Chapter 13 - THE RING STAYED IN HIS POCKET FOR THREE MONTHS
I knew Luca had bought a ring because Teresa told me.
Accidentally.
Probably.
Her hands moved too quickly one afternoon.
When Luca asks—
She froze.
I stared.
“Teresa.”
She closed her eyes.
Then signed:
Forget.
“No.”
She looked toward the ceiling like God might help.
He did not.
I waited.
Finally:
Ring.
I laughed for five straight minutes.
Apparently even powerful mafia mothers cannot keep proposal secrets.
But Luca did not ask.
One month.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
I finally confronted him.
“Did you buy a ring?”
He nearly dropped a glass.
“Who told you?”
I looked toward the living room.
Teresa immediately turned her wheelchair away from us.
Coward.
“Yes,” Luca admitted.
“Why haven’t you asked?”
He took a long breath.
“Because I realized I was planning a proposal you might feel pressured to accept.”
I stared.
“What proposal?”
“Foundation gala. Your family. My mother. Everyone there.”
“That sounds awful.”
“I realized.”
“So?”
“So I stopped.”
Good.
“What happens to the ring?”
“I can return it.”
I almost laughed.
“Do you want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask someday.”
He stared.
“That is alarmingly unclear.”
“You’ll survive.”
He smiled.
Two weeks later, we were in my apartment eating takeout.
No Teresa.
No photographers.
No flowers.
Luca put the ring box on the coffee table.
“I have a question.”
“I assume.”
He did not kneel.
Not yet.
“I don’t want you to marry the man who protected you at a dinner table.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Good.”
“I want you to know I’m asking as the man who has spent years becoming someone who can hear no without punishing the person saying it.”
My throat tightened.
“That is a very specific qualification.”
“I needed it.”
Yes.
He did.
Then:
“Claire Bennett, would you like to marry me?”
Would you like.
I looked at him for a long time.
Then:
“Prenup.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Teresa said you’d say that.”
“Teresa needs hobbies.”
“She has us.”
Unfortunately true.
I held out my hand.
“Yes.”
He finally knelt.
“May I?”
“You may.”
He slid the ring onto my finger.
Then I said:
“The Fund remains completely independent.”
“Yes.”
“No Moretti family control.”
“Yes.”
“My career doesn’t become part of your redemption story.”
His expression became serious.
“Never.”
“And if I ever say no—”
“You do not need to finish that sentence.”
Good.
We married the following spring.
But before the wedding, Teresa gave me something.
The old forged care-facility papers.
Stamped:
VOID — FRAUDULENT.
She signed:
Burn?
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Archive.”
We placed them in the Fund’s training collection.
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Because sometimes the best use for a weapon is teaching people how to recognize it.
