Chapter 4 - AFTER I SAVED HIS SON, THE MAFIA BOSS OFFERED ME ANYTHING I WANTED—BUT I ASKED HIM TO DESTROY THE EMPIRE THAT HAD MADE HIS FAMILY A TARGET IN THE FIRST PLACE
Gabriel survived.
So did Teresa.
Both were charged.
Isabella cooperated fully.
Evidence proved she had designed the security upgrade without knowing her father intended to weaponize it.
Martin Varro underwent surgery for two broken ribs and a fractured hand.
His reunion with Sofia happened privately.
I knew only that she entered his hospital room as Sofia DeLuca and came out three hours later looking like a mother who had finally been allowed to grieve twenty-seven stolen years.
Lorenzo waited outside.
Martin eventually invited him in.
Families are strange.
Sometimes decades of damage begin healing with nothing more dramatic than someone finally opening a door.
Three days later, Lorenzo asked me to meet him.
His office had survived the attack.
The bookcase remained open.
The hidden passage visible.
He stood beside the window.
“You saved my son.”
“Yes.”
“You saved me.”
“Debatable.”
“You exposed Gabriel.”
“Your family's inability to communicate exposed Gabriel.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he became serious.
“I owe you.”
“No.”
“I do.”
“That isn't how employment works.”
“You could ask for anything.”
“Dangerous offer.”
“I mean it.”
I looked around.
At the paintings.
The expensive furniture.
The empire represented by everything in the room.
Then I said:
“Get out.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Excuse me?”
“Not from the room.”
“From the business.”
His face became cold.
“What business?”
“The one nobody discusses loudly.”
Silence.
“You think you understand my world?”
“No.”
“I understand what it did to your family.”
His jaw tightened.
“Gabriel did this.”
“Gabriel grew inside it.”
“That doesn't excuse him.”
“I didn't say it did.”
I stepped closer.
“But your family treats secrecy like oxygen.”
“Loyalty like law.”
“Violence like inheritance.”
“Children are hidden.”
“Women are silenced.”
“Brothers compete for control.”
“Security becomes a weapon.”
“You want to repay me?”
“Give Matteo a chance to inherit something other than enemies.”
Lorenzo stared.
“You ask a great deal.”
“You offered anything.”
For a long time he said nothing.
Then:
“You remind me of my wife.”
I had never heard about Matteo's mother.
“She died when Matteo was fourteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She wanted me out.”
“Did you listen?”
“No.”
“Do you regret it?”
Every line in his face changed.
“Yes.”
There was nothing more to say.
I resigned as Matteo's bodyguard six weeks later.
Not because of him.
Because the immediate threat ended.
And because if anything was ever going to happen between us, I needed to meet him without a gun between us.
On my final day, Matteo walked me to my car.
“So.”
“So.”
“Are you still responsible for keeping me alive?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“Excellent.”
“Why?”
“I have a question.”
I knew.
Still, I let him ask.
“Dinner?”
I looked at him.
“One.”
His face lit up.
“One?”
“One.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Desperate.”
“Friday?”
“Maybe.”
“Mia.”
“Friday.”
He smiled.
“Seven?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“I'll be there at seven.”
“Then you'll wait thirty minutes.”
“Worth it.”
Our first date was terrible.
The restaurant lost our reservation.
Matteo spilled wine.
I accidentally called the waiter Carlo.
We laughed until dessert.
Our second date was better.
By the fifth, I kissed him.
By the twentieth, Lorenzo pretended not to notice.
A year passed.
Then another.
Lorenzo began dismantling the criminal side of his organization.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Legitimate companies were separated.
Illegal operations closed.
Evidence surrendered through negotiated agreements.
Lorenzo accepted prosecution for financial crimes.
Matteo was furious.
“You're going to prison.”
“Possibly.”
“Why now?”
Lorenzo looked at me.
Then his son.
“Because someone finally asked me what I wanted you to inherit.”
Matteo's anger broke.
Lorenzo served fourteen months.
When he came home, I met him at Matteo's apartment.
He looked older.
Lighter too.
He hugged his son.
Then looked at me.
