Six months after the night in Bellarosa’s storage room, my life looked nothing like the one I had lost.
Tony remained in custody awaiting trial.
Regina had pleaded guilty to fraud-related charges and received a reduced sentence in exchange for cooperation.
I visited her once.
Only once.
The prison visiting room smelled like disinfectant and old coffee.
Regina sat across from me in plain clothes, her hair shorter than I remembered.
For the first minute, neither of us spoke.
Finally she whispered, “You look like your father.”
I almost left.
Instead, I stayed.
“Why did you ask to see me?”
She folded her hands.
“To say I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know.”
“And it didn’t change anything.”
“I know.”
There were no dramatic tears this time.
No excuses.
“I spent years thinking if I could get enough money, enough attention, enough control, I would stop feeling like I was losing.”
She looked down.
“I lost everything anyway.”
I listened.
Not because she deserved forgiveness.
Because I deserved closure.
“Are you asking me to forgive you?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“I’m asking you not to become like me.”
I almost laughed.
“There is very little danger of that.”
“I mean don’t let hatred make decisions for you.”
I studied her.
For once, Regina sounded tired rather than manipulative.
“I don’t hate you.”
She looked up.
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
“I don’t trust you. I don’t want you in my life right now. Maybe ever.”
She nodded.
“But I don’t hate you.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad gave me better things to carry.”
Regina cried then.
Quietly.
I left without hugging her.
And I felt lighter.
The hardware store became my next problem.
Several developers offered to buy it.
Vincent refused to give an opinion.
“You always have opinions.”
“Not about this.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s yours.”
I stared at him.
“You’ve matured.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
In the end, I reopened the building.
Not as a hardware store.
As a community kitchen and job-training center connected to Bellarosa.
Rosa thought I was crazy.
Then she volunteered to run the cooking program.
Claire helped create a nonprofit.
Vincent donated nothing.
At my insistence.
Then I discovered the new refrigeration system had arrived without an invoice.
I called him.
“Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“Why are there six commercial refrigerators in my building?”
“I have no idea.”
“They came from Moretti Hospitality Supply.”
“Sounds reputable.”
“You own Moretti Hospitality Supply.”
“Do I?”
“Vincent.”
He sighed.
“Consider it a loan.”
“They’re installed.”
“A very committed loan.”
I tried to stay angry.
I failed.
Noah started first grade.
He hated homework.
Loved science.
And continued telling everyone I was his fiancée.
His teacher called me one afternoon.
“Ms. Parker?”
“Yes?”
“This is Mrs. Collins.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is Noah okay?”
“Oh, he’s fine. I just wanted clarification.”
“About?”
“He informed the class that his father stole his girlfriend.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course he did.”
Mrs. Collins coughed to hide a laugh.
“And he says there may be a wedding.”
“There may eventually be a wedding.”
A pause.
“So his father did steal his girlfriend?”
“That interpretation is disputed.”
When Vincent came home that evening, I handed him the phone note.
He read it.
Then looked at Noah.
Noah kept eating pasta.
“Would you like to explain?”
Noah shrugged.
“You did.”
“I did what?”
“Stole Emma.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Apparently I did.”
“You should be ashamed.”
“I am devastated.”
Noah pointed his fork at us.
“See?”
The house filled with laughter.
I moved in permanently that winter.
Not because I needed protection.
Tony’s network had collapsed.
The legal cases were progressing.
I could have rented anywhere.
I moved in because home had stopped feeling like a place I was hiding.
It had become Vincent in the kitchen at midnight.
Noah asleep sideways across a sofa.
Teresa yelling because someone left wet towels on antique furniture.
Marco pretending he wasn’t emotionally invested in our relationship.
I kept my own bank account.
My own work.
My own decisions.
Vincent respected all three.
We still fought.
Frequently.
Mostly about security.
Sometimes about his tendency to solve problems before asking whether I wanted them solved.
Once about a dog.
Noah wanted one.
