Chapter 4 - I LOVED THE MAFIA BOSS—BUT BEFORE I COULD MARRY HIM, HE HAD TO LET HIS FATHER’S EMPIRE DIE
Damian did not propose immediately.
Norah appreciated that.
Julian complained.
Claire placed bets.
Gabriel refused to participate publicly and privately chose eighteen months.
He won.
Eighteen months after Damian told Norah he loved her, he took her to the nineteenth-floor boardroom.
She frowned.
“If this is an audit, I’m charging double.”
“No audit.”
“Then why are we here?”
“History.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Damian stood near the chair where she had first told him he was losing money.
“I hated you for eleven seconds.”
“Only eleven?”
“Then you turned the laptop around.”
“And?”
“I became interested.”
“In the numbers?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Dangerous answer.”
Damian reached into his jacket.
Norah’s eyes widened.
“Damian.”
He got down on one knee.
She covered her mouth.
“I had a speech.”
“You hate speeches.”
“I wrote one.”
“How many pages?”
“Six.”
She laughed.
He smiled.
Then put the pages aside.
“I’m not using it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll make fun of me.”
“Absolutely.”
He looked at her.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant protecting what belonged to me.”
Her expression softened.
“You taught me that people don’t belong to people.”
“Yes.”
“I can protect you when you ask.”
“Yes.”
“I can stand beside you when you don’t need protection.”
“Yes.”
“And when you want to walk somewhere I cannot follow—”
His voice tightened.
“I have to let you.”
Norah cried.
“Damian.”
“So I’m not asking you to become mine.”
He opened the ring box.
“I’m asking whether you’ll let me keep choosing you while you keep choosing me.”
Tears ran down her face.
“Yes.”
Damian blinked.
“I had more.”
“No.”
“But—”
“Yes.”
He stood.
She kissed him.
“You ruined my proposal.”
“You had six pages.”
“They were good.”
“I’m sure.”
They planned a small wedding.
That lasted three days.
Callaway family small apparently meant four hundred people.
Norah reduced it to eighty.
Damian reduced security to twelve.
Norah negotiated eight.
Progress.
Then federal prosecutors requested a meeting.
Damian knew why.
Dismantling the organization did not erase crimes.
He had committed them.
Not murder.
Not trafficking.
But conspiracy.
Bribery.
Illegal gambling.
Financial crimes.
He could fight.
His lawyers believed they could keep him out of prison.
Damian refused.
Norah sat beside him when he explained.
“You’re going to plead guilty?”
“To what I did.”
“You could get years.”
“Yes.”
“Before our wedding.”
“Yes.”
She looked away.
Damian’s heart broke.
“I won’t ask you to wait.”
She looked back.
“Good.”
He swallowed.
“Because I would hate you if you did.”
He almost smiled.
Norah continued.
“But don’t tell me what I’m going to do.”
He nodded.
“Right.”
“If I wait, I wait because I choose to.”
“Yes.”
“If I don’t, you accept that.”
“Yes.”
She touched his face.
“You really learned.”
“Painfully.”
Damian pled guilty.
He surrendered money tied to illegal operations.
Cooperated in corruption investigations.
Helped prosecutors dismantle networks he once benefited from.
He received thirty-two months.
The night before he surrendered, Norah stayed with him.
No promises.
No dramatic vows.
Morning came.
At the prison entrance, Damian looked at her.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Then she handed him something.
The bloodstained napkin.
Preserved inside a plastic evidence sleeve.
Damian stared.
“You kept this?”
“Gabriel did.”
“Why?”
“He thought you’d want it.”
Damian looked at the faded brown stain.
The object that changed everything.
“Why give it to me now?”
“So you remember.”
“What?”
“The worst night of your life started because somebody was trying to take everything from you.”
She touched his chest.
“And it became the night you finally started giving up the things you never should have wanted.”
Damian kissed her.
Then walked inside.
Prison changed him.
Not romantically.
Not beautifully.
It was boring.
Humiliating.
Restrictive.
Necessary.
Norah visited.
Not every week.
She had a life.
Damian wanted that.
She built her own forensic accounting firm.
Whitfield Integrity Partners.
Terrible name, according to Julian.
Successful, according to everyone else.
She uncovered fraud.
Testified in court.
Hired twenty-seven people.
Bought her own house outside Philadelphia.
Damian never paid for it.
He was absurdly proud.
Twenty-six months later, he was released early.
Norah did not meet him at the gate.
Julian did.
Damian looked around.
“Where is she?”
Julian smiled.
“Home.”
“Whose?”
“Hers.”
Of course.
Damian arrived at Norah’s house.
He knocked.
She opened.
For several seconds, they simply looked at each other.
“You’re thinner.”
“So are you.”
“That’s a terrible greeting.”
“I’m nervous.”
Norah smiled.
“Good.”
He laughed.
Then she opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
He did.
Not home.
Not yet.
Her house.
Her invitation.
They rebuilt.
Again.
Prison had changed habits.
Norah had changed too.
They attended counseling.
Damian hated it less than expected.
Six months after his release, Norah placed the engagement ring on the kitchen table.
Damian’s heart stopped.
“Are you ending this?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“I’m asking again.”
He stared.
“What?”
Norah picked up the ring.
“Damian Callaway.”
He almost smiled.
“Are you proposing to me?”
“Yes.”
“This is irregular.”
“So are we.”
She held the ring.
“Will you marry me now?”
Damian looked at her.
Not before prison.
Not before consequences.
Now.
When she knew exactly who he had been.
Exactly who he was trying to become.
“Yes.”
Norah smiled.
“Good.”
“You’re supposed to put the ring on yourself?”
“Probably.”
He took it.
Slid it onto her finger.
May you like
Then kissed her.
This time, there was no empire between them.