“You're still here.”
I smiled.
“Disappointed?”
“No.”
He glanced at Matteo.
“Surprised she tolerates you.”
Matteo looked offended.
“Prison changed you.”
“Improved me.”
Our relationship wasn't perfect.
Matteo had grown up surrounded by control.
Sometimes it appeared in him.
Once, after a threat from an old associate, he secretly placed security outside my apartment.
I discovered them.
I was furious.
“You don't get to do that.”
“I was protecting you.”
“You were controlling information about my own safety.”
“Mia—”
“No.”
He stopped.
I continued.
“You don't become your father by having guards.”
“You become the old version of your father when you decide your fear gives you authority over everyone else.”
That hurt him.
Good.
Some truths should.
He removed the guards.
Then asked:
“What would make you comfortable?”
We designed security together.
That was love too.
Not never making mistakes.
Repairing them differently.
Three years after the estate attack, Matteo became CEO of DeLuca Holdings.
The legal company.
Hotels.
Construction.
Shipping.
No hidden ledgers.
No armed crews.
No secret businesses.
Martin joined the board as an independent security adviser.
Sofia attended family dinners openly with her son.
Isabella moved to Seattle and built a legitimate cybersecurity company.
Carlo retired.
He lasted eleven days.
Then returned as a consultant because, according to him, retirement was “an elaborate form of death.”
One Sunday, the whole strange family gathered at Lorenzo's house.
The damaged east wing had been rebuilt.
The hidden passage remained.
Matteo found me standing near the bookcase.
“Memories?”
“Mostly your terrible flirting.”
“You proposed marriage during a gunfight.”
“I was under stress.”
“You said, ‘Marry me.’”
“I had just watched you pick a lock with your hair.”
“Reasonable reaction.”
He stepped closer.
Then became nervous.
I noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're terrible at lying.”
“I have something.”
He reached into his pocket.
I stared.
“Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“If you propose in the secret passage where people tried to murder us, I will say no on principle.”
He froze.
I started laughing.
“You were going to!”
“No.”
“You absolutely were.”
He looked offended.
“It has sentimental value.”
“It has bullet holes.”
“History.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“Fine.”
He put the ring away.
I stared.
“You actually have a ring?”
“No.”
“Matteo.”
“Maybe.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You ruined the proposal.”
“You selected a murder tunnel.”
“I'm reconsidering the relationship.”
I laughed.
Two weeks later he tried again.
No tunnel.
No ballroom.
No audience.
We were in my apartment.
I was wearing sweatpants.
He was making pasta.
Badly.
He turned off the stove.
Then looked at me.
“No speech.”
“Good.”
“No dramatic setting.”
“Excellent.”
“No family hiding behind furniture.”
I looked around suspiciously.
He laughed.
Then took the ring from his pocket.
“Mia Callaway.”
My heart stopped.
“You walked into my life because two men were unavailable and my father was desperate.”
“Romantic.”
“I'm building.”
“Continue.”
“You were supposed to stay one night.”
“Correct.”
“Instead you found the people trying to kill me.”
“You insulted my security.”
“You insulted my family.”
“You shot my uncle.”
“In the shoulder.”
“Very considerate.”
I smiled through tears.
He continued.
“But the thing I love most isn't that you saved my life.”
My smile faded.
“You taught me it belongs to me.”
“My father raised me to believe being a DeLuca meant inheriting obligations.”
“Enemies.”
“Rules.”
“You were the first person who looked at me and asked what I actually wanted.”
He took my hand.
“I want a life where nobody has to hide inside walls.”
“A family that doesn't confuse secrets with protection.”
“And you.”
His voice cracked.
“If you want me too.”
I cried.
“That's annoyingly good.”
“Is that yes?”
“Not yet.”
His face fell.
I laughed.
“Yes.”
He stared.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
The pasta burned.
Smoke filled the apartment.
The alarm screamed.
I pulled away.
“You're supposed to be protecting dinner.”
“I was distracted.”
“You'll never survive marriage.”
He smiled.
“Guard me.”
May you like
I rolled my eyes.
But I kissed him again.
