Chapter 195 Fiorella
The estate smells like rosemary, citrus, chocolate and roasted chicken and something warm that settles deep in the chest.
Christmas.
Not the loud, glittering kind that demands attention-but the quiet kind. The kind that exists in low laughter drifting down hallways, in soft footsteps, in the hum of safety finally earned.
I stand at the kitchen island with Aria, sleeves rolled up, flour dusting the marble like snowfall. She's humming under her breath-some old Christmas song that I don't recognize-while she expertly braids dough, the diamond engagement ring flashing every time her hand turns.
“You know,” she says lightly, looking at me, “I never thought we'd get a Christmas like this.”
Neither did I.
I don't look up, keep smiling as I focus on the herbs under my knife. "Peace feels…odd,” confess, as though the house itself waits with bated breath.
Aria chuckles softly. “That’s what happens when chaos finally leaves.”
I hear from the living room Rosalia's soft voice, hushed and tender. The twins fuss for a moment, then quiet. Then comes Rafael's murmur-low and soothing, reverent, as if every word he speaks to her is a vow renewed.
I glance towards the door.
Rosalia sits huddled into the corner of the couch, pillows propping up her arms as she cradles Isabella. Isaiah is tucked against Rafael's chest, impossibly small against his broad frame. Rafael doesn't move. He barely breathes. His entire world is balanced in his arms.
Rocco materializes beside me with no warning.
That's what he always does.
His hand slides to my waist, fingers warm through the fabric of my sweater. He leans down, lips brushing my temple.
“You're staring,” he whispers.
“I’m absorbing,” I say softly. “I don’t want to forget what this looks like.”
His reflection in the window over the sink softens. “Neither do I.”
Aria loudly clears her throat. "I love that you two are disgusting year-round, but please don't start before dinner.
Rocco laughs, unrepentant, tightening his hold on me enough to let me know he's here.
“Don't be jealous,” he says so smoothly. “You're getting married soon.”
She rolls her eyes. “To one man. Not an entire obsession.”
I laugh and let myself fall backward into Rocco's chest. His chin touches down on the top of my head, holding me in place for a moment.
Dinner is a slow assembly, purposeful. Without urgency. Without strain humming just below the surface. Only plates warming in the oven, candles lit singly, the tree aglow, softly, in the corner of the dining room: a gold-and-white understatement in elegance.
Almost sacred when, finally, we get around the table.
Rafael sits at the head, Rosalia beside him, the twins nestled between them in a cradle designed to fit perfectly at the table's center. They're swaddled in cream and silver, tiny fists peeking out like punctuation marks on a miracle.
Aria and her fiancé sit close, fingers intertwined. Riccardo drops into his chair with exaggerated care, eyeing the babies as if they might explode.
“They're fragile, he mutters. "Why do they look like that?"
"Like what?" Rosalia asks with a smile.
“Like they know things,” he responds. “Judging me.”
Rocco smirks. “They’re De Lucas. Get used to it.”
We laugh-real laughter, unguarded-and something inside my chest loosens.
Halfway through dinner, Rafael clears his throat.
The room fell silent in an instant.
First, he looks at Rosalia. The way his gaze softens should be illegal.
Then he turns to look at Rocco and me.
"We've been talking," he says, voice steady but thick with emotion. "About the babies. About their lives. Who we trust to stand beside them."
Rosalia smiles; her eyes are shining. “We want you to be their godparents.”
These words hit me like a wave of warmth.
I stare at her. At Rafael. At the twins.
“Us?” I whisper.
Rocco straightens beside me, for once stunned silent.
"You," Rafael confirms. "Both of you."
Something sharp and beautiful blooms behind my ribs. “That’s… that’s an honor,” I manage. “We’d protect them with everything we are.”
Rocco nods once, solemn. “With our lives.”
Rosalia reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “I know.”
Plates cleared and dessert served, twins asleep at last, the house hums low with conversation and clinking glass.
Rocco corners me near the tree, one arm braced against the wall as he leans in, his eyes warm, dangerous.
“You were good with them,” he says quietly.
“With the babies?”
“As the concept,” he says. “You looked… natural.”
I arch a brow. “Is this where you suggest we go make some?”
He smiles, “I was thinking about it.”
I laugh quietly, placing my palms on his chest. “I plan on enjoying the title of godmother for a very long time before I become anyone’s mother.”
