THE MAN WHO ASKED FOR THE SCHEDULE

Spring arrived in Boston, washing away the bitter memory of the winter.

The gardens of the Ferraro estate were in full bloom, a sea of white roses and green ivy.

It was the morning of the wedding.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, wearing a simple, elegant white silk gown.

My mother stood behind me, fastening the delicate pearl buttons down my back.

She looked beautiful, wearing a soft lavender dress, the years of stress finally erased from her face.

“You look like an angel, Tessa,” she whispered, her eyes shining with tears.

I turned and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you, Mom. For everything. For keeping the secret to protect us.”

She kissed my cheek.

“I did what I had to do. But Nico... he’s a good man, Tessa. Better than his father. He’s building a real life for you.”

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” I called.

The door opened, and Frank stepped inside.

He was wearing a sharp tuxedo, his shoulder completely healed.

He looked distinguished, proud, and incredibly happy.

“Miss Tessa,” Frank said, giving a small bow. “It is time.”

Because my father had passed away when I was a baby, Nico and I had asked Frank to walk me down the aisle.

It was the only fitting choice.

I took his offered arm, and we walked down the grand staircase, through the foyer where we had once fought for our lives, and out into the bright spring sunshine.

The garden was filled with a small, intimate group of people.

No mob bosses. No corrupt politicians.

Just real friends, loyal staff who were now treated as family, and Julian, who had flown up from Miami, looking healthier and happier than he had in years.

Mia was walking ahead of me in a fluffy white dress, tossing rose petals with fierce concentration.

And at the end of the aisle, standing under an arch of white flowers, was Nico.

He wore a tailored black tuxedo, but his eyes were entirely unguarded.

When he saw me, a smile broke across his face—a smile so pure and full of love that it stole the breath from my lungs.

Frank walked me to the altar, gently placed my hand in Nico’s, and stepped back.

Nico squeezed my fingers.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he whispered.

“You clean up nicely yourself, Mr. Ferraro,” I whispered back.

The ceremony was short, sweet, and filled with laughter and happy tears.

When the priest finally pronounced us husband and wife, Nico didn't hesitate.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me with a passion that made the small crowd cheer.

The reception was held on the grand patio.

We danced, we laughed, and we celebrated the end of the old Ferraro era, and the beginning of a new one.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, Nico took my hand.

“Come with me. I have one more surprise for you.”

He led me away from the party, toward the driveway.

Sitting under the twilight sky was a car.

It wasn't a sleek new limousine or a luxury sports car.

It was the 1978 blue Ford.

The scratch on the passenger door had been perfectly repaired. The paint was polished until it gleamed like a mirror.

Frank was standing beside it, holding the door open with a massive grin on his face.

Nico looked at me.

“My father taught me how to drive in this car,” he said softly. “It’s the only good memory I really have of him. I want it to be the car that takes us away today.”

Tears pricked my eyes.

“It’s perfect, Nico.”

We climbed into the back seat.

Frank got behind the wheel, starting the engine with a familiar, comforting rumble.

As we drove down the long, winding driveway, away from the estate and toward our honeymoon, I looked back one last time.

The house was glowing with light and life.

I leaned my head against Nico’s shoulder, twisting the antique sapphire ring on my finger.

“Are you happy, Mrs. Ferraro?” Nico asked, kissing the top of my head.

I looked up at him, my heart completely full.