted his head.

“What are you suggesting?”

Vittorio remained silent for a moment.

Then he said it.

“The marriage can still take place.”

The corridor fell completely silent.

My father stared at him in confusion.

“Lorenzo isn’t here.”

“I know.”

“Then who exactly do you intend my daughter to marry?”

Vittorio turned his gaze toward me.

And in that instant, before he even spoke, I understood.

My heart gave one enormous thud.

“Me,” he said.

I don’t know how long we stood there without moving.

Maybe three seconds.

Maybe ten.

Then Gabriel Caruso spoke quietly but perfectly clearly.

“Vittorio, could we speak privately?”

“Later.”

“I really think now would be better.”

“Gabriel.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.”

Matteo stepped forward.

“Are you seriously suggesting that my sister marry you?”

Vittorio looked at him.

“Yes.”

“You’re forty-eight years old.”

“I’m aware of that, Matteo.”

“She’s twenty-four!”

“I’m aware of that as well.”

Behind me, Isabella gasped.

“Holy Mother of God.”

Then, quite unexpectedly, my mother spoke.

“Everybody, be quiet.”

They fell silent.

Even my father.

Elena Romano rarely raised her voice.

But when she did, there was usually a very good reason.

My mother approached me.

“Sofia?”

I looked at her.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to sit down?”

I considered it.

“I think I would.”

Isabella immediately pulled a chair over.

I sat, my wedding gown spreading around me.

Then I looked up at Vittorio Caruso.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“About marrying me?”

Gabriel cleared his throat.

“Technically, it’s the other way around.”

I looked at him.

“Gabriel.”

“My apologies.”

Vittorio didn’t smile.

“Sofia, I understand this is unexpected.”

“That’s a remarkably understated way of putting it.”

“You’re right.”

He took a few steps closer.

Not too close.

Just close enough that I no longer had to raise my voice to speak to him.

“My son has insulted you. He has insulted your family and endangered an agreement Alessandro and I have spent months negotiating.”

“And you intend to fix that with another wedding?”

“Yes.”

“To you.”

“Yes.”

I studied his face for a moment.

There was no confusion.

No desperation.

This man had either genuinely thought through what he was proposing, or he’d made his decision so quickly that nobody else could keep up.

“And when exactly does someone intend to ask me?” I asked quietly.

Vittorio never took his eyes off me.

“Now.”

The answer was so simple that it caught me off guard.

“What?”

“I’m asking you now, Sofia.”

His voice remained calm.

“Will you marry me?”

Nobody spoke.

My father stood beside us.

Matteo watched with his fists clenched.

Gabriel was looking at his brother as though he’d just stepped in front of a speeding train.

But all I could see was Vittorio.

The man who was Lorenzo’s father.

The man half of New York feared.

The man who had spent much of the last twenty years fighting my father.

And who was now asking me to marry him.

“What happens if I say no?” I asked.

“Then you say no.”

“And the alliance?”

“Alessandro and I will try to find another solution.”

“And if you can’t?”

Vittorio was silent for several seconds.

“Then we deal with the consequences.”

His answer surprised me.

“You’re not going to try to convince me?”

“I’ve told you what I’m offering.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No.”

He slowly straightened.

“But if you’re the one who has to live with the consequences of this decision, then you have the right to make it.”

Something shifted inside me.

It wasn’t love.

Not even attraction.

More like an unexpected realization.

During the past year, Lorenzo Caruso had spent countless hours talking about what he wanted.

What kind of house.

What kind of car.

What kind of life.

And now Vittorio Caruso had simply asked me what I wanted.

I stood.

My heart was beating fast.

“Could I speak with you privately?”

Vittorio nodded immediately.

“Of course.”

Matteo opened his mouth to protest, but my father stopped him.

“Let her.”

The heads of the two families exchanged a look.

Then my father turned toward me.

“Sofia, whatever you decide, we’ll stand by you.”

I nodded and followed Vittorio Caruso into the adjoining room.

A crucifix hung on one wall of the small room, and the midday sunlight streamed through the window.

