Chapter Forty-Nine

Adele

WEDDING DAY

The heavy scent of roses mingles with the crisp notes of perfume, filling the air of the bridal suite. Sunlight streams through the tall windows of the De Luca mansion's chapel, casting a warm glow on the polished wood floors and illuminating motes of dust that dance in the air.

I stand before a full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My fingers, slightly trembling, trace the intricate lace of my sleeve, feeling each delicate bump and swirl. The corseted bodice hugs my curves tightly, almost restrictively, before giving way to cascades of white silk that rustle against the floor with each subtle movement.

My eyes are drawn to my face, transformed by the artistry of makeup. The weight of the intricate updo pulls slightly at my scalp, and I watch as a few rebellious red tendrils fall around my face, softening the look.

"I'll have to hand your stunning, gorgeous self over to the rest of the girls," Antonella says, a vision in sparkly midnight blue herself.

"They're dying to catch a glimpse of you before Orlando whisks you to the altar. And I need to go preen a little as the mother of the groom."

Before she can turn to leave, I catch her hand. "Mama V," I start, my voice thick with emotion, "thank you. For raising Dante. For letting me love him."

Antonella's eyes soften, a tender smile gracing her lips. She cups my face gently, "Oh, cara , it's only ever been you. Those two years apart, my son wasn't really living. You brought my son back to life."

Her words wash over me, the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them from falling.

With a final gentle squeeze of my hand and a soft rustle of fabric, Antonella leaves, the click of the door echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

I adjust my veil, becoming aware of the sounds filtering in from outside—the low rumble of car engines, the muffled voices of the security detail. It's a stark reminder of the world beyond this room, a world where danger still lurks.

A flutter of excitement runs through me, but there's also an undercurrent of worry. The past six weeks with Dante have been a blissful bubble, but the uncomfortable fact still hangs in the air—Owen Novak died before he could talk. Someone is still out there, waiting, watching.

It's the same reason why Orlando's protective instincts have been in overdrive this past week. Just this morning he insisted on beefing up the perimeter again, not caring that it pushed the ceremony back by a couple of hours.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I think of my father's dedication. In the short time since discovering my true parentage, we've grown remarkably close. I still catch Dante bristling whenever De Luca drops by the house with flowers or gifts, which seems to be happening with increasing frequency. The man is not used to sharing me with an overenthusiastic daddy.

A gentle knock at the door breaks through my thoughts. "Come in," I call.

The door opens, bringing with it a rush of cooler air from the hallway. Sophie enters first, resplendent in a floor-length gown of powder blue. The empire waist accommodates her pregnant belly beautifully, the chiffon fabric flowing gracefully as she moves.

Kira follows, her steps light and graceful in a halter-neck dress of the same light blue. The silk hugs her curves before flaring out at the knee, a subtle mermaid style that suits her perfectly.

Finally, Bianca enters, her heels clicking decisively on the hardwood floor. Her dress, also in blue, features a one-shoulder design with intricate beading that catches the light with every movement.

"Oh, Addy, you look absolutely unreal," Sophie gushes, her voice thick with emotion. Her fingers, cool and gentle, adjust my veil, the gossamer-thin fabric settling around my shoulders like a cloud.

Kira hums in agreement, her hazel eyes shining as she reaches out to finger the intricate lace of my sleeve.

Bianca moves around me, her experienced hands making final adjustments to my dress. Her touch is sure and motherly as she smooths out invisible wrinkles. If there's anyone I'm most grateful to, it's her. She's had to give up so much to accommodate me. Here I am, the daughter she never asked for, about to marry the man she wanted for her own daughter.

I catch her eye in the mirror, returning her smile with a grateful one of my own.

Finally satisfied that I look perfect, Bianca pushes a black case into my hand. "Orlando wanted to give this to you himself, but I don't think he trusts himself not to break down. He says it was the last gift he bought . . ." she hesitates, swallowing hard, "Naomi. One he never got to give her before she died."

I take the box and open it with trembling hands, and that's when the tears, hot and salty, start to fall.

There is a collective gasp in the room. I hear Sophie softly whispering to Kira, telling her what's got them spellbound.

A pair of diamond and sapphire teardrop earrings nestle in the rich black suede lining. A name engraved inside the case: Naomi. And then a folded note, the ink of the scrawl not completely dry.

