Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~8 min read
The first week in Amalfi passed like a dream.
We fell into a rhythm. Mornings on the beach with Lucia, building sandcastles and hunting for shells. Afternoons exploring villages, eating gelato, getting gloriously lost on winding coastal roads.
Evenings were ours. After Lucia went to bed, Dante and I would sit on the terrace with wine, talking about everything and nothing. Planning the wedding. Planning our life.
“Small ceremony,” I said one night. “Just family. Here, maybe? In the garden?”
“Whatever you want, cara.” He traced circles on my palm. “Though Marco will be disappointed if he doesn’t get to give a speech.”
“Marco wants to give a speech?”
“He’s already written three drafts.”
I laughed. “Your brother is full of surprises.”
“He likes you now. Says you have ‘steel in your spine.’ High praise from Marco.”
“I’ll take it.”
Lucia’s therapy sessions were going well. The therapist—a kind woman named Dr. Rossi—had a gift for making difficult conversations feel natural.
“She’s processing the trauma healthily,” Dr. Rossi told us after the second session. “The nightmares should continue to decrease. But she’ll need ongoing support. Consistency. Security.”
“She’ll have it,” Dante said firmly. “Whatever she needs.”
By the second week, Lucia was sleeping through the night again. The haunted look in her eyes had faded, replaced by the bright curiosity I remembered.
“Mama, can we go to the market today?” she asked over breakfast. “I want to get flowers for Aunt Elise. To say thank you for taking care of Mr. Rabbit while we’re gone.”
“We can absolutely do that.”
The market was bustling. Vendors calling out in Italian. The smell of fresh bread and lemons. Lucia darted between stalls, examining everything with wonder.
“This one, Mama! The purple ones! Aunt Elise loves purple!”
We bought an armful of lavender. Then stopped for lunch at a café overlooking the water.
Dante’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, frowned.
“Work?” I asked.
“Marco. Nothing urgent. Just checking in.” He put the phone away. “It can wait.”
But something in his expression worried me.
“Dante, if you need to handle business—”
“I don’t. Not right now.” He took my hand. “Right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.”
Still, I noticed him checking his phone more frequently over the next few days.
Finally, I cornered him in the study.
“What’s going on? And don’t say nothing. I can tell something’s bothering you.”
He sighed. “It’s Caleb. He wants to formalize the alliance. Contracts. Official partnerships. Which is good. But it means meetings. Lawyers. Time in New York.”
“How much time?”
“A week. Maybe two. And I’d need you there. For some of it. They’ll want to meet the future Mrs. Marchetti. Make sure you’re—” He stopped.
“Make sure I’m what? Suitable? Respectable enough?”
“Committed. That this isn’t temporary.” He pulled me close. “I know it’s not. You know it’s not. But they need to see it.”
I understood. In his world, perception was everything.
“Okay. When?”
“Two weeks from now. We’d fly back. Handle the business. Then return here.” He searched my face. “Is that okay? I know we came here to escape—”
“We came here to heal. And we have. Lucia’s better. We’re better.” I touched the ring on my finger. “We can handle a week in New York.”
Relief flooded his expression. “Thank you.”
“But after that? We come back here. Finish our month. No more interruptions.”
“Deal.”
That night, I called Jade.
“How’s Milan?” I asked.
“Incredible! Exhausting! I’m working sixteen hour days but I love it.” She paused. “How’s paradise?”
“Complicated. We have to go back to New York soon. Alliance business.”
“Already? You’ve barely been gone two weeks.”
“I know. But it’s important. For Dante’s position. For the family.”
“For the family,” Jade repeated. “Listen to you. Already thinking like a mafia wife.”
“Is that bad?”
“No. It’s just different. The old Sofia would have run from this. But you’re not running anymore.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Good. Because he’s good for you. And you’re good for him. Even if his world is insane.”
After we hung up, I found Dante putting Lucia to bed.
“And then the princess decided she didn’t need rescuing,” he was saying. “She rescued herself. And the dragon became her friend.”
“I like that story, Daddy.”