Vittorio closed the door.

He didn’t lock it.

Then he turned around.

“I’m listening.”

For several seconds, I simply looked at him.

“Is there someone in your life?”

The question visibly surprised him.

He hadn’t expected it.

“I don’t have a wife.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Vittorio slowly nodded.

“I understand.”

“Is there a woman in your life who would be unpleasantly surprised if you married me?”

The corner of his mouth moved almost imperceptibly.

“I’ve had relationships over the years.”

“Currently?”

“I’m not involved in any relationship that carries a promise of marriage.”

“That sounded like an attorney’s answer.”

“Our family has very good attorneys.”

I smiled despite myself.

Vittorio’s expression softened for a moment.

Then I continued.

“And Lorenzo?”

The faint smile disappeared.

“What about him?”

“What happens when he comes home?”

Vittorio’s gaze hardened.

“My son will have to answer for his decisions.”

“I mean if I become your wife.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Then you will be my wife,” he finally said.

“You won’t tell me this is only temporary?”

“No.”

“That we’ll have the marriage annulled later?”

“That is not my intention.”

“That Lorenzo can have me back?”

Vittorio’s expression changed completely.

He didn’t raise his voice, but when he spoke, his answer was so firm that the air itself seemed to stand still.

“Sofia, you are not an object my son can ask to have returned.”

I looked at him for a long moment.

Then I slowly nodded.

“All right.”

Vittorio frowned.

“All right?”

“I have a few more conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“I don’t want you interfering with when I visit my family.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t want reports being made about my every move.”

“You will need security.”

“We can discuss that.”

“We can.”

“And I don’t want you using our marriage as an excuse to control every detail of my life.”

Vittorio studied me for a moment.

“Sofia, if you say yes, you will become a member of the Caruso family. That comes with responsibilities and certain restrictions. I’m not going to promise something I might be unable to honor because of your safety.”

I appreciated his honesty.

“At least you’re not lying.”

“It’s not something I make a habit of.”

“Lorenzo seems to feel differently.”

A brief, painful shadow crossed Vittorio’s face.

I regretted the remark.

Not because it wasn’t true, but because it occurred to me for the first time that I wasn’t the only person Lorenzo had humiliated today.

He had humiliated his father, too.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be.”

“Your son…”

“I cannot ask to be excused for my son’s decisions.”

Silence settled between us.

Beyond the window, car horns sounded.

New York carried on as usual, as though something completely insane wasn’t being considered inside this little room.

“And living together?” I finally asked.

Vittorio looked at me again.

“What would you like to know?”

I felt myself blush.

Which annoyed me.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

He was silent for a few seconds before answering seriously.

“I don’t expect you to behave tonight as though we’re in love.”

“And later?”

“That’s something we’ll decide together.”

“You won’t demand anything?”

“No.”

For a moment, I closed my eyes.

I wasn’t sure why that meant so much.

Maybe because everyone had spent the entire day telling me what they expected from me.

My family.

The Carusos.

The guests.

The alliance.

And Vittorio was the first person who hadn’t demanded anything.

When I opened my eyes again, he was waiting patiently.

“Could you really do this?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Marry a woman who was originally engaged to your son.”

Vittorio remained serious.

“I’m not going to pretend it will be simple.”

“Another understatement.”

“I’m beginning to notice you enjoy pointing those out.”

This time, I genuinely smiled.

His gaze flickered toward my mouth for the briefest instant.

So quickly that I might have imagined it.

Then his eyes met mine again.

“Sofia, you don’t have to decide right now.”

“But there are three hundred people waiting outside.”

“They can wait.”

“Your men and my father’s men might not be quite so patient.”

“That’s my problem.”

I thought about it.

My marriage to Lorenzo would have been a political arrangement.

A marriage to Vittorio would be the same.

But there was one significant difference between the two men.

Lorenzo had run away from responsibility.

Vittorio was willingly taking it on.

And if I had to choose a Caruso, perhaps the most important thing wasn’t how old he was.

Perhaps it was what kind of man he was.

“One last question,” I said.

