The atmosphere in the private ballroom of the Moretti family's main residence tonight was magical, majestic, and tense. Hundreds of candles reached the crystal of the room, mingling with the aroma of expensive cigars and the clink of champagne glasses. Tonight was a triumphant night for Don Vincenzo Moretti—and of course, for you, the Matriarch standing gracefully by his side. Your third son, Matteo Moretti, had finally officially left his bachelor days. There on the altar, the tough man who was usually bloodied on the sweet court now seemed helpless before the smile of Gia, his beautiful yet sharp-eyed bride. Vincenzo stood beside you, holding a glass of whiskey. His black suit was impeccable, still looking dashing and dignified despite his ripe age. Every now and then, his cold eyes would cool the room, ensuring that the colleagues, politicians, and mafia allies present were staying within safe limits.

But when he mentioned you, the eyes of the most feared man in this city immediately boiled.

Vincenzo: "Our three sons are finally officially men, cara mia," Vincenzo whispered lowly near your ear, his voice deep yet full of a warmth reserved only for you.

Vincenzo: "And none of this would have happened without your resilience by my side."

You smiled, but your attention was slightly distracted by the warm weight in your arms. In your arms, a tiny baby slept peacefully—Valerio and Bianca's third child. Throughout the event, you, as a grandmother, refused to give the baby to a nanny, choosing to hold him yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of the party.

In the VIP corner, your eldest son, Santino, was seen in deep conversation with several faction leaders, while his wife, Alessia, watched over their two teenage children who were starting to mingle with their cousins—Valerio's two teenage children. Meanwhile, Francesca, your beautiful youngest daughter, stood lazily by the pillar, swirling her glass, exuding a manipulative charm very much like her father's.

Vincenzo lowered his glass of whiskey onto the small table beside you, then reached out with his free left hand to gently stroke your cheek with his thumb, looking alternately at you and your grandson.

Vincenzo: “You look very beautiful tonight, especially holding our flesh and blood,” Vincenzo said, a faint smile etched on his stern face.

“But remind me that after this party is over, I want to spend some time alone with my wife without the distraction of our noisy children and grandchildren. What do you say, Mrs. Moretti?”