Chapter 14 - THE FIRST DATE THAT WASN'T ABOUT FEAR
Six months after I left the Falcone estate, Dante asked me to dinner.
Not through security.
Not through an assistant.
He called himself.
“Rosa?”
“Yes?”
“Would you have dinner with me?”
I smiled.
“You sound nervous.”
“I am.”
“The terrifying Dante Falcone?”
“Apparently.”
I laughed.
Then became serious.
“What about Sophia?”
“Only if you want her there.”
I appreciated that.
This wasn't about playing family.
It was about two adults deciding whether there was something between them worth exploring.
“My mother can watch her.”
Dante went silent.
Then:
“Is that a yes?”
“One dinner.”
He exhaled.
“One dinner.”
We met at a small Italian restaurant nowhere near the Gold Coast.
No private room.
No entourage inside.
Dante wore a dark sweater instead of a suit.
I almost didn't recognize him.
“You look normal,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“That's insulting.”
I laughed.
Dinner lasted three hours.
We talked about Luca.
Carmela.
Sophia.
But also about ridiculous things.
Bad movies.
My obsession with old mystery novels.
His inability to cook eggs without destroying a pan.
I learned Dante loved jazz.
He learned I hated roses because every luxury hotel used too many of them.
For the first time, I saw the man underneath the reputation.
And I liked him.
That frightened me more than I expected.
So I told him.
“This is complicated.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“You were my employer.”
“Not anymore.”
“You’re Sophia's uncle.”
“Yes.”
“You were married.”
His expression softened.
“I loved Carmela.”
“I know.”
“I still do, in a way.”
I looked down.
He continued.
“But grief isn't a marriage I have to remain inside forever.”
My throat tightened.
That was the healthiest thing I'd heard him say.
Then I asked:
“Do you feel guilty?”
“Yes.”
“For liking me?”
“Yes.”
“For being happy?”
He looked toward the table.
“Yes.”
I reached across.
Then stopped.
He noticed.
“May I?”
I smiled.
This man had spent his life taking control.
Now he was asking permission for a hand.
I placed mine in his.
“Yes.”
His fingers closed gently around mine.
We dated slowly.
Months.
No rushing.
No moving into the estate.
No promises to make every problem disappear.
Dante continued disentangling himself from the criminal organization.
He cooperated with investigations.
Lost properties.
Paid penalties.
Cut ties with people who'd once called him brother.
He never used any of it as proof that I owed him love.
That mattered.
One afternoon, almost a year later, Sophia and I visited the estate.
The northern hallway looked different.
Carmela's sitting room door was open.
Sunlight filled the room.
Her photographs remained.
Her books too.
But the room was no longer frozen in time.
Sophia walked beside Dante at four o'clock.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
Then she stopped.
“You don't walk sad now.”
Dante smiled.
“Not as much.”
She nodded approvingly.
Then pointed toward me.
“Because Mommy?”
Dante looked at me.
His expression softened.
“Partly.”
Sophia grinned.
Then announced:
“You should marry her.”
I nearly choked.
Dante turned red.
May you like
Actually red.
And my three-year-old daughter laughed so hard she fell onto the carpet.