“Go ahead.”

“If I say yes, who becomes the heir to your family after Lorenzo?”

Vittorio went completely still.

For the first time, I saw genuine surprise on his face.

Then he slowly smiled.

Not broadly.

Just enough to make him look like an entirely different man.

“I see, Signorina Romano, that you understand the situation far better than I realized.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No. Because I haven’t decided yet.”

“But you will.”

“Yes.”

“And my marriage will influence that decision.”

“Most likely.”

I nodded.

At least I knew what I was getting myself into.

“Then I have one condition.”

I lifted my chin.

Vittorio watched me attentively.

“I’m listening.”

“If I become your wife, I don’t want to be an ornament in your house. I’m not going to make business decisions about things I don’t understand, but I don’t want to live as though my opinions don’t matter.”

He nodded slowly.

“I can respect that.”

“And if we disagree about something?”

“Then we argue.”

“Do you argue often?”

“Rarely.”

“Then you may have some difficult years ahead of you.”

For the first time, Vittorio laughed softly.

It was a deep, brief laugh, so unexpected that I simply stared at him for a moment.

Then his expression grew serious again.

“So, is that a yes?”

I looked out the window.

The cars were still waiting outside the cathedral.

The guests were waiting.

My family was waiting for my decision.

And Lorenzo was somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean with his mistress.

I turned back.

“Yes, Don Caruso.”

Something changed in Vittorio’s eyes.

“Are you certain?”

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“I’m certain I don’t want to marry Lorenzo Caruso.”

Vittorio remained silent.

“I’m also certain I don’t want our families turning against each other again. And I’m certain you understand the consequences of this marriage at least as well as I do.”

I stepped closer.

“But whether you’ll be a good husband? I’m not certain of that at all.”

He watched me for a long moment before slowly nodding.

“That’s fair.”

“So, yes.”

I extended my hand.

“I’ll marry you, Vittorio Caruso.”

He glanced down at my hand before taking it.

His large, warm palm closed around my fingers.

He didn’t pull me closer.

He didn’t try to kiss me.

He simply squeezed my hand for a moment.

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t regret it, Sofia.”

I didn’t know whether to believe him.

But I did believe he meant it.

When we stepped back into the hallway, everyone turned toward us.

Gabriel took one look at our joined hands.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered.

Isabella stared at me with her mouth open.

Matteo looked as though he needed to sit down immediately.

And my father stood perfectly still.

“Sofia?” he asked.

I stopped in front of him.

“We talked.”

“And?”

“I’m going to marry Vittorio.”

Matteo closed his eyes.

“I don’t believe this.”

Isabella turned toward me.

“So, Lorenzo’s father?”

“Yes.”

“The one who’s forty-eight?”

“Isabella…”

“I’m just checking that we’re talking about the same Vittorio.”

My mother placed her hands on my shoulders.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

I looked at her.

“Yes.”

I didn’t say I was in love.

I didn’t say I was happy.

But the decision was mine.

My father studied me for a long time.

“If my daughter comes to any harm while she’s with you…” he began, turning toward Vittorio.

Vittorio interrupted him.

“Alessandro, if Sofia becomes my wife, her protection becomes my responsibility as well.”

“I hadn’t finished my sentence.”

“I know how it ends.”

The two men looked at each other.

Finally, my father slowly extended his hand.

Vittorio accepted it.

It wasn’t a friendly handshake.

But something had changed.

After twenty years of hostility, two Dons had reached another agreement.

This time, however, I was standing at the center of it.

Gabriel took out his phone.

“Then we need to speak with the priest.”

“And the lawyers,” Matteo added.

“And we need to address the marriage license,” my mother said.

“We’ll handle it,” Gabriel replied.

“Not so fast,” I said. “If we can’t legally get married today, we’re not going to pretend we can.”

Vittorio looked at me.

“I agree.”

Gabriel nodded.

“I’ll check our options. If we can’t arrange the paperwork properly, we’ll postpone the ceremony.”

Isabella pressed a hand to her forehead.

