Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN EVERYONE TREATED LIKE AN AFTERTHOUGHT REFUSED TO BECOME THE MAFIA BOSS’S CARETAKER—AND THAT WAS WHEN ALESSANDRO FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO LOVE HER WITHOUT MAKING HER RESPONSIBLE FOR SAVING HIM
Their first date ended badly.
Camille considered that a good sign.
Alessandro chose a private restaurant.
Not merely a private table.
The entire restaurant.
Camille entered.
Looked around.
Twenty empty tables.
One violinist.
Six security guards.
Candles.
She stared.
"What?"
Alessandro asked.
"You rented the restaurant."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Privacy."
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean I'm leaving."
His face changed.
"Camille."
"This is not a date. This is a hostage negotiation with risotto."
The violinist stopped playing.
Alessandro looked toward him.
"Continue."
The violin resumed.
Camille almost laughed.
"You really don't know how normal people date."
"No."
At least he admitted it.
She sat.
"New rule."
"What?"
"Next date, I choose."
"Assuming there is one."
"Good point."
He smiled.
There was another.
Camille chose a neighborhood diner.
Alessandro arrived in jeans.
Bad jeans.
Expensive jeans trying to look inexpensive.
Camille stared.
"What?"
"You look like a billionaire pretending to fix a motorcycle."
"I own a motorcycle."
"Of course you do."
He laughed.
They ate burgers.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody whispered "Don."
The waitress called Alessandro "honey."
He looked startled.
Camille nearly choked laughing.
It was the best evening either had experienced in years.
Their relationship grew slowly.
Painfully slowly, according to Alessandro.
Appropriately slowly, according to Camille.
She refused to move into his house.
Refused money.
Refused a car.
When her small alterations business began growing, Alessandro offered investment.
She said no.
Then reconsidered.
"Business loan."
His eyebrows rose.
"With interest."
"Camille—"
"Market interest."
"That's ridiculous."
"Then I'll use a bank."
He stared.
"Fine."
They signed documents.
Real ones.
Camille used the money to open Duarte Atelier.
Not a luxury bridal shop.
A tailoring studio specializing in adaptive formalwear.
Dresses designed for seated bodies.
Suits with hidden access points for braces.
Formal clothing for people using wheelchairs, prosthetics, feeding devices, or mobility aids.
Her father's frustration had taught her how rarely fashion considered disabled bodies.
Alessandro became her most annoying test client.
"This seam pulls."
"Because your shoulders are enormous."
"Compliment?"
"Complaint."
"Make it sound more romantic."
"No."
He smiled.
Alessandro's rehabilitation continued.
He could walk short distances with forearm crutches.
Longer distances remained exhausting.
He still used his wheelchair.
At first, society treated his increased walking as a miracle.
Camille hated that.
One reporter wrote:
MAFIA KING RISES FROM THE CHAIR.
Camille threw the newspaper away.
Alessandro retrieved it.
"What?"
she asked.
"I need it."
"Why?"
He took a pen.
Crossed out the headline.
Wrote:
MAN SOMETIMES WALKS. ALSO SOMETIMES SITS. CIVILIZATION SURVIVES.
Camille laughed until she cried.
He framed it.
Alessandro also dismantled the criminal side of the Rossi organization.
Not overnight.
That would have been impossible.
He sold illegal interests.
Cooperated with investigations into Vittorio's network.
Paid settlements connected to Bellini Steel.
Established an independently administered fund for injured workers.
Camille insisted Mateo's name not be used to make Alessandro look generous.
He agreed.
That mattered.
Consequences followed.
Alessandro lost money.
Influence.
Relationships.
Several relatives stopped speaking to him.
He accepted it.
Camille never called him redeemed.
She disliked that word.
It sounded like a finish line.
People were more complicated.
He was changing.
That was enough.
Delphine changed too.
She testified against Vittorio.
Her father's debt was legally dissolved after investigators proved it had been created through predatory arrangements.
She began therapy.
Months passed before she and Camille spoke regularly.
One afternoon Delphine entered Duarte Atelier carrying coffee.
"Peace offering."
Camille accepted.
