Chapter 11
Marriage became strangely difficult once nobody was trying to kill them.
Dante discovered Serena hated breakfast meetings.
Serena discovered Dante folded towels with military precision.
He learned she read mystery novels in bed.
She learned he couldn’t sleep with closet doors open.
They argued over thermostat settings.
They debated furniture.
They discovered ordinary problems.
And both secretly loved them.
One Saturday Serena entered the kitchen carrying paint samples.
“No.”
She stopped.
“You haven’t even looked.”
“I know what those are.”
“We need color.”
“The walls have color.”
“White isn’t a personality.”
“It’s technically all colors.”
“Don’t use physics against me.”
Dante smiled.
She placed samples on the counter.
For a man who once negotiated territory disputes between armed organizations, choosing between “warm linen” and “soft ivory” proved unexpectedly exhausting.
Eventually Serena won.
She usually did.
But healing wasn’t always playful.
Some nights she woke from nightmares.
Sometimes Dante disappeared emotionally when memories of his father returned.
They learned to recognize each other’s silence.
One evening Serena found Dante in the garage staring at an old photograph.
His father.
“You miss him.”
“Yes.”
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“At him?”
“At myself.”
She sat beside him.
“For what?”
“For not knowing what he wanted.”
“You were twenty.”
“I spent twelve years protecting an empire he wanted dismantled.”
Serena touched his hand.
“You know now.”
“That doesn’t return those years.”
“No.”
She leaned against him.
“But maybe it changes the next twelve.”
Dante looked at her.
She was right.
Again.
It became annoying.
Months passed.
Their first wedding anniversary after reconciliation approached.
Serena became strangely secretive.
Dante noticed immediately.
Old instincts made suspicion automatic.
Then he stopped himself.
Trust.
He waited.
On the anniversary morning, Serena handed him an envelope.
Dante stared.
“I have unpleasant memories involving envelopes.”
“Open it.”
Inside was a single piece of paper.
No legal documents.
Just an address.
“What is this?”
“Come tonight.”
“At?”
“Seven.”
He looked suspicious.
“Dress code?”
“Suit.”
“Weapons?”
“No.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
Serena kissed him.
“Seven.”
She left.
Dante arrived at the address that evening.
It was the church.
Their church.
The same place where they married.
The same place where Arthur tried to destroy them.
But tonight it was filled with candles.
No reporters.
No powerful families.
Only Marco, Patricia, a few trusted friends, and Serena.
She stood near the altar wearing a simple ivory dress.
Dante stopped.
“What is this?”
Serena walked toward him.
“Our first wedding was arranged by our families.”
She took his hand.
“So?”
“I want another one.”
Dante stared.
“You want to marry me again?”
“Yes.”
“We’re already married.”
“I know.”
“That seems legally redundant.”
Serena rolled her eyes.
“Dante.”
He smiled.
She continued.
“The first time, I walked down this aisle knowing I was about to spend years lying to you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I want one memory here where I’m not afraid.”
Dante couldn’t speak.
Serena whispered, “Will you marry me because we choose each other this time?”
Dante touched her face.
“Yes.”
The ceremony was small.
No alliances.
No contracts.
No territory.
When Serena reached the altar, her hands were warm.
Dante noticed.
She noticed him noticing.
They both smiled.
Their vows were simple.
Serena promised honesty even when honesty frightened her.
Dante promised to ask instead of assume.
When they kissed, Patricia cried.
Marco pretended he didn’t.
Later, outside the church, Serena leaned against Dante.
“Better wedding?”
“Much.”
“Why?”
“My bride actually likes me.”
She laughed.
Then whispered, “I love you.”
Dante kissed her forehead.
“I know.”
She frowned.
“That’s your response?”
He smiled.
“I love you too.”
“Better.”
They returned home after midnight.
On the kitchen table sat a letter.
No stamp.
No courier.
Dante immediately became alert.
Serena noticed.
He opened it.
The handwriting belonged to Vincent.
His father-in-law had written from prison.
Only one sentence appeared.
There is something about your father Arthur never knew.
Dante stared.
Serena sighed.
May you like
“Apparently our families are physically incapable of running out of secrets.”
And once again, the past had found their new home
