Chapter 11 - The Wedding
The wedding took place in early spring.
We didn't get married in a grand cathedral in the city, surrounded by politicians and silent, intimidating men in suits.
We got married in the sprawling, blooming gardens of the DeMarco estate.
It was a small, intimate ceremony. The guest list was entirely devoid of mafia associates. It was just family, close friends, and the loyal staff who had become our chosen family.
I stood in the bridal suite, looking at myself in the full-length mirror.
I wore a simple, elegant ivory silk gown with delicate lace sleeves. My hair was pinned up loosely, adorned with a few small white roses.
“You look like an angel, Becky,” my father said, standing in the doorway.
He was wearing a sharp black tuxedo, leaning on his cane, tears shining brightly in his eyes.
“Thanks, Dad,” I smiled, walking over to him. I linked my arm through his. “Are you ready to give me away?”
“I’m not giving you away,” Dad chuckled softly, patting my hand. “I’m handing you over to a man who’s going to cherish you as much as I do.”
The music began to play—a soft, acoustic guitar melody playing over the estate speakers.
We walked slowly down the grand staircase and out the French doors into the garden.
The aisle was lined with blooming cherry blossom trees, their pink petals drifting lazily in the warm breeze. At the end of the aisle stood a simple wooden arbor covered in white climbing roses.
And standing beneath it was Lorenzo.
He took my breath away. He was wearing a classic black tuxedo, looking incredibly handsome. But it was the look on his face that made my heart soar.
The fierce, untouchable syndicate boss was gone. In his place was a man who looked at me with such profound awe and love that I felt entirely invincible.
When my father and I reached the altar, Dad kissed my cheek and gently placed my hand in Lorenzo’s.
“Take care of her, son,” Dad whispered.
“With my life, Walter,” Lorenzo promised.
The ceremony was short, sweet, and entirely perfect. We exchanged vows we had written ourselves, promising to protect each other, to choose each other every single day, and to leave the darkness of the past behind.
When the officiant finally said the words, Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He pulled me into a deep, sweeping kiss, and the small crowd of our loved ones erupted into joyous applause.
The reception was held under a massive white tent on the lawn. There was endless Italian food, a live band playing upbeat jazz, and enough wine to float a battleship.
I danced with Lorenzo, resting my head against his chest, completely at peace.
“Are you happy, Mrs. DeMarco?” Lorenzo murmured in my ear, swaying me gently to the music.
“I’ve never been happier in my entire life,” I answered honestly, looking up at him.
Later in the evening, as the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the estate, I noticed a large, covered object sitting near the edge of the dance floor.
Lorenzo walked to the microphone on the small stage, tapping it gently to get everyone’s attention.
“Before we cut the cake,” Lorenzo announced, his voice carrying over the crowd, “I have a wedding gift for my beautiful bride.”
He walked over to the covered object and pulled the silk sheet away.
I gasped, covering my mouth with both hands.
It wasn't a new car. It wasn't a piece of jewelry.
It was a stunning, massive, custom-built commercial proofing oven for the bakery. It was top-of-the-line, imported from Italy, the kind of equipment I had only ever dreamed of working with.
My father burst into tears, clapping loudly.
“I know the new downtown location opens next month,” Lorenzo said, walking back over to me and wrapping his arm around my waist. “I want to make sure you have the best tools to build your empire, just like you helped me rebuild mine.”
I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him deeply in front of everyone.
“Thank you,” I whispered against his lips. “It’s perfect.”
The night continued with cake, champagne, and endless laughter.
But as the reception began to wind down, Lorenzo took my hand and led me away from the noise, walking me toward the quiet, secluded edge of the garden where the large stone fountain sat.
“Where are we going?” I laughed, kicking off my high heels and walking barefoot in the cool grass.
“I have one more surprise for you,” Lorenzo said, a mysterious, excited glint in his dark eyes.
We reached the fountain.
Sitting on the edge of the stone basin was a small, woven basket covered with a soft blanket.
I frowned, walking closer. “What is it?”
Lorenzo gently pulled the blanket back.
I let out a loud, delighted squeal.
Curled up in the basket, fast asleep, was a tiny, incredibly fluffy golden retriever puppy.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, reaching in and gently scooping the sleeping puppy into my arms. It let out a tiny, high-pitched yawn and nuzzled immediately into my neck. “Lorenzo, he’s perfect.”
“I figured this massive house was a little too quiet,” Lorenzo smiled, reaching out to scratch the puppy behind the ears. “And every bakery owner needs a loyal mascot.”
“What should we name him?” I asked, tears of pure joy in my eyes.
Lorenzo looked at me, then at the puppy, his expression turning thoughtful.
“I think we should name him Walter,” Lorenzo said softly. “After the man who saved my life, and gave me you.”
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I looked at him, my heart overflowing with so much love I thought it might burst.
“Walter it is,” I whispered.