Vincent said no.
I said maybe.
Noah interpreted maybe as yes.
A golden retriever puppy appeared three days later.
“Where did this dog come from?”
Vincent demanded.
Noah hugged the puppy.
“Destiny.”
I covered my mouth.
Vincent looked at me.
“You knew.”
“I knew approximately five minutes before you.”
“Emma.”
“Look at his face.”
“I am looking at his face.”
The puppy licked Vincent’s shoe.
Vincent stared down.
“No.”
The puppy sat on his foot.
Two hours later, I found Vincent asleep in his office chair with the puppy on his chest.
I took a photograph.
For insurance.
Spring arrived.
The criminal trial began.
Tony’s attorney tried to paint me as vindictive.
A woman manipulated by Vincent Moretti.
I expected that.
What I didn’t expect was how much it would hurt.
“You entered a romantic relationship with Mr. Moretti while he provided housing and security, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And he benefited from the downfall of Mr. Valenti.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t participate in Vincent’s business.”
The attorney smiled.
“Convenient.”
My hands tightened beneath the witness stand.
Then I remembered Dad’s letter.
Do not stay anywhere that asks you to become smaller.
I lifted my chin.
“What’s convenient is pretending I caused Tony’s crimes by surviving them.”
The courtroom went quiet.
The attorney’s smile faded.
I continued.
“He kidnapped my employer. He participated in fraudulent property transfers. His records show years of extortion. None of that changes because of who I fell in love with.”
The prosecutor objected to the question that followed.
The judge sustained it.
I stepped down twenty minutes later.
Vincent waited outside.
“You were good.”
“I was terrified.”
“You hid it.”
“I learned from you.”
He took my hand.
“I wish you hadn’t needed to.”
That was the difference between him and Tony.
Tony admired fear when he created it.
Vincent hated that I had ever felt it.
The verdict came three weeks later.
Guilty on nearly every major count.
Tony Valenti would spend decades in prison.
When Claire called, I didn’t cheer.
I sat on the steps of Dad’s building and cried.
Vincent found me there.
“It’s over,” I whispered.
“This part is.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means life continues.”
“That sounds suspiciously philosophical.”
“I practiced.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I know.”
He sat beside me.
For a while, we watched traffic pass.
Then Vincent reached into his coat.
My heart stopped.
“No.”
He froze.
“What?”
“If that is a ring, don’t.”
His face became unreadable.
“Why?”
“Because Noah will never let us hear the end of it.”
A slow smile appeared.
“That ship sailed six months ago.”
He pulled out a small velvet box.
My eyes filled immediately.
“Vincent.”
“Emma Parker.”
He opened it.
The ring was elegant.
Simple.
Beautiful.
No enormous diamond designed to make a statement.
Exactly what I would have chosen.
“You said yes once in a pantry under extreme duress.”
I laughed through tears.
“I did.”
“I would like an answer under improved conditions.”
He stood.
Then, to my shock, Vincent Moretti went down on one knee on the sidewalk.
Cars passed.
People stared.
My hands covered my mouth.
“I can’t promise a quiet life,” he said.
“That is obvious.”
“I can promise you will always have a choice.”
My smile vanished.
That line struck somewhere deep.
Vincent continued.
“I can promise I will never confuse loving you with owning you.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“And I can promise Noah will continue taking credit for all of this.”
From behind the door came a muffled voice.
“I HEARD THAT!”
I burst out laughing.
Vincent looked toward the building.
“You were supposed to stay inside.”
Noah appeared through the doorway wearing a tiny suit.
Teresa and Marco stood behind him.
Noah shouted, “ASK HER!”
Vincent looked back at me.
“Emma, will you marry me?”
I knelt in front of him instead of making him wait.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed briefly.
Then he kissed me.
Noah screamed.
“I WON!”
Marco groaned.
Teresa handed him fifty dollars.
I pulled away from Vincent.
“You had another pool?”
Nobody answered.