Chapter 13 - Margaret Fell in Love—And Lorenzo Almost Destroyed Her Trust Trying to Protect HerMargaret became an attorney.
Nobody was surprised.
At twenty-six, she joined the Margaret Hart Center.
She refused to work directly under Elena.
“I love you,” Margaret said.
Elena smiled.
“But?”
“You're impossible.”
“Fair.”
Lorenzo was delighted.
“You inherited that from her.”
Margaret pointed at him.
“Don't get involved.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were thinking loudly.”
She eventually led the Center's national expansion.
By thirty, Margaret had become known in her own right.
Not Lorenzo DeMarco's daughter.
Not Elena Hart's daughter.
Margaret.
That mattered enormously to both parents.
Then she met Daniel Mercer.
Pediatrician.
Kind.
Divorced parents.
No criminal record.
No major debts.
Two speeding tickets.
Excellent credit.
Lorenzo knew all of this within forty-eight hours.
Elena discovered the background report on his desk.
She picked it up.
“Lorenzo.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Did Margaret ask you to investigate Daniel?”
“No.”
“Did Daniel?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Lorenzo frowned.
“He's dating our daughter.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to know who he is.”
“You could ask her.”
“She might not know everything.”
Elena stared.
Lorenzo recognized the stare.
“What?”
“Do you hear yourself?”
He looked at the report.
Then closed it.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
“I used public records.”
“That's not the point.”
He leaned back.
“She's thirty.”
“Exactly.”
“She could marry him.”
“Yes.”
“He could hurt her.”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo stood.
“And I'm supposed to do nothing?”
Elena walked closer.
“No.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Trust the woman we raised.”
That shut him up.
Margaret learned about the investigation anyway.
She was furious.
Not mildly.
Not disappointed.
Furious.
“You investigated Daniel?”
Lorenzo stood in her apartment.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was worried.”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“No, you know now because Mom caught you.”
Lorenzo winced.
True.
Margaret continued.
“You spent my entire childhood teaching me that protection without consent becomes control.”
“I know.”
“And then you did exactly that.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lorenzo could have defended himself.
Instead:
“Because knowing the lesson doesn't mean fear stops testing it.”
Margaret's anger softened by one degree.
Not much.
“I don't want an explanation.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to stop.”
“I will.”
“And delete everything.”
“I already did.”
“All copies?”
“Yes.”
“Marco?”
Lorenzo hesitated.
Margaret's eyes widened.
“Dad.”
“I'll call him.”
“Now.”
Lorenzo called.
Marco answered.
“Yes?”
“Delete Daniel Mercer.”
A pause.
“From existence?”
“No!”
Margaret stared in horror.
Marco laughed.
“I'm joking.”
“This family is insane,” Margaret muttered.
Lorenzo rubbed his forehead.
“Delete the background report.”
“Already did.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“How?”
“Elena called.”
Margaret smiled despite herself.
“Of course she did.”
Daniel eventually learned too.
He confronted Lorenzo directly.
“I don't like what you did.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“You shouldn't.”
“I love Margaret.”
“I know.”
“And I'm not asking your permission.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
For a brief moment Daniel visibly remembered exactly who his girlfriend's father used to be.
Lorenzo almost enjoyed it.
Then he remembered the assignment.
“No,” Lorenzo said. “You aren't.”
Daniel blinked.
“That easy?”
“No.”
Lorenzo smiled.
“But easy isn't relevant.”
Daniel laughed.
That was the beginning of their relationship.
Not friendship exactly.
Mutual irritation with affection underneath.
When Daniel proposed, he did not ask Lorenzo for permission.
He told Elena and Lorenzo afterward.
Lorenzo pretended this did not bother him.
It bothered him tremendously.
Elena found him reorganizing the garage at midnight.
“You're upset.”
“No.”
“You alphabetized the tools.”
“They needed organization.”
“You don't know what half of them do.”
“I know enough.”
Elena leaned against the door.
“Say it.”
Lorenzo sighed.
“I wanted him to ask.”
“Why?”
“Tradition.”
“Whose?”
He glared.
She smiled.
“Fine.”
He put down a wrench.
“I wanted to feel included.”
That was more honest.
Elena softened.
“Tell Margaret.”
“I am not telling my adult daughter I'm hurt because her fiancé didn't request ownership transfer from her father.”
Elena burst out laughing.
“When you say it that way—”
“There's no other way to say it.”
Eventually Lorenzo told Margaret.
She hugged him.
Then said:
“I love you.”
“But?”
“I was never yours to give away.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“I know.”
At the wedding, Lorenzo walked Margaret halfway down the aisle.
Then stopped.
Margaret kissed his cheek.
She walked the remaining distance alone.
Lorenzo watched.
Elena slipped her hand into his.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why do the women in this family enjoy my suffering?”
“Tradition.”
He laughed.
Years passed.
Grandchildren arrived.
The Hart Center expanded nationally.
The DeMarco name became less associated with fear and more with the complicated public story of restitution.
Not erased.
History did not work that way.
Marco grew older.
So did Lorenzo.
So did Elena.
At seventy, Lorenzo retired.
He lasted eleven days.
“You're reorganizing my kitchen,” Elena said.
“It was inefficient.”
“Get a hobby.”
“I have hobbies.”
“Intimidating contractors isn't a hobby.”
He learned woodworking.
Poorly.
His first chair leaned noticeably to the left.
Elena put it on the Galena porch.
“Why?”
“Evidence.”
“Of?”
“That nobody is good at everything.”
At seventy-four, Marco died.
Heart attack.
Sudden.
His funeral was crowded.
Former security men.
Business executives.
Federal agents who had once investigated him.
Family.
Before his death, Marco left Lorenzo a note.
You were easier to work for when you were terrifying.
Underneath:
But not better.
Lorenzo laughed and cried simultaneously.
He kept the note in his desk.
Without Marco, old age became real.
Not abstract.
Not someday.
Real.
At eighty, Lorenzo's hands began trembling.
Essential tremor.
Manageable.
He hated it.
At eighty-three, his heart weakened.
Elena attended every medical appointment he asked her to attend.
That distinction remained important.
Asked.
One evening, they sat on the porch of the Galena house.
The same porch where Lorenzo had once apologized before prison.
The same garden where Elena had rebuilt her life.
Margaret's children were playing inside.
Lorenzo looked toward the road.
“Do you ever think about the wedding that didn't happen?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think?”
Elena considered.
“I think Vanessa accidentally gave me the best wedding gift possible.”
Lorenzo laughed.
“What?”
“A reason to stop.”
His smile faded.
Elena took his hand.
“If she'd never worn that dress, I might have married you that night.”
“I know.”
“I would have signed the prenup.”
“Yes.”
“I might have lost my mother's estate.”
“Yes.”
“You might never have discovered Stefano.”
Lorenzo looked toward the garden.
“That morning destroyed my life.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“It destroyed the life we were pretending was working.”
She squeezed his hand.
“That isn't the same thing.”
Lorenzo stared at the woman he'd almost lost because he had once believed discomfort was more dangerous than disrespect.
Then he smiled.
May you like
“No.”
It wasn't.