They sat.
Delphine looked around.
"This is beautiful."
"Thank you."
"You always should've had something like this."
Camille smiled sadly.
"I should've believed that."
Delphine lowered her eyes.
"I helped."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
Camille waited.
Not because she wanted Delphine to suffer.
Because apologies deserved space.
Delphine continued.
"I made you smaller because I was scared there wasn't enough attention for both of us."
Camille's throat tightened.
"I loved you."
"I know."
"I also treated you badly."
"Yes."
Delphine cried.
Camille did too.
Then Camille reached across the table.
Not erasing.
Beginning again.
Two years after the ballroom incident, Alessandro arrived at Camille's atelier after closing.
He held a small box.
Camille stared.
"No."
He stopped.
"I haven't opened my mouth."
"That box is suspicious."
"It's not a ring."
"Then proceed."
He opened it.
Inside was a brass thimble.
Old.
Scratched.
Camille recognized it.
Her father's.
She covered her mouth.
"Where did you find this?"
"Evidence storage from the Vittorio case."
Her eyes filled.
"I had it cleaned."
She picked it up.
Mateo had used it while repairing his brace straps.
Alessandro watched.
"I thought you'd want it."
Camille cried.
"Thank you."
He moved closer.
Stopped.
She opened her arms.
Only then did he hold her.
That night they talked about marriage for the first time.
Not proposal.
Marriage.
"What would change?"
Camille asked.
"Legally?"
"No."
She looked at him.
"Us."
Alessandro considered.
"I don't know."
"Good."
"Why is ignorance always rewarded with you?"
"Because certainty is what got your family into trouble."
He laughed.
Then became serious.
"I want children."
Camille froze.
He noticed.
"What?"
"I'm thirty-seven."
"I can count."
"Charming."
"I mean I'm aware."
"There may be complications."
"I know."
"I may not be able to."
"Then we don't."
"What?"
"If you want to try, we try. If you don't, we don't. If it doesn't happen, we decide what our family looks like."
Camille stared.
"That's unexpectedly mature."
"I've had expensive therapy."
She laughed.
Then kissed him.
Six months later, Alessandro proposed.
At the ballroom.
The same one.
Camille entered and stopped.
No guests.
No orchestra.
No diamonds.
Just Alessandro.
His wheelchair.
Her sewing kit on a table.
And the broken brace strap preserved beneath glass.
She stared.
"You kept it?"
"Evidence."
"That's disturbing."
"Sentimental evidence."
"Worse."
He smiled.
Then became serious.
"I thought about standing for this."
Camille's throat tightened.
"But?"
"But then I realized I was still treating standing as if it made the moment more valuable."
Her eyes filled.
"So I'm doing it like this."
He rolled closer.
No kneeling.
No performance.
He opened the ring box.
"Camille Duarte, the first thing you ever did for me was refuse to treat my pain like something shameful."
She cried.
"The second thing you did was refuse to let me turn gratitude into ownership."
He took a breath.
"You taught me that needing help does not make me weak."
"No."
"And that loving you doesn't make me entitled to your life."
"No."
"So I'm asking."
His voice shook.
"Would you choose to build one with me?"
Camille looked at him.
The man everyone once feared.
The man who once believed control was protection.
The man who had learned to ask.
She smiled through tears.
"Yes."
Alessandro exhaled.
"Yes?"
"Yes."
He started to put the ring on her finger.
She pulled back.
His face fell.
"What?"
"You forgot something."
"What?"
"Ask."
Understanding appeared.
"May I?"
Camille smiled.
"Yes."
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Then she kissed him.
Outside the ballroom, Delphine and Nico were listening through the door.
Delphine whispered:
"Do you think they know?"
Nico replied:
"Absolutely."
"Should we go?"
"No."
The door opened.
Alessandro stared at them.
Nico cleared his throat.
"Security inspection."
Delphine nodded.
"Very dangerous hallway."
Camille laughed.
Alessandro closed his eyes.
"This is my life."
Camille squeezed his hand.
"You chose it."
He looked at her.
Then smiled.
May you like
"Yes."
For once, that was the entire point.