“I thought you might.” He kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight, piccola.”
“Daddy? Are you and Mama going to get married for real?”
“Yes. Very for real.”
“Good. Because I like having a daddy. And I like that we’re a family now.”
My throat tightened.
“We like it too,” Dante said softly. “Very much.”
He left her room, found me in the hallway.
“You heard that?”
“Every word.” I wiped my eyes. “She’s happy. Really happy.”
“So am I.” He pulled me toward our room. “Now come on. I want to show my fiancée exactly how happy I am.”
“Dante, we should probably—”
“Probably what?” His lips found my neck. “Talk more about the New York trip? Plan more wedding details?”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“Liar.” He backed me toward the bed. “You want this as much as I do.”
He was right. I did.
The next morning, Elise called.
“How’s Italy?” she asked.
“Perfect. Lucia’s doing great. We’re—we’re really happy.”
“I can hear it in your voice. Good. You deserve it.” She paused. “I hear you’re coming back for meetings.”
“Just for a week.”
“Then you should know—there’s been talk. About the wedding. People asking when. Where. If they’re invited.”
“People?”
“Associates. Allies. Everyone wants to be part of this. The Don getting married is a big deal, Sofia.”
My stomach knotted. “How big?”
“Big enough that you might want to consider a larger ceremony. Not huge. But bigger than just family.”
I found Dante on the terrace. Told him what Elise said.
“She’s right,” he admitted. “I was trying to keep it small for you. But there are expectations. People who need to be included.”
“How many people?”
“Fifty? Seventy-five?”
I sat down heavily. “That’s not small.”
“I know. And if you want to keep it intimate, we will. I’ll handle the fallout.”
“There’d be fallout?”
“Some. People feeling slighted. Insulted.” He crouched in front of me. “But Sofia, this is your day. Our day. If you want ten people, we’ll have ten people.”
I thought about it. About what marriage to Dante really meant. Not just loving him. But joining his world. Becoming part of something bigger than us.
“Seventy-five is fine,” I said finally. “As long as the people who matter most are there.”
“They will be. I promise.”
Over the next few days, the wedding plans evolved. What started as a garden ceremony became something more elaborate. Still intimate. Still us. But appropriate for a Don’s wedding.
Elise flew to Italy to help plan.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “But I took the liberty of contacting some designers. For your dress. They’re sending samples.”
“Samples?”
“You can’t wear just anything, Sofia. This wedding will be photographed. Talked about. You need something stunning.”
She wasn’t wrong.
The samples arrived. Ten dresses. Each more beautiful than the last.
Lucia helped me try them on, giving serious commentary.
“That one’s too puffy, Mama.”
“This one makes you look like a princess!”
“I like the sparkly one!”
I chose a dress that was elegant but not ostentatious. Lace and silk. Classic. With just enough detail to be interesting.
“Perfect,” Elise declared. “You’ll be the most beautiful bride.”
“Second most beautiful,” I corrected. “Lucia’s going to be my flower girl. She’ll steal the show.”
Lucia squealed with delight.
The remaining days in Italy flew by. Too fast.
Soon we were packing. Preparing to return to New York. To reality.
On our last night, Dante and I walked the beach alone. Lucia was with Elise, having a sleepover in the villa’s guest room.
“I don’t want to leave,” I admitted.
“Neither do I. But we’ll come back. After the wedding. For our honeymoon.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He stopped walking. Turned to face me. “Sofia, these past few weeks—they’ve been the happiest of my life. Not because of Italy. Because of you. Because of us.”
“Mine too.”
“Then let’s remember that. When we go back. When things get complicated again. Let’s remember this feeling.”
“I will.”
He kissed me under the stars. The ocean crashing behind us. The world reduced to just the two of us.
“Ready to go home?” he asked.
I thought about New York. About the life waiting for us there. The challenges. The expectations.
But I also thought about our family. Our future.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”
Because home wasn’t Italy. Or New York. Or any place.
Home was wherever we were together.
The three of us.
Our family.
And that was worth fighting for.
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