Chapter 5 - The Wedding March and the Duck Socks
Sixteen months later, the private chapel at the historic Cathedral of St. Patrick in Manhattan was filled to absolute capacity, though not a single federal agent, journalist, or rival syndicate boss was anywhere in sight.
Instead, the pews were packed with loyal family friends, trusted estate staff, and high-ranking business partners who had all gathered for an event far more important than any corporate merger.
Outside, spring had finally arrived in New York, painting the city in vibrant shades of green. But inside, the air was sweet with the scent of white roses, lilies, and expensive perfume.
At the front of the altar stood Marco Moretti, wearing a sharp, tailored midnight-blue tuxedo. He didn't look like a terrified crime lord; he looked like the proudest father on the face of the earth. Beside him stood a slightly older, much more composed Sophia Reyes—now four years old—wearing a gorgeous little flower-girl dress and wearing, against all formal dress codes, bright yellow duck socks pulled proudly up to her shins.
The heavy wooden doors at the back of the chapel swung open wide, and the organ began to swell with a majestic, triumphant wedding march.
All heads turned toward the back.
Stepping across the threshold, dressed in a stunning, flowing white gown with delicate lace sleeves, was Alina Moretti.
She wasn't in a wheelchair. She wasn't being carried.
She walked down the long aisle with a steady, graceful stride, her head held high, holding a bouquet of white peonies in her hands. Every single step she took was deliberate, strong, and entirely unassisted.
As she drew closer to the altar, her eyes locked onto her father. Marco’s chest heaved, and he had to blink rapidly several times to keep his vision clear of tears.
When Alina finally reached the front of the altar, she stopped right in front of him, flashing a radiant, blinding smile that made him look twenty years younger.
"You're late," Marco teased gently, his voice thick with emotion as he offered her his arm.
"Traffic on the bridge was terrible, Papa," Alina whispered back, linking her arm securely through his.
As they turned toward the altar to begin the family ceremony—celebrating not just a wedding, but a miraculous recovery that baffled every specialist in the country—little Sophia Reyes tugged insistently on the hem of Alina's wedding gown.
Alina looked down with a loving smile. "Yes, Sophia?"
The four-year-old pointed a solemn finger down at Alina’s elegant white high heels.
"See?" Sophia whispered loudly enough for the front three rows to hear, beaming with absolute, unshakable pride. "I told you your feet weren't broken. They just needed better shoes."
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The entire chapel erupted into warm, joyful laughter. Marco threw his head back and laughed out loud—a rich, booming sound that echoed off the sacred stained-glass windows—while pulling both his daughter and the little girl in duck socks close into his arms.
Some miracles didn't require medical science or million-dollar budgets. Sometimes, all it took was a three-year-old in pink pajamas, a stubborn belief in the impossible, and a father who finally learned how to catch his daughter when she fell.