Here is something borrowed and something blue. An old flame that refuses to die and a new one to burn for all time. All my love, Orlando.

A sob escapes me.

"Ah ah ah." Bianca's curt command and her single finger held up somehow repress the dam of tears about to burst through me. She dabs at the corners of my eyes, then clasps the earrings on me while I try hard to hold in the sobs. This is the closest I've ever felt to my mother.

I want nothing more than to share the moment with Dante.

"I can't believe Orlando kept it all this while," Sophie whispers in disbelief as she dabs at her own eyes.

As they continue to fuss over me, my fingers find the teardrop earrings nestled against my neck as I just stare at the mirror. Orlando says I look just like her. I close my eyes and imagine if she was here today. What would she think of me? Of Dante? A pang of longing shoots through my chest, as grief threatens to overwhelm me.

"Adele?" Bianca's voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. "Are you alright, dear? You look a little pale."

I blink, realizing that at some point I've sat down heavily on the arm of the nearby chaise longue. The other women have paused in their ministrations, their faces now etched with concern. Bianca's hand rests gently on my shoulder, a warm, comforting weight.

"I'm fine," I manage, forcing a smile that feels brittle on my lips. "Just a bit overwhelmed, I think."

The room suddenly feels too small, too warm. The floral scent that earlier seemed pleasant now is starting to choke me. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself, but the corset restricts my movement, adding to my discomfort.

"I just want Dante," I blurt out.

Bianca's face softens with understanding, the lines around her eyes crinkling. "Oh, you'll have him in no time, cara . Orlando will take you to the altar in another . . ." She checks her watch. "Ten or fifteen minutes. What I do think you need right now is a moment to yourself," she announces, her tone gentle but firm.

"Come along, ladies. Let's give Adele some space to breathe and take it all in. The ceremony is almost starting anyway. We should go take our places."

Relief washes over me at her words. As much as I appreciate their support, the solitude suddenly seems like a lifeline.

Sophie squeezes my shoulder before waddling toward the door, one hand on her swollen belly.

Kira follows, the smart cane she carries to unfamiliar places tapping softly on the plush carpet. "You make the most beautiful bride, Addy," she says, her eyes somehow finding mine unerringly. "I don't need eyes to know that."

I glance at the mirror again, and I have to agree with her.

I nod, forgetting for a moment that she can't see the gesture. "Thank you," I murmur. "And you look amazing too."

Kira has no idea how she looks in her blue maid of honor dress, her glossy dark hair cascading down her back, adorned with fresh baby's breath. Friends or not, Sal had better be showing her every single day how beautiful she is inside and out.

They file out, offering reassuring smiles and gentle touches, but Bianca lingers at the door. "I'll get you something to drink, cara ," she says, her voice soothing. "To calm your nerves."

I smile and nod, grateful for her thoughtfulness.

As the door clicks shut behind her, the sudden silence feels almost crushing. I let out a long, shaky breath, the sound unnaturally loud in the empty room. Slowly, I stand, the layers of my dress settling around me with a soft swish.

I move to the window, drawn by the need for air, for space. Outside, the manicured gardens of the De Luca estate stretch out before me, a sea of green punctuated by bursts of colorful blooms. Security guards in full tactical vests dot the landscape, stark against the lush backdrop, a reminder that even on this joyful day, danger still lurks at the edges of our world.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. In a few minutes, I'll be Mrs. Vitelli, wife of Dante, fully entrenched in a world I'm coming to embrace. A world of power and danger, of loyalty and betrayal. And a love that transcends time.

Oh Mama . I finger the earrings again, fighting tears.

The sound of the door opening again makes me turn. Bianca enters, an open bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes in her hands, and I groan inwardly.

Orlando obviously didn't tell Bianca I'm pregnant. Those two are practically strangers living in the same house for the amount of communication that happens between them.

"Now," Bianca says, her smile warm and motherly as she approaches, "let's have a little toast to endless love and new beginnings, shall we?"

Another pang of guilt hits me for how well Bianca is taking this whole situation. I represent everything wrong in her marriage: a product of an affair her husband had with a woman he's still in love with even after two decades. And wants to toast to that? I'm not sure if I'm spooked by or admire the effort she's no doubt making to put on a brave front when her heart must be breaking inside.

"Bianca, I'm sorry." The words catch in my throat.

