Chapter 54: CHAOS IN WHITE
The morning after Luca’s proposal was different. It wasn’t the silence of suspicion or the tension of power plays. It was soft, almost surreal. Aria woke up wrapped in his arms, the sunlight slipping through the curtains, and for the first time since this marriage began, the word "forever" didn’t terrify her.
"Stop staring," Luca mumbled, eyes still closed but a smile tugging at his lips.
"I’m not staring," she lied, her voice a whisper.
"You’re burning a hole in my face," he murmured, cracking one eye open. "If this is what marriage is going to be like, I might not survive it."
She smacked his chest lightly. "You’re dramatic."
"Only for you," he said, catching her wrist and kissing the inside of it, slow and deliberate. "And you said yes."
Her cheeks warmed. "I did."
"Say it again," he whispered.
"Yes."
"Once more."
"Yes, Luca," she said, laughing now.
He rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath his weight with a grin that was too boyish for a man with his reputation. "You have no idea how much I love hearing that."
"Then you’d better get used to hearing it," she teased, looping her arms around his neck.
"Oh, I plan to," he said, kissing her once more before pulling back with a sigh. "Which brings us to the next step."
She frowned. "Which is?"
"Our wedding. A real one."
Aria blinked. "Wait, you mean like flowers and guests and vows and—"
"Exactly like that," he said. "You deserve more than a midnight signature in a courthouse basement. You deserve something unforgettable."
She laughed nervously. "Luca, we don’t do normal. We kidnap, we scheme, we shoot people."
"And we plan weddings now," he cut in, eyes glinting. "A Moretti wedding. It’ll be the event of the decade."
"That’s exactly what scares me," she muttered.
The chaos began two hours later.
"White roses or red?" asked Sofia, Luca’s cousin and self-proclaimed wedding planner, holding up two massive bouquets.
"White," Aria said.
"Red," Luca said at the same time.
They turned and glared at each other.
"White is elegant," she argued.
"Red is power," he countered.
"It’s a wedding, not a mafia summit!"
"It’s our wedding, principessa," he said, leaning closer. "And power is elegant."
Sofia cleared her throat. "We could... mix them?"
"No," they both snapped, then burst out laughing.
"Okay," Aria conceded, trying not to smile. "Maybe white with a hint of red."
"Deal," Luca said, holding out his hand like they’d just signed a treaty. She shook it, giggling.
Next came the guest list.
"How about two hundred?" Sofia suggested, scrolling on her tablet.
"Fifty," Aria said quickly.
"Five hundred," Luca said at the same time.
Aria stared at him. "Are you planning a wedding or a United Nations summit?"
"These are people I can’t not invite," he said, straight-faced. "Family. Allies. People who would start wars if they weren’t included."
"You’re kidding."
"I’m not."
She groaned. "Fifty very important people."
"Three hundred," he bargained.
"One hundred."
"Two hundred."
"One fifty and I pick the band."
He paused. "Deal."
Sofia grinned. "I feel like I’m moderating a hostage negotiation."
The cake was another battle.
"Three tiers," Aria said, pointing at a photo on the wedding planner’s tablet.
"Seven," Luca countered, arms crossed.
"No one needs seven tiers."
"Everyone needs seven tiers. It’s tradition."
"In your world maybe."
"In our world now," he said, leaning down until his nose brushed hers. "Besides, you’ll love cutting into it."
She gave him a look. "Is this about the cake or the symbolism?"
"Both," he admitted with a wicked grin.
"Fine. Five tiers. Final offer."
He considered it, then nodded. "Done. But I get chocolate."
She rolled her eyes. "You’re impossible."
"And yet you love me."
"Unfortunately," she teased.
Dress shopping turned out to be the most chaotic part of all.
Aria stood in the middle of the boutique, surrounded by silk, lace, and sequins. "I look ridiculous," she muttered, staring at herself in the mirror.
"You look perfect," Luca said from his chair, chin resting on his hand as he watched her.
"This one’s too much," she said, tugging at the voluminous skirt.
"You said that about the last five."
"Because they were too much!"
"Aria, you’re marrying me. Too much is the baseline."
She threw him a glare. "You’re enjoying this."
"Immensely," he said without shame. "Try the one with the long sleeves."
She sighed and disappeared into the dressing room. A few minutes later, she stepped out in a gown that was simple yet breathtaking—satin that hugged her figure, lace sleeves that brushed her wrists, and a train that swept behind her like a whisper.
Luca stood. Slowly. Wordlessly.
"Well?" she asked, suddenly nervous.
He walked toward her, eyes never leaving hers. "That’s the one."
"Really?"
"Yes," he said, voice low. "Because that’s the dress you’ll wear when you ruin me."
Her breath caught. "Ruin you?"
"Completely," he murmured, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. "And I’ll thank you for it."
She flushed scarlet. "You’re impossible."
"And you’re perfect," he whispered.
The sweetest chaos came one night while they sat surrounded by invitation samples and wine.
"Okay," Aria said, pointing at a stack of cards. "We should go with these. Classic. Minimalist."
"They’re boring," Luca said, reaching for another. "This one has gold foil."
"It looks like a mafia wedding invitation."
He smirked. "It is a mafia wedding invitation."
"Luca!"
"What? Should we lie?"
She groaned, dropping her head onto the table. "I’m marrying a madman."
"Correction," he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "You’re marrying your madman."
She peeked up at him. "And here I thought you weren’t sentimental."
"I’m full of surprises," he said, sitting back and watching her with a softness she’d grown addicted to. "Do you know what I’m most excited about?"
"The seven-tier cake?"
He chuckled. "Walking into that church and knowing you chose to be there."
Her chest tightened. "I did choose you."
"And I’ll never stop choosing you," he said, his voice suddenly raw. "Even when we argue about roses and guest lists. Even when the world tries to tear us apart. Especially then."
Her heart melted. "Stop saying things that make me want to cry."
"Then kiss me," he said.
She leaned across the table and did exactly that.
The wedding planning was chaotic, hilarious, and exhausting, and Aria loved every second of it. Because every argument over flowers, every stubborn compromise, and every teasing exchange was a piece of a life she’d never thought she’d have. A life not of duty or fear, but choice. Partnership. Love.
One night, weeks into the preparations, she woke to find Luca awake beside her, staring at the ceiling.
"What’s wrong?" she whispered.
"Nothing," he said after a moment. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"How a man like me ended up with someone like you."
She smiled softly, tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Maybe fate."
"Maybe," he murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Or maybe I was just smart enough not to let you go."
She laughed quietly. "Good thing you didn’t. I don’t think I’d want to imagine my life without this... without you."
"Then don’t," he whispered, his hand tightening around hers. "Because I’m not going anywhere."
And for the first time, she believed him without reservation.
The mafia, the blood feuds, the shadows of their past, they would always exist. But here, in this quiet space between wedding plans and whispered promises, Aria and Luca were just two people building a future.
Together.