“This wedding keeps getting more complicated.”

“You were the one who wanted a longer train,” I pointed out.

“That’s not what I meant!”

I laughed.

And this time, the laughter was genuine.

At one twelve in the afternoon, Gabriel returned.

One look at his expression told me he wasn’t bringing simple news.

“The current marriage license names Lorenzo,” he said. “We can’t simply change the name. We’ll need a new license, and New York State generally requires a twenty-four-hour waiting period before a marriage ceremony.”

Vittorio nodded.

“Then we won’t enter into a legal marriage today.”

“There is a possibility of requesting a judicial waiver of the waiting period,” Gabriel continued, “but we’re not going to assume it will be granted. The attorneys are already working on it.”

My father folded his arms.

“And the guests?”

“We’ll inform them that the planned ceremony has been canceled,” Vittorio replied. “But we can still announce the alliance between our families today.”

Matteo slowly exhaled.

“So the marriage comes later.”

“As soon as it’s legally possible,” I said.

Vittorio turned toward me.

“Unless you change your mind before then.”

“Would you like me to change my mind?”

“No.”

His answer came so quickly that Isabella let out a quiet giggle.

My mother gave her a stern look.

“Isabella.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

“Well, at least one of us does.”

This time, even the corner of my father’s mouth twitched.

The tension hadn’t disappeared.

Neither had the scandal.

Lorenzo’s decision would haunt us for a long time.

But we were no longer standing in the same place we’d been an hour earlier.

When we entered the cathedral’s main nave, the conversations among the guests gradually faded.

White roses lined the pews, and candles still burned.

The musicians waiting near the organ watched us with puzzled expressions.

At the front of the cathedral, Vittorio Caruso stopped.

I stood beside him, still wearing my wedding dress.

Still wearing my veil.

But no longer as Lorenzo’s bride.

Vittorio turned toward the guests.

He didn’t need a microphone.

His voice carried far enough without one.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Today’s ceremony will not take place as originally planned.”

Whispers spread through the pews.

Vittorio waited until the room quieted.

“Lorenzo Caruso has failed to honor the commitment he made to the Romano family.”

Several guests exchanged shocked looks.

Others were already reaching for their phones.

“My son will answer for his own decisions,” Vittorio continued. “But the peace between our two families will not end because of them.”

My father stepped forward to stand beside us.

Vittorio glanced at him briefly before turning toward me.

“Sofia Romano has accepted my proposal of marriage.”

The cathedral fell so silent that I heard someone drop a phone.

Vittorio continued.

“As soon as the necessary legal requirements have been met, Sofia and I will be married.”

In the next instant, several people began talking at once.

Someone stood.

Someone shouted a question.

A woman in one of the back pews laughed in disbelief.

But I was watching only one face.

Teresa Caruso’s.

Vittorio’s mother was seated in the front row, wearing a black hat and a pearl necklace.

She was seventy-two years old and regarded the world with the expression of someone who had seen far too much to be easily surprised.

Now she slowly stood.

She looked at her son.

Then at me.

And gave the smallest nod.

As though she were saying, All right. Then we’ll deal with this, too.

Vittorio stood beside me.

His hand was close to mine.

I hesitated for a moment.

Then I took it.

I felt his surprise, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he intertwined his fingers with mine.

In front of the guests.

In front of our families.

In front of everyone.

And in that moment, I understood that my life had changed forever.

That morning, I’d still been Lorenzo Caruso’s bride-to-be.

By the afternoon, I was engaged to his father.

The man half of New York feared.

The man whose name had been spoken as an enemy in my family for twenty years.

Vittorio leaned toward me.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

I looked up at him.

“I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

I glanced around the cathedral.

At the stunned guests.

At our families.

At the man I barely knew and would soon marry.

Then I smiled.

“I was just wondering what Lorenzo’s going to say when he finds out.”

Vittorio watched me for several seconds.

Then the corner of his mouth slowly lifted.

“Sofia…”

“Yes?”

“I think that’s going to be the least of his problems.”

And on the strangest day of my life, I started laughing again.