Chapter 14 - WHAT PROTECTION REALLY MEANT
I did not accept the diner.
Not immediately.
That frustrated Vincent.
Which made me enjoy waiting.
“You’ve reviewed the contract for three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Your attorney reviewed it.”
“Yes.”
“You changed fourteen clauses.”
“Fifteen.”
“You crossed out the provision allowing me to approve renovations.”
“It’s my half too.”
He looked offended.
“I have excellent taste.”
“You have a gold statue in your office.”
“It’s antique.”
“It’s ugly.”
Vincent stared at me.
Then laughed.
It was the first time I heard him truly laugh.
Not smile.
Not exhale amusement.
Laugh.
Douglas Lawson was denied bail.
Carlo agreed to cooperate.
Derek accepted a plea deal.
Caleb faced charges for stalking, conspiracy, financial crimes, and offenses connected to our marriage that investigators had finally agreed to examine seriously.
I testified.
My hands shook.
I testified anyway.
One afternoon, after court, Vincent drove me to the diner.
The checkered floor had been repaired.
Table six had been replaced.
Rosa had hung a small sign behind the counter.
RESPECT IS NOT OPTIONAL.
I loved it.
Vincent and I sat in Sophia’s booth.
“There’s something I need to say,” he told me.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“For me, probably.”
He looked nervous.
Vincent Castellano.
The man prosecutors, politicians, and criminals had feared for decades.
Nervous.
“I care about you.”
My heartbeat changed.
He continued quickly.
“I also know that being protected and being possessed can look dangerously similar from the outside.”
I said nothing.
“So if this is unwanted, tell me and nothing changes. The diner remains yours if you accept it. Your job remains yours. Your security remains available. None of it depends on me getting anything back.”
My eyes filled.
He wasn’t asking me to trust his power.
He was giving me room to refuse it.
“What if I care about you too?”
He stopped.
“That would be inconvenient.”
I laughed.
“Very.”
He slowly reached across the table.
Stopped halfway.
I placed my hand in his.
Then I kissed him.
Not because he had saved me.
Not because I owed him.
Because I wanted to.
When we separated, Rosa loudly dropped a stack of plates in the kitchen.
“Subtle,” I called.
“Didn’t see anything!”
she shouted.
Vincent smiled.
Then Rosa came out carrying one final envelope.
She had found it inside Teresa Castellano’s old recipe box.
It was addressed to Vincent.
His mother had written it months before she died.
One line had been underlined twice.
May you like
If Sophia's story ever teaches you anything, let it be this: protecting a woman does not mean standing in front of her forever.
Sometimes it means standing beside her while she discovers she can protect herself.