Her brows furrow, the champagne flutes clinking softly as she sets them down. "For what?"

"For this." Meeting her dark gaze, I gesture at the earrings.

Instantly she gets it. An indefinable emotion swirls in her eyes, and I catch the sheen of tears in them before they harden again.

"It's okay." She chuckles wryly, the sound coming off wrong. "Well, it's not okay, of course. It's never been okay. But an apology is a nice start to taking ownership for the unforgivable."

"I agree," I say, glad that she's taking the chance to admit how she truly feels.

Bianca takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling visibly. "I never got an apology from Orlando. Not once. He still doesn't regret having an affair. He'd do it a thousand times over."

"Why do you think he doesn't regret it?" I ask, leaning against the dresser for support.

"Because he married me when the Don wouldn't. An alliance with the powerful Rinaldis raised the Outfit's position to the top of the mafia food chain. And of course established Orlando as the most powerful Capo." Her voice turns bitter. "Although he conveniently forgot the ‘forsaking all others' part of the vows he made to me. I was simply a means to an end."

I see why Orlando holds so much power with the Vitellis. Vito owes him. "When did you find out about the affair?"

Bianca's gaze drifts to the window, her reflection superimposed on the garden view. "For ten years, I had no clue. He was distant and cold, but I chalked it up to him being hardened by his life. Besides, I was still heartbroken from having to see Vito slobber over that . . . spineless woman."

My eyes widen in surprise at her description of Antonella, but I don't dare stop her, needing to hear the rest.

She releases the tie back, draws the curtains closed, and slowly walks back. "I've loved Vito for as long as I can remember. And finally, I caught his eye. For a while, he wanted me too. And then three months to our wedding, he changed his mind. Did you know that?"

I nod, the weight of her words settling heavily on me. Dante mentioned that to me, but hearing it from her hits different.

Bianca continues, her fingers now drumming a restless rhythm on the dresser. "Anyway, would you believe it was you who gave Orlando's affair away?"

"What, me? How?" I ask, startled.

She pulls up a stool and sits, leaning against the dresser. "For ten years, Orlando and your mother were extremely discreet. They never met up in Chicago. Instead, he whisked his favorite family away on exotic vacations once a month."

Her voice drops so low I have to strain to hear her. "One day, after Orlando returned from one of his monthly ‘assignments' abroad, I found something hidden among his weapons: A list made by a little girl called Valentina about all the things she wanted from her daddy for her fifth birthday. Alina had just turned five and she wasn't even asked to make one."

"I'm so sorry," I say but she waves off my apology with an impatient hand, as if she doesn't want to be interrupted.

"Anyway I had him followed closely. It turned out Bianca Rinaldi, heiress of the great Rinaldi family of New York, was to find myself as second best to a man not even fit to lick my father's boots. Upstaged by some Plain Jane and her spoiled brat." Her lips curl into a sneer. "Of course, she turned out to be a Mob princess but that's neither here nor there.

I shut my lids, trying and failing to imagine how much it must have hurt Bianca. It's hard to hear her talk about my parents and me in that way. But I can't help but feel her pain. What such a proud woman had to put up with.

"Anyway. Here we go." Bianca pours the champagne and pushes mine toward me. The scent of the bubbly beverage reaches me, crisp and inviting. But I dare not. Even if I tried it, the champagne would come back up messily in minutes. She pushes mine toward me and raises her glass in a toast. I clink hers with mine but keep cradling the flute, waiting for her to leave so I can get rid of it.

She drinks deeply from hers and cocks her head at me. "Go on, cara ."

I force a smile. "I think I'll pass on the champagne. My stomach is a bit unsettled. Nerves, you see."

"Nonsense," she insists, her voice honey-sweet. "A sip is exactly what you need to settle your nerves. It's tradition, after all."

She picks up my flute and presses it into my hand, the crystal cool against my palm. I stare at the golden liquid, watching the bubbles rise in a steady stream.

"I really can't," I take a breath and tell her. "You see, I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant?" she repeats, her tone suddenly icy. "Interesting." The change in her voice makes me look up, and that's when I see it. The shift in her demeanor is so abrupt, so complete, that for a moment I wonder if I'm imagining things. The warmth in her eyes has been replaced by a cold, hard glint. Her smile, once motherly, now seems more like a predator baring its teeth.

She calmly moves to the door and turns the lock with a soft click.