Chapter 14 - LEO NEVER SAVED ME
People told the story wrong.
The newspapers especially.
MAFIA BOSS BACKS HUMILIATED HEIRESS.
ROMANO POWER HELPS SULLIVAN DAUGHTER TAKE CONTROL.
Maeve hated every headline.
One interviewer asked whether Leo Rossi “rescued” her.
Maeve answered:
“No.”
The clip went viral.
She continued:
“He handed me information.”
“I made decisions.”
That distinction mattered.
Leo loved it.
Caroline said she sounded terrifying.
Also good.
One year after the gala, Sullivan Floral had recovered eighty percent of lost revenue.
Employee turnover dropped.
Warehouse wages rose.
Maeve installed new refrigeration units she had requested three years earlier.
The first morning they ran, she stood beside the temperature panel and laughed.
Daniel said:
“You’re crying over compressors.”
“I’ve had a long year.”
Elizabeth’s health improved after medication adjustments.
Some cognitive damage remained.
Some days were harder.
But she lived freely.
Charlotte began working two mornings a week in Sullivan Floral’s pressed-flower studio.
She loved organizing petals by color.
Caroline took a real job.
Not at Sullivan Floral.
A public-relations agency.
Entry at director level only after an outside firm confirmed she qualified.
Maeve refused to be her employer.
Best decision for everyone.
Richard was sentenced.
Maeve attended.
Caroline did too.
Elizabeth did not.
All three choices were valid.
Richard looked at his daughters before being taken away.
No speeches.
Only:
“I’m sorry.”
Maeve believed him.
Still let him leave.
Leo’s family changed too.
Vincent went to prison.
Several Rossi businesses underwent restructuring.
Leo closed the operations that depended on intimidation.
Some men left.
Others adapted.
He lost money.
Influence.
Certain allies.
Maeve asked once:
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“I regret not doing it earlier.”
Good answer.
Then Leo did something that irritated Chicago society.
He stopped attending most galas.
Maeve appreciated that.
Their relationship developed slowly.
Coffee.
Dinners.
Warehouse walks.
Arguments.
A lot of arguments.
The first time he tried to assign security to her without asking, she sent the men back.
He arrived furious.
“That was for safety.”
“I didn’t consent.”
“There was a threat.”
“Then tell me the threat.”
He stopped.
Told her.
She agreed to security for forty-eight hours.
Terms.
Information.
Choice.
They got better.
One rainy evening, almost exactly a year after the gala, Leo brought her back to the same hotel.
Maeve stopped at the entrance.
“You’re joking.”
“I need five minutes.”
“Five.”
Inside, the ballroom was empty.
No donors.
No orchestra.
No Caroline.
Only staff preparing another event.
Leo walked to the spot where Maeve had knelt beside broken champagne glasses.
“You remember?”
“I remember the dry-cleaning bill.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“Everyone says this is where I noticed you.”
Maeve folded her arms.
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
She frowned.
“I knew who you were before that night.”
Of course he did.
“How?”
He reached into his coat.
Not a ring.
Good.
A photograph.
Maeve at age twenty-three.
Warehouse loading dock.
Hair tied up.
Holding a clipboard.
Talking with Antonio Rossi.
Leo’s father.
Maeve stared.
“I remember him.”
She had not known who he was.
An older businessman touring distribution facilities.
Antonio spent two hours asking Maeve operational questions while Richard and Caroline disappeared for lunch.
“He went home and told me Sullivan Floral was being run by the daughter nobody introduced properly.”
Maeve’s chest tightened.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You weren’t ready to hear another powerful man say he had evaluated you.”
That answer was irritatingly perceptive.
Leo continued.
“My father wanted to invest directly with you someday.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He died.”
Maeve looked at the photograph.
Then at Leo.
“So you didn’t walk across the ballroom because you saw me help Daniel?”
“That mattered.”
“But?”
“I walked across because I had spent years hearing your name.”
Silence.
Leo smiled faintly.
“And because your sister was wrong.”
“About?”
“Nobody wanting you.”
Maeve rolled her eyes.
“That line was almost romantic.”
“Almost?”
“Keep practicing.”
He stepped closer.
“Can I kiss you?”
Maeve stared at him.
A mafia boss asking.
Not taking.
Not assuming.
May you like
“Now that,” she whispered, “was romantic.”
She kissed him first.
