Chapter 7 - One Year Later
Victor asked me to marry him eleven months later.
Not at a gala.
Not in front of a hundred people.
Not inside one of his restaurants.
He asked while standing barefoot in our kitchen at seven in the morning with baby oatmeal on his black T-shirt.
Sofia sat in her high chair throwing banana pieces onto the floor.
I was drinking coffee.
Victor looked at me.
“Lena?”
“What?”
“Marry me.”
I nearly dropped my mug.
“What?”
He pointed toward the counter.
The same small ring box from the hospital sat there.
“You said ask someday.”
“You chose now?”
He looked down at his oatmeal-covered shirt.
“I had a better plan.”
“What happened?”
“Sofia.”
Our daughter slapped both hands onto her tray.
Victor nodded.
“Exactly.”
I laughed.
He picked up the box but didn't open it.
“I don't want you because you're Sofia's mother.”
My smile faded.
“I don't want you because I almost lost you.”
He stepped closer.
“And I don't want you because I think marriage means I get to keep you.”
He paused.
“I want you because this year taught me something I should have understood from the beginning.”
“What?”
“You don't keep people by holding tighter.”
He looked at Sofia.
“You give them reasons to stay.”
My throat tightened.
Victor opened the box.
“So, Lena Moretti, would you choose me?”
I stared at him.
This was different from the man I'd run from.
Not harmless.
Victor would probably never be harmless.
His past hadn't vanished.
His power hadn't disappeared.
But he'd changed what he did with it.
Rizzo's evidence had helped federal prosecutors dismantle the financial network that had threatened us.
Evan had entered witness protection temporarily, then returned to New York after the case ended.
Marisol had become Sofia's unofficial grandmother and still treated Victor like an employee whenever he entered the diner.
And Victor?
Victor sold his interests in businesses I refused to let near our daughter.
He kept the legitimate companies.
He stopped asking Carlo where I went.
He stopped solving disagreements with orders.
Mostly.
Last month he'd secretly replaced my apartment's ancient water heater.
I decided to forgive that one.
I looked at the ring.
Then at him.
“One condition.”
His face became suspicious.
“Only one?”
“Don't ruin this.”
“Define ruin.”
“No giant wedding.”
“Okay.”
“No helicopters.”
He frowned.
“I hadn't mentioned helicopters.”
“The fact that you're disappointed proves I needed to.”
He smiled.
“No helicopters.”
“No two hundred security guards.”
“Twenty?”
“Four.”
“Twelve.”
“Six.”
“Eight.”
I sighed.
“Fine.”
Victor smiled.
“Then yes?”
I let him wait three more seconds.
“Yes.”
He stopped smiling.
Not because he was unhappy.
Because for one second, Victor Moretti seemed incapable of processing the answer.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Victor.”
He pulled me into his arms.
Sofia immediately screamed.
We separated.
She stared at us angrily.
Victor picked her up.
“You're included.”
Sofia grabbed his face.
I laughed.
Three months later, we married in a small garden outside the city.
Thirty-two guests.
Six security men.
Victor had negotiated eight.
I won.
Marisol cried louder than anyone.
Evan walked me down the aisle.
Carlo held Sofia and looked more terrified of dropping her than he'd ever looked facing an enemy.
When I reached Victor, he didn't take my hand immediately.
He waited.
Even then.
Even after everything.
I smiled and placed my hand in his.
“You can stop asking permission for that one.”
He smiled.
“Never hurts to be sure.”
That night, after everyone left, I found Victor standing beside Sofia's crib.
She was asleep.
He looked at me.
“Do you ever think about that first phone call?”
“Sometimes.”
“I do.”
“You sounded terrified.”
“I was.”
I leaned against the doorway.
“I almost didn't call.”
His expression changed.
“I know.”
“I thought calling you meant giving up my freedom.”
“And now?”
I walked toward him.
“Now I know asking someone for help isn't the same as surrendering your life to them.”
Victor took my hand.
“And I learned helping someone doesn't mean owning their choices.”
I smiled.
“That lesson only took you about thirty-eight years.”
“I'm a slow learner.”
Sofia stirred.
Both of us immediately looked down.
She sighed and went back to sleep.
Victor whispered, “She's perfect.”
“She's stubborn.”
“From you.”
“Power hungry.”
“From you.”
I elbowed him.
He laughed quietly.
A year earlier, I had sat alone beneath hospital lights with twenty-two dollars, a silent baby, and a phone number I was terrified to call.
I had believed there were only two choices.
Run from Victor Moretti.
Or belong to Victor Moretti.
I had been wrong.
There was a third.
Stand beside him.
Not behind him.
Not beneath his protection.
Beside him.
Victor kissed my forehead.
“Come to bed.”
“In a minute.”
He nodded.
No order.
No argument.
Just trust.
I looked down at our sleeping daughter.
The little girl whose silence had terrified me enough to make one impossible phone call.
That call hadn't returned me to the life I'd escaped.
It had forced both of us to build a different one.
And this time—
I wasn't staying because Victor Moretti could find me anywhere.
I was staying because he'd finally learned to let me choose.
May you like
And I chose him.
THE END
