Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF HONESTY
Dorian was sitting upright in a hospital bed when I entered his room.
He had a small cut near his eyebrow and bruising along his cheekbone.
His knuckles were swollen.
But he was alive.
He looked up.
“Alina.”
I crossed the room.
Then I slapped his shoulder.
Not hard.
Just enough to make him blink.
“You absolute idiot.”
He stared at me.
Then he laughed.
The sound nearly destroyed me.
“You scared me!”
“I know.”
“You said you would come home.”
“I did.”
“You were supposed to come home without getting hurt.”
“I’ll work on that part.”
I started crying.
Dorian’s expression softened immediately.
He reached toward me, then hesitated.
I moved into his arms.
He held me against him, careful of the medical equipment attached to his hand.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he whispered, “I thought about you the entire time.”
I pulled back.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying very hard to stay angry.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You should be.”
I looked at the bruise on his face.
“What happens now?”
The smile disappeared.
“Victor will face charges. Investigators have the documents Marcus collected and the records he tried to make me sign.”
“And you?”
Dorian looked down.
“My attorney says I’ll have to answer questions about the businesses I’ve controlled.”
“Will you be arrested?”
“I don’t know.”
The honesty hurt.
But it mattered.
“Some of the companies may be seized or sold,” he continued. “Others will need to be audited. I may lose my position.”
“And the criminal operations?”
“I’m cooperating with the investigation.”
I took a slow breath.
“That’s going to make you enemies.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
He looked at me.
“Because I can’t keep asking you to build a future on secrets.”
Tears filled my eyes again.
He reached for my hand.
“I don’t expect you to take me back because I did one decent thing.”
“Good.”
“And I don’t expect the baby to make our marriage whole.”
“Good.”
His thumb moved gently across my knuckles.
“But I would like the chance to become someone our child can be proud of.”
I studied his face.
Not the feared crime boss.
Not the man who could silence a crowded room.
Just Dorian.
Flawed.
Exhausted.
Afraid.
And finally willing to be honest.
“You can start by becoming someone I can trust,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“I’ll spend as long as it takes.”
The weeks that followed were nothing like the beautiful reconciliation I’d secretly imagined.
There were no dramatic declarations that fixed everything overnight.
There were legal meetings.
Financial investigations.
News articles.
Phone calls that made Dorian’s expression grow tense.
And there were mornings when I woke up angry all over again.
Some days, I wanted him beside me.
Other days, I couldn’t bear hearing his voice.
He accepted both.
For the first time since we’d met, Dorian learned to ask before acting.
He asked whether he could accompany me to prenatal appointments.
He asked whether I wanted help carrying groceries.
He asked whether I needed space.
Sometimes I said yes.
Sometimes I said no.
And he listened.
Three weeks after Victor’s arrest, Dorian began seeing a therapist.
He didn’t tell me until I asked why he was unavailable every Thursday afternoon.
I nearly laughed.
“The Black King of Chicago goes to therapy?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently.”
“Does your therapist know who you are?”
“Yes.”
“Is she afraid of you?”
“No. She makes me uncomfortable, actually.”
I smiled.
“Good.”
He smiled back.
It was the first easy moment we’d shared in months.
The sealed succession amendments were eventually recovered from Richard's old family office. After reviewing them, independent counsel concluded they gave Victor no controlling interest. His attempt to force Dorian to sign over the voting rights was the only route to the power he had wanted for decades.
Investigators also secured the original financial ledgers from Victor's storage office. The records connected his private deals to the Valenti family and showed how Marcus's credentials had been misused to conceal the transfers. Marcus had been telling the truth all along.
Meanwhile, Marcus took over the daily management of the remaining legitimate operations under independent oversight.
Several companies were sold.
Others were restructured.
Dorian stepped away from leadership while the legal investigations continued.
His attorneys negotiated agreements with investigators, but there were no miraculous guarantees.
He was required to provide documents, testify when necessary, and accept responsibility for financial decisions made under his authority.
Some people called him weak.
Others called him a traitor.
He stopped reading those comments.
“I spent half my life caring what frightened people thought of me,” he told me once. “I’d rather care what my child thinks.”
May you like
I didn’t tell him how much that meant.
Not yet.
