Chapter 7 - The Garage He Could Never Own
Three months later, Gabriel’s black sedan pulled into Bellini Auto at 7:12 in the morning.
Frankie was beneath a truck.
She heard expensive shoes cross the concrete.
“If that’s you, Costa, coffee’s terrible and I’m busy.”
Gabriel crouched.
“How did you know?”
“Everyone else here works.”
She rolled out.
Gabriel wore a dark suit with no tie.
His tattooed hands held two coffee cups.
Frankie accepted one suspiciously.
“What do you want?”
“Your final payment.”
She stopped.
For three months, Frankie had serviced Vanguard vehicles at market rates, with part of every invoice applied to Leo’s legitimate fifty-thousand-dollar debt.
She walked into the office and opened the ledger.
“We still owe eight thousand.”
“No.”
Gabriel placed a document on the desk.
Frankie read it.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What is this?”
“Payment from Leo.”
“Leo doesn’t have eight thousand.”
“He sold his car.”
Frankie looked through the window.
Leo was replacing brake pads on an old sedan.
For once, he was early.
For once, he was working.
“He did that?”
“Yes.”
Gabriel placed another envelope beside the document.
Frankie opened it.
Inside was a property release.
No liens.
No claims.
Bellini Auto belonged completely to Frankie and Leo again.
She looked at Gabriel.
“You’re really walking away from the land?”
“I told you I was.”
“You’re Gabriel Costa.”
“So people keep reminding me.”
“You don’t walk away from things you want.”
His expression changed.
“Sometimes what I want changes.”
Frankie became very still.
Gabriel stepped closer.
Three months earlier, she had stood across his oak desk convinced he intended to take everything from her.
Now he stood in her garage with oil beneath his shoes.
“What do you want now?” she asked.
“You.”
Frankie almost laughed.
“Dangerous answer.”
“I’m aware.”
“You don’t own me.”
“I learned that within approximately thirty seconds.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Felt shorter.”
Frankie folded her arms.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“Dinner.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“No bodyguards.”
Gabriel glanced toward the window.
Marco was sitting inside the sedan.
“He gets anxious.”
“Tell him to get a hobby.”
“I’ve tried.”
Frankie stepped closer.
“And you’re paying.”
“I expected to.”
“And I choose the restaurant.”
Gabriel frowned.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“You afraid?”
His dark eyes settled on hers.
“No.”
“Good.”
She kissed his cheek.
Then immediately walked toward Bay 2.
Gabriel remained frozen.
Marco entered through the garage door.
“Boss?”
Gabriel did not move.
“Did she just—”
“Yes.”
Marco smiled.
“Congratulations.”
Gabriel slowly looked at him.
“Leave.”
Marco disappeared.
Frankie laughed from across the garage.
Gabriel followed the sound.
“Francesca.”
She turned.
“What?”
He switched effortlessly into the Sicilian dialect that had started everything.
“Say it again.”
Frankie smiled.
“Which part?”
“The thing you called me in my office.”
She walked back toward him.
Stopped inches away.
And looked directly into his eyes.
“Dead octopus.”
Gabriel grinned.
“No soul.”
His hand settled gently around her waist.
“No honor.”
“Anything else?”
Frankie pretended to consider it.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You’re buying dinner.”
Gabriel laughed.
This time there were no guards waiting for permission to move.
No debt.
No contract.
No threat hanging over her father’s garage.
Outside, the old Bellini Auto sign rattled in the Chicago wind.
Inside, Leo worked beneath the hood of a customer’s car.
And Frankie stood in the middle of the only place Gabriel Costa had once believed he could purchase.
He had been wrong.
He never owned the garage.
He never owned Frankie.
But months later, when Gabriel walked through the bay doors carrying two coffees and Frankie looked up from an engine with grease on her cheek and smiled at him, he finally understood something his ledgers had never taught him.
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Some things were worth far more when they were freely given.
And for the first time in years, Gabriel Costa was perfectly happy owning none of them.
