Chapter 7 - Five Hundred Forty-Seven Days Later
One year after the attack, Rosa stood inside the rebuilt restaurant folding napkins.
Mateo entered through the kitchen.
He stopped.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“You don't work here.”
“I know.”
“You specifically resigned.”
“I remember.”
“You threatened to break my fingers when I offered your old position back.”
“You offered minimum wage.”
“It was a joke.”
“It wasn't funny.”
Mateo leaned against the counter.
Rosa finished the fold.
Perfect.
Just like before.
But everything else had changed.
Daniel lived two states away and taught defensive driving.
Isabella had opened a private investigation firm.
Vincent and Christopher had left New York.
Lobo was awaiting trial on charges that would keep him locked away for decades.
Mateo had spent the year dismantling the most violent parts of his organization and moving money toward businesses that could survive without men carrying guns.
Not sainthood.
But movement.
Rosa respected movement.
Mateo placed something on the counter.
A key.
Rosa stared.
“What's that?”
“Front door.”
“I already have one.”
“Not this front door.”
She looked at him.
Mateo suddenly seemed nervous.
Rosa had watched him face armed men without blinking.
This was different.
“Mateo?”
“I bought the building next door.”
“Why?”
“Because you're always complaining that restaurant employees have nowhere safe to go after late shifts.”
Rosa stared.
He continued.
“Transportation office downstairs. Training upstairs. Emergency housing on the third floor.”
“You did that?”
“We did.”
“I didn't agree to anything.”
“Which is why I'm giving you the key instead of a contract.”
She picked it up.
Engraved into the metal were two words.
ROSA'S PLACE.
She stared at him.
“You named it after me?”
“Temporary name.”
“Mateo.”
“We can change it.”
“Mateo.”
“Yes?”
She kissed him.
Marco walked through the kitchen.
Stopped.
Turned around.
“Nope.”
Rosa pulled away.
Mateo called after him.
“You've seen worse.”
“Not before coffee.”
Rosa laughed.
Mateo touched her cheek.
“One more thing.”
“You're pushing your luck.”
“I know.”
He reached into his pocket.
Rosa stepped backward.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Mateo froze.
“You don't even know what it is.”
“That's a ring box.”
“It could contain anything.”
“It's ring-box shaped.”
“Rosa.”
“Mateo.”
He opened it.
A simple gold ring rested inside.
No giant diamond.
No spectacle.
No audience.
Rosa looked at him.
Mateo spoke quietly.
“I don't want Wraith.”
Her expression softened.
“I don't want the woman who saved Don Caruso.”
He took her hand.
“I want the woman who argues about wine, hates veal, folds napkins when she's nervous, and refuses to let me tip less than twenty-five percent.”
“Twenty-five is excessive.”
“You see?”
She laughed.
Mateo continued.
“I don't want you because you can protect me.”
“Good.”
“I want you because when I'm with you, I don't feel like I need protecting.”
Rosa became quiet.
“That's dangerously sentimental.”
“I rehearsed it.”
“I can tell.”
“Is that a yes?”
“You haven't asked.”
Mateo stared at her.
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
He took a breath.
“Rosa Conte, will you marry me?”
She looked at the ring.
Then at the restaurant.
A year earlier, she had stood in this room believing survival meant never allowing anyone close enough to matter.
For 547 days, every morning had been a victory because nobody had found her.
Now people knew exactly where she was.
Daniel knew.
Isabella knew.
Marco knew.
Mateo knew.
And Rosa wasn't running.
“Yes.”
Mateo blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Then Rosa pointed at him.
“But I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”
“No bodyguards following me into grocery stores.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Done.”
“No business at dinner.”
“Agreed.”
“No veal at the wedding.”
Mateo looked offended.
“That's unreasonable.”
“Mateo.”
“Fine.”
“And I'm keeping my apartment.”
“You practically live at my place.”
“That's irrelevant.”
Mateo smiled.
“Anything else?”
Rosa considered.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I'm never wearing that waitress uniform again.”
Mateo laughed.
“Deal.”
From the dining room, Marco shouted, “Are you two finished? We have customers.”
Rosa called back, “You fold the napkins!”
“I don't know how!”
“After three years?”
“That's why we hired you!”
Rosa looked at Mateo.
Mateo looked at Rosa.
Then they both started laughing.
Outside, October rain streaked the new windows.
Cars moved through the city.
People hurried beneath umbrellas.
Nothing stopped.
Nothing exploded.
Nobody came looking for Wraith.
Because Wraith had disappeared for good.
Rosa Conte remained.
A sister.
A friend.
A woman building something instead of destroying it.
And soon, Mateo Caruso's wife.
Rosa picked up another napkin and began folding.
Mateo frowned.
“I thought you said you quit.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you working?”
She handed him the napkin.
“I'm not.”
She pointed toward the dining room.
“You are.”
Mateo stared at it.
“You want me to fold napkins?”
“Consider it marriage training.”
He shook his head.
“This may be the most dangerous assignment you've ever given me.”
Rosa kissed his cheek and walked away.
Behind her, Mateo attempted the fold.
It collapsed immediately.
“Rosa?”
She kept walking.
“Figure it out, Don Caruso.”
May you like
For once, the most feared man in the room did exactly what the waitress told him.
And Rosa never counted the days again
