Chapter 14 - THE MAN WHO LEARNED TO ASK
Alessandra’s birthday dinner took place at a quiet Italian restaurant closed to the public for the evening.
Not because Gabriel demanded privacy.
Because Sofia rented it.
That distinction apparently mattered now.
There were twelve people.
No armed guards at the table.
Luca stood outside and complained.
Mia Moretti, an aunt I had never met, brought too much food despite the restaurant already serving food.
Family remained family.
Alessandra hugged me.
“You came.”
“I was promised dessert.”
Gabriel looked offended.
“You came for me.”
“Debatable.”
Sofia laughed.
Gabriel glared at both of us.
Later, Alessandra made a toast.
Not to survival.
Not to the Moretti name.
“To people who leave when staying requires becoming someone they hate.”
The room quieted.
She looked at Gabriel.
“And to people who learn leaving old ways behind is not abandonment.”
Gabriel raised his glass.
I understood.
His mother had spent years being called disloyal because she escaped abuse.
Gabriel had spent years fearing that changing the family meant betraying it.
Now both knew better.
After dinner, we walked along the river.
Gabriel no longer limped unless tired.
Tonight he limped.
I noticed.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“That phrase should be illegal.”
He sat on a bench.
Chicago lights reflected on the water.
Then he reached into his coat.
I stared.
“If that’s jewelry, I’m leaving.”
He laughed.
“It isn’t.”
A key.
“Absolutely not.”
“You don’t know what it opens.”
“I know enough about powerful men and keys.”
He placed it on the bench between us.
“It’s the lake house.”
“I knew it.”
“Listen.”
I crossed my arms.
“I am not asking you to move in.”
“Good.”
“I’m not giving you property.”
“Better.”
“I’m asking whether you want a key.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“So you never have to wait outside.”
Simple.
No ownership.
No obligation.
An option.
I picked it up.
“Does Luca have one?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then it’s less romantic.”
“I can fire him.”
“No.”
Gabriel smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“There’s something else.”
I groaned.
“Why does every relationship with a Moretti contain a hidden document?”
“No document.”
“What?”
He took a breath.
“I love you.”
There it was.
No music.
No dramatic rescue.
A bench.
A tired leg.
A lake-house key.
I looked at him.
“How long?”
“Long enough to know you’re going to ask irritating questions.”
“Good.”
He waited.
I did not rescue him quickly.
That was important too.
Then I said:
“I love you.”
His eyes closed.
Relief.
I continued:
“But.”
He opened them.
“Of course.”
“You do not get to turn that into permission.”
“I know.”
“You don’t control my job.”
“I know.”
“You don’t send security unless I agree or there’s an immediate documented threat.”
His mouth tightened.
“Fine.”
“You don’t secretly solve problems I haven’t asked you to solve.”
“That one seems inefficient.”
“Gabriel.”
“I know.”
“And if we disagree?”
He looked at me.
“You stay.”
Wrong answer.
My face must have shown it.
He corrected:
“You choose whether to stay.”
Better.
I kissed him.
Our first kiss.
Gentle.
Almost absurdly normal considering the beginning.
Then Luca called.
Gabriel ignored it.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Progress.”
He smiled.
Phone rang again.
Then Sofia.
Gabriel sighed and answered.
“What?”
His face changed.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then slowly stood.
Vincent’s sentencing hearing had been moved.
That was not the problem.
The problem was what Vincent had just confessed through counsel.
He had not known Ethan planned to exploit the gunshot.
But Vincent admitted something else.
Years earlier, he had helped hide evidence about Alessandra’s confinement.
Evidence naming one surviving doctor.
A man still practicing medicine in Chicago.
A man I knew.
May you like
Dr. Samuel Hart.
My father.
