Lorenzo tried to send me away.
Naturally.
“No.”
“Amelia.”
“No.”
“This is not negotiable.”
“Then stop negotiating.”
His eyes flashed.
“Someone threatened your life.”
“Yes.”
“And you think staying is reasonable?”
“I think doing exactly what Daniel wants is stupid.”
“I don’t care what Daniel wants.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because my father died stopping him.”
That ended the argument.
For approximately twelve seconds.
Then Lorenzo said, “Your father wanted you alive.”
“And hiding forever?”
“Alive.”
I stepped closer.
“Stop confusing love with control.”
That hit him.
He went quiet.
I softened my voice.
“I know why you’re doing it. But if you decide where I go because you’re afraid, how is that different from everyone else deciding what I can handle?”
His face tightened.
It wasn’t a fair comparison to Ethan.
We both knew that.
But the principle mattered.
Finally Lorenzo asked, “What do you want?”
“To finish this.”
So we did.
My father’s recipe cards contained more than account numbers.
The first letter of each recipe title formed a phrase.
Rosa noticed it.
That woman was terrifying.
Pancakes.
Apple pie.
Strawberry cake.
Sauce.
Waffles.
Orange bread.
Ravioli.
Doughnuts.
PA S S W O R D.
“Password,” I whispered.
On the bottom of the tin was a faded serial number.
It unlocked an encrypted storage account my father had created eleven years earlier.
Inside were scanned records.
Audio files.
Photographs.
And a recorded statement.
I heard my father’s voice for the first time in eleven years.
I broke before he finished his first sentence.
“My name is Thomas Carter. If Amelia ever hears this, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
Lorenzo reached for my hand.
I held on.
Dad explained everything.
Daniel Cole had created the laundering system.
Salvatore Duca and Vincent Bellini provided access.
When Dad discovered it, he copied the records.
Daniel threatened him.
Dad refused to surrender them.
The recording ended two days before his fatal crash.
Federal investigators now had enough evidence for warrants.
But Daniel disappeared.
Ethan agreed to cooperate.
The plan was simple.
Which meant I hated it immediately.
Ethan would contact his father and claim I had discovered another copy of the ledger.
Daniel took the bait.
He demanded the records.
A meeting was arranged at an abandoned Duca warehouse near the river.
Lorenzo wanted me nowhere near it.
Federal agents agreed.
For once, I agreed too.
I wasn’t interested in proving bravery by becoming bait.
I stayed inside an FBI command vehicle several blocks away while Ethan entered the warehouse wearing a wire.
Daniel arrived.
I listened.
“You ruined this,” Daniel told his son.
“I’m trying to save us.”
“From what?”
“Amelia knows.”
“Amelia was always sentimental. Like Thomas.”
My hands curled into fists.
Then Daniel said the words investigators needed.
“I gave Thomas a chance. He chose the road.”
The road.
My father’s crash.
Ethan asked, “You killed him?”
Daniel paused.
“I solved a problem.”
I closed my eyes.
Eleven years.
Eleven years wondering whether Dad had been tired.
Whether another driver had caused it.
Whether he had suffered.
Now I knew.
Daniel Cole had murdered him.
Agents moved.
But Daniel had anticipated them.
Gunfire erupted inside the warehouse.
I couldn’t see what happened.
The radio exploded with voices.
“Suspect moving east!”
“Officer down!”
“Secondary exit!”
Then Lorenzo’s voice came through.
“Marco!”
Static.
I stood.
An agent blocked me.
“You stay here.”
“What happened?”
No answer.
Minutes became unbearable.
Then the warehouse doors opened.
Agents emerged.
Ethan came first.
Handcuffed for his own protection.
Then Marco.
Blood on his sleeve, but walking.
Then Lorenzo.
Alive.
I forgot every instruction.
I ran.
Straight toward him.
He caught me.
“You’re supposed to be in the vehicle.”
“You’re supposed to stop getting shot at.”
“I wasn’t shot.”
“Excellent. Gold star.”
His arms tightened.
Behind him, agents brought Daniel Cole out in cuffs.
For the first time, I saw the man responsible for my father’s death.
Gray hair.
Expensive coat.
Ordinary face.
That bothered me.
Monsters were supposed to look like monsters.
Daniel looked like somebody who might complain about property taxes at a neighborhood barbecue.
He saw me.
“You look like Thomas.”
I stepped toward him.
Lorenzo stayed beside me.
Daniel smiled.
“Your father should have minded his business.”
I expected rage.
Instead, I felt something calmer.
“My father did mind his business.”
Daniel frowned.
“Doing the right thing was his business.”
Agents led him away.
Ethan stopped near me.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
Part of me wanted to hate him forever.
Maybe part of me always would.
But hatred was another kind of lease.
And I had already given Ethan enough years.
“I hope you become someone who understands what that word costs,” I said.
He nodded.
Then he left.
Three weeks later, federal prosecutors charged Daniel with conspiracy, money laundering, obstruction, and crimes connected to my father’s death.
The investigation also cleared Lorenzo’s legitimate companies of the laundering operation Daniel had secretly embedded inside them.
It didn’t magically transform Lorenzo into a saint.
He had a complicated history.
We both knew that.
But the conspiracy was over.
My father’s name was cleared.
Marco finally stopped blaming himself for his father.
Bianca received an apology from Lorenzo.
She told him he needed therapy.
I told her I had been saying the same thing.
Then Friday arrived.
Day ninety.
I packed my suitcase.
Lorenzo found it beside my bedroom door.
His face went blank.
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
That was all.
No argument.
No guilt.
No attempt to stop me.
He picked up my suitcase.
Just as he had on my first day.
Something inside me almost broke.
We walked downstairs.
Rosa stood in the foyer.
Marco looked devastated.
Lorenzo placed my suitcase beside the door.
“I’ll have a car take you home.”
“Okay.”
His voice became rough.
“Amelia.”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you came.”
My throat tightened.
“Me too.”
I picked up my suitcase.
Then walked past him.
Toward the staircase.
Lorenzo turned.
“Amelia?”
I put the suitcase down.
“What?”
“The door is that way.”
“I know.”
“Then where are you going?”
“To unpack.”
Nobody moved.
I smiled.
“You said the ninety-day arrangement ends today.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m ending it.”
His face fell.
I continued.
“And if you want me here tomorrow, you’re going to have to ask me to stay for real.”
Rosa made a sound suspiciously like a victory squeal.
Lorenzo stared at me.
Then slowly walked closer.
“How long?”
I smiled.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you finally kiss me without somebody throwing a brick through a window.”
He took my face gently between his hands.
“Stay.”
One word.
No contract.
No arrangement.
No obligation.
I smiled.
“Okay.”
Then he kissed me.
And somewhere behind us Rosa shouted, “Marco! Call the caterer!”