295 - Leon Carter

295 - Leon Carter
Leon Carter

Night fell like a silent celebration before the joy that tomorrow would bring. For the first time in months, there were no war plans, no coded phone calls, no urgent messages to decode.

It was just my bachelor party.

And, with great effort, I had managed to drag Gavin along with me.

He was very reluctant. The shadow of Lessie's absence was still evident in his eyes, in the way he held his glass without really drinking, in the way his gaze got lost on any point on the horizon. But he came. And that, to me, was a victory.

"You’re getting married, Leon," he said, giving a half-smile as he took the first sip of a strong spirit brought from Greece. "Do you know what that means?"

"That I finally got what I’ve wanted since I was thirteen?"

"No," he laughed, sincerely. "That you’re more stubborn than any sensible man should ever be."

"True. But so is Ella. I’m sure that’s why it’ll work."

The nightclub was private, closed just for us. A small group of men with stories on their backs and war scars in their souls. Petter, Alex Spanos, Matheus, Mahjub, Frost, Gruber, my grandfather Augusto and, of course, my father Henrique and my grandfathers Bruno and Hassan, they were all there. Not just as figures of the mafia, but as family.

Each with a drink in hand, youthful stories ready to tell, and an unlikely willingness to laugh out loud at things we hadn’t let touch us for a long time.

When we returned to my apartment in the middle of the night, everyone was staggering between drunkenness, fatigue, and that quiet euphoria of knowing they were living a milestone.

"That was the last round, huh," Petter murmured, stumbling slightly as he walked in.

"Last one until the next mission," Henrique replied, patting him on the back.

They settled wherever they could. My guest room turned into a war zone, my father on the bed, my godfather Petter in the armchair, grumbling that his friend kicked too much in his sleep and that he wasn’t willing to die suffocated with a pillow.

In my bedroom, I left the true owners of the night. My grandfathers Bruno and Hassan, and their friend Alex Spanos, old companions, all in pajamas, lying side by side, snoring before I even finished turning off the light.

In the living room were Matheus and Mahjub, who had laid out his prayer rug for the first prayer of the morning and would stay there. The silence between them was like a spiritual shield over the surrounding chaos. I admired that discipline. Unlike most of the family, I haven’t become a follower of Islam. But I respect and love the faith my family practices.

Gavin and I stayed on the balcony.

The night air was cold but clean. The city lights shone below like a reminder that the world didn’t stop, not even for a second, to wait for our pain.

"Everything will be fine tomorrow," I said, staring at the sky. "She’ll be beautiful. And you… you’ll smile. Even if I have to make you smile by force."

Gavin let out a sigh.

"It’s not that I’m not happy for you, Leon. It’s just… she should be here. Lessie. Standing beside me as my maid of honor. As my…"

"She’s still yours. She’s just off the map for a while."

He turned his face and looked at me with red eyes.

"What if time is the enemy?"

"Then we’ll fight against it," I replied firmly. "Just like we always have."

We went silent. One of those silences that only soul brothers can endure. No need to fill the space, no obligation to hide it.

Gradually, tiredness got the better of me. I leaned back on the balcony couch, and Gavin did the same.

"You know what I envy most about you?" he murmured, his voice already dragging.

"My innate charm and defined jawline?"

"No," he smiled. "The way you believe in people. And how, even after everything you’ve been through, you still love like it’s the first time."

It took me a while to respond, moved by his opinion of me. And when I did, it was almost in a whisper:

"I only love Ella. But for her, I’d believe in the whole world."

And so, in the silence of dawn, we fell asleep right there on the lounge chairs that Ella insisted we have here.

Two men internally broken and yet somehow still whole, savoring the eve of the most important day of my life.

The day dawned with a sky too clear for a city like New York. Almost as if the world understood the weight of what was about to happen and, out of compassion, decided to give us a bit of peace.

In the apartment, chaos was coordinated. Ties being adjusted, suits aligned, shoes polished with more rigor than necessary. My friends, my family, men who had seen blood run between their fingers, were now discussing hairstyles and perfect collars.

"You’re too quiet," my father said, watching me with sharp eyes as he adjusted his cuff links.

