Chapter 15 - THE WOMAN AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE
Two years later, nobody at Moretti Maritime introduced me as Dante’s wife first.
They introduced Dante as my husband.
He pretended to hate it.
He did not.
The company had changed beyond recognition.
No hidden cargo.
No fabricated delays.
No shell insurers collecting money from manufactured disasters.
We specialized in legitimate luxury imports, specialty food, pharmaceuticals, and high-security transport.
Revenues initially fell.
Then climbed higher than before.
Apparently not committing international fraud saved enormous amounts in legal fees.
Who knew?
Dante kept his restaurants, real estate, and security companies.
The darker parts of his empire became smaller every year.
He still had enemies.
He still had men who called him Don Moretti.
But at home, he was the man who left his socks beside the bed and believed every expensive bottle of wine needed a fifteen-minute lecture.
Marriage remained imperfect.
That mattered too.
Happy endings are suspicious when nobody argues.
We argued.
About work.
About security.
About how many armed men were appropriate for a weekend in Wisconsin.
My answer was zero.
His answer was twelve.
We compromised at two.
The largest change was simpler.
Dante asked.
Not always gracefully.
But he asked.
What do you think?
Do you want to come?
Are you comfortable?
Do you want my help?
He had once thought love meant standing in front of me.
Eventually, he learned how to stand beside me.
On our fifth anniversary, he took me back to Bellacorte.
No mafia associates.
No contracts.
No Bellinis.
Just the two of us.
I wore the same diamond necklace from that disastrous dinner.
Dante noticed immediately.
“You kept it.”
“Of course.”
“I thought you hated it.”
“I hated the man who fastened it around my neck that night.”
He winced.
“That is fair.”
“I like the man sitting here now.”
His expression softened.
“That is fortunate.”
After dinner, he took me onto the private terrace.
Chicago glittered beneath us.
He handed me an envelope.
I groaned.
“Please don’t tell me this is a contract.”
“It is.”
“Dante.”
“Read it.”
One page.
No legal tricks.
No hidden appendix.
No Orfeo clause.
At the top:
MARRIAGE AGREEMENT - VERSION TWO.
May you like
I laughed.
The terms were ridiculous.
