Chapter 15 - THE QUESTION HE ASKED ME A SECOND TIME
Z
At thirty-two weeks pregnant, I could no longer see my feet.
Vincent found this hilarious.
I threatened his life.
Our daughter responded by kicking him.
“See?” I said. “She’s on my side.”
Vincent kept his palm against my stomach.
“She kicked because she heard my voice.”
“She kicked because you were annoying me.”
“Genetics suggests she may enjoy that.”
I stared at him.
“You’ve become dangerously funny since leaving organized crime.”
“Therapy.”
“Demand a refund.”
He smiled.
That smile was becoming easier.
Everything about him was becoming easier.
Not perfect.
Never perfect.
But honest.
The Moretti Group had survived restructuring.
It was smaller.
Cleaner.
Boring, according to Marco.
Vincent loved boring more than he expected.
He came home at six.
Actually home.
Not my apartment anymore.
Three weeks earlier, I had agreed to move into a townhouse with him in Lincoln Park.
Neutral ground.
Not the mansion.
We sold the mansion.
Isabella complained.
Then admitted it was probably for the best.
Vincent and I slept in separate rooms at first.
That lasted nine days.
Not because of sex.
Because I woke during a thunderstorm and found him standing in the hall again.
Like the night at the safe house.
“You know you can come inside,” I said.
“I know.”
“Then why are you standing there?”
“Habit.”
I opened the door wider.
“Bad habit.”
He came in.
We fell asleep holding hands.
After that, separate rooms became mostly theoretical.
One Saturday morning, Vincent asked me to go for a walk.
Chicago was cold.
The lake looked metallic.
He brought me to the small garden beside Emilia’s favorite church.
“Why are we here?”
He looked nervous.
Vincent Moretti had stared down gunmen.
Federal prosecutors.
His murderous uncle.
A therapist.
Yet now he looked terrified.
“I need to ask you something.”
“No.”
His face fell.
I laughed.
“Sorry. Reflex.”
He exhaled.
Then reached into his coat.
I immediately held up a hand.
“If that is the original ring—”
“It isn’t.”
Good.
I had returned the original three-carat diamond after the divorce.
Vincent had tried to leave it with my luggage.
I mailed it to his attorney.
This ring was different.
Smaller.
An antique oval diamond with a simple gold band.
“I chose this one,” he said.
“Without your mother?”
“Especially without my mother.”
I smiled.
He did not kneel immediately.
Instead, he looked at me.
“I loved you badly.”
My eyes filled.
“I gave you money when you needed honesty.”
He continued.
“I gave you protection when you needed trust.”
My throat tightened.
“I gave you silence when you needed words.”
I looked down.
“And when I became afraid, I made decisions for you instead of with you.”
He took my hand.
“I will probably make mistakes again.”
“That part I believe.”
His mouth twitched.
“But I know what I want now.”
“What?”
“You.”
Simple.
No empire.
No family obligation.
No grandmother’s wish.
Me.
“And the baby,” I teased.
“Yes.”
He looked at my stomach.
“She is currently a major shareholder in my emotional stability.”
I laughed through tears.
Then Vincent knelt.
“Claire Bennett.”
He held up the ring.
“Will you marry me again?”
I stared at him.
The answer lived in my chest.
But so did fear.
“What if we ruin it again?”
His expression softened.
“Then we don’t pretend we’re fine.”
“What if you become controlling?”
“You tell me.”
“I already do.”
“Very effectively.”
“What if you get scared?”
“I tell you.”
“What if I do?”
“You tell me.”
I looked at him.
“That’s your whole plan?”
“Communication.”
He shrugged.
“Apparently people recommend it.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Then laughed again.
The baby kicked.
Vincent looked offended.
“She’s rushing you.”
“She’s impatient.”
“Moretti.”
“Bennett.”
“Debatable.”
He waited.
No pressure.
No certainty.
No assumption that I belonged to him.
That was why I finally knew.
“Yes.”
He didn’t move.
“What?”
“Yes, Vincent.”
His eyes closed.
I started laughing.
“Are you going to put the ring on?”
“Give me a second.”
“You proposed.”
“I didn’t think this far.”
I held out my hand.
He slid the ring onto my finger.
Perfect fit.
“Of course you knew my size.”
“I have resources.”
“There he is.”
He stood and kissed me.
Softly.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Vincent ignored it.
It rang again.
“Answer it.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
He sighed and answered.
Marco’s voice came through.
“Boss.”
“I’m not your boss.”
“Whatever. We have a problem.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“What?”
“The government transferred Angelo this morning.”
“And?”
“The transport vehicle was hit.”
Vincent went completely still.
My heart stopped.
Marco finished.
“Angelo escaped.”
The cold Chicago wind suddenly felt sharper.
I looked down at my ring.
At my stomach.
At the life we had finally begun rebuilding.
Vincent reached for my hand.
This time, I held on first.
May you like
Angelo Moretti was free.
And I was due to give birth in less than eight weeks.
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