His expression doesn't falter-not even a flicker.
"Then that's what we'll do," he says simply. "Whatever you want. Whenever you want. I'm not in a hurry-I already have you."
My throat tightens.
I rise on my toes, kissing him softly. Not desperate. Not consuming. Certain.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He leans his forehead against mine. “I love you more than I thought a man could love anything.”
For the first time in a long while, the world seems kind.
And with family on either side, warmth pressed in all around me, I feel something with sudden clarity:
This-This-is what we fought for.
Peace. Love. And a future bright enough to believe in.
The wine is like melted rubies catching the light.
Rocco raises the bottle first, refilling glasses with an unhurried care that feels symbolic somehow, as if this moment calls for attention. Crystal clinks softly against crystal-too soft for the kind of blood which once stained those hands.
Riccardo clears his throat.
Everyone freezes.
That is a miracle all by itself.
He rises from his chair, rolling his shoulders once like he's bracing for impact. His smile is crooked, familiar, but his eyes are unguarded in a way I don't think I've ever seen.
"I'll be quick," he says, raising his glass. "Because if I'm not, someone's gonna accuse me of having feelings and I'll have to shoot them."
A titter of laughter spreads around the table.
But he doesn't sit.
“I used to think family was just… survival,” Riccardo continues, the evenness of his tone rough around the edges. “You’re born into it, you protect it, you bleed for it. End of story.”
He throws a look at Rafael.
“At least that’s what I thought until I watched my brother become a husband. And then a father.”
Rafael's jaw tightens. Rosalia's hand slides into his, grounding him.
Riccardo turns slightly, his gaze sweeping the table. Aria, radiant with joy. Rocco, composed yet attentive. Me.
“And then you came along,” Riccardo says, nodding at me. “And somehow made this family bigger without breaking it.”
My chest tightens.
“We've lost people,” he goes on quietly. “We've buried enemies. We've buried ghosts. And somehow, after all that… we're still here. Stronger. Softer. Real.”
He lets out a breath, raising his glass higher.
“I'm proud of us,” he says simply. “Of the family we're building. The one we chose. The one we fought for.”
Silence falls-thick, reverent.
Rafael rises next.
His voice is low, reverberating through the room. "I spent most of my life believing love was a weakness. Something that could be used against you."
His thumb grazes Rosalia's knuckles.
“I was wrong.”
Her eyes sparkle.
“But it was this family that showed me love is why you survive. Love is why you choose mercy when vengeance would be easier. Love is why I stand here today, with my wife, my children, my brothers-“whole”.
He raises his glass. “To the people who stood beside us when it would have been safer to walk away.”
Aria gets up next, her face still contorting in a mixture of tears and smiles. “I didn’t grow up with this,” she says softly. “This kind of loyalty. This kind of love. But you welcomed me like I’d always belonged. Treated me like a sister, my three big bad wolves. I’m grateful to everyone sitted at this table.”
She turns to Rosalia, then me. “Gracias for showing me what sisterhood truly means.”
Rocco does not get up.
He turns to me instead, fingers lacing with mine beneath the table.
"When I thought everything I touched would turn to ash," he says quietly, "this family reminded me who I am."
His eyes lock onto mine.
“And she reminded me who I could be. This year was a lot, we lived, we loved, got shot, got betrayed, got our heart broken, healed and we’re here now after overcoming so much. The family is expanding and I’m loving it already.”
My breathing stutters. It’s my turn now.
“I grew up as an only child, I didn’t know what it meant to have siblings but I’ve learned a lot from watching you all. You all inspire me in so many ways, the love, bond, loyalty, everything. I’m super proud to be part of this amazing family.”
Rosalia speaks at last, her voice soft but unshakeable. "We made it through the worst days of our lives," she says, placing a hand on her heart. "And we're still choosing joy."
Smiling, she gazes down at the sleeping twins.
“That's a blessing I will never take for granted. This year has changed us so much and though we might have lost some, we’ve also gained a lot. I’m excited for this new season and grateful for all that has happened.”
Rocco raises his glass.
We all do that.
A bright, pure, unwavering sound of crystal meeting crystal reverberates across the space.
“To the De Lucas,” Rocco says.
“To love,” Rafael concludes. "To family," Riccardo concludes. “And to peace,” I whisper back. We drink.
And for once, the future seems to be standing firm in our grasp.