"I’m paying attention," I replied. "I think there’s something odd about the security setup at the cathedral. Too much movement in areas that should be sealed. I saw it in the reports."

He paused for a second. Studied me.

"Today is your wedding day, Leon. Just for today, trust me, everything is under control."

I nodded, but something inside me wouldn’t settle. It wasn’t fear, it was instinct, the same instinct my father had been teaching me to trust since I was eleven.

That instinct had never failed me.

St. Patrick’s Cathedral had never felt more alive than it did today.

The stained-glass windows filtered the light like the gods themselves had designed them, painting the floor with golden and bluish reflections. The scent of incense still hung in the air, mixed with the fragrance of the white orchids that Ella had insisted on choosing.

I walked to the altar, each step heavy with an emotion I had never felt before. It was as if every part of me, the man, the heir, the soldier, the son, knew that something new was beginning at that altar, not just for society to witness, but for my family in the underworld too.

Bishop Benjamin Scott greeted me with a small nod. His cassock was flawless, but the sweat on his brow betrayed him.

"Are you alright?" I asked quietly, leaning closer.

He hesitated. For a moment, his eyes fixed on something, or rather, someone.

Denaro Coppola’s daughter.

She was seated on the left side, impeccable. Her blue eyes held something back, something that seemed like a massive secret. The way she looked at the bishop wasn’t reverent, it was tense.

"Everything is fine," he replied, his voice slightly trembling. "It’s just the honor of the moment."

I didn’t press. But I filed the moment away. Maybe there was something about this to be revealed in the future.

And then the music began.

The first notes of the piano filled the nave, and everyone stood. That was the moment I lost my breath, when I looked toward the cathedral entrance.

Ella, my bride, my wife, was there, arm in arm with her father Tommáz, walking toward me.

She entered as if time had stopped just to let her pass.

She wore a princess-style gown, with a voluminous skirt made of light layers of tulle that floated like a whisper. The fitted bodice was entirely embroidered with fine crystals, capturing the light as if her skin were studded with stars. Long, sheer sleeves wrapped around her arms, with the same lace tracing down to her wrists.

Her blonde hair was styled in a sophisticated up do, with loose strands softly framing her face and a flowing veil pinned to the bun. Small pearl earrings. Nothing extravagant. Ella needed no embellishment, she was the masterpiece herself.

Her eyes were locked on mine. And when she smiled, it felt like everything finally made sense.

The world could collapse right then, and I would still be whole.

She walked beside my father-in-law with steady steps, like someone who knew exactly who she was, Ella Carter. My wife, and above all, my fortress.

When she reached the altar, my heart pounded so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.

I took her hand, it was warm, and from the slight dampness, she was probably just as anxious as I was.

"You look beautiful," I whispered.

"And you’re here," she replied, smiling tenderly.

"Did you think I wouldn’t come?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"I had some doubts after I heard you all got in at four in the morning, drunk out of your minds."

The ceremony continued with prayers and vows. Words that might have seemed simple, but for us, carried the weight of entire lives.

The bishop spoke of love, but also of commitment and sacrifice. His words were meant for Ella and me, but his eyes remained fixed on the blonde girl watching us.

And for a moment, I thought of everything we’d endured to get here. My mistake that ended Evelyn’s life. The hunt for Riccardo, and now Arnold was there, perhaps hoping that someday peace would come between him and “First.”

When it was time for the vows, I looked into her eyes and let the world around us disappear.

"Ella, you are my origin and my destiny. When everything falls apart, it’s with you that I rebuild. I promise you not perfection, but presence. Not just love, but loyalty until the last breath I take. You are my home."

Her eyes welled up with tears. Her words were soft, but piercing:

"Leon, I loved you before I even knew what love was. We grew up together, we hurt each other, we healed. And today, in front of everyone, I choose to keep growing by your side. I promise to challenge you, care for you, and remind you of who you are, even when you forget."

We heard murmurs among the guests, but nothing could tear my eyes away from my wife.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the Bishop said.

And when he said those words, I felt the world open up to a new chapter.

The music echoed, the guests applauded.

And I, for the first time in my entire life, was officially whole.

And being Ella’s husband meant more than any empire ever could.