Chapter 7 - The Man Who Finally AskedDante proposed three weeks later.
Badly.
Spectacularly badly.
We were eating Chinese takeout on the floor because the dining table was covered with restoration reports.
I was wearing paint-stained sweatpants.
Dante was arguing with chopsticks.
Then he said:
“Marry me.”
I nearly inhaled a noodle.
“What?”
“Marry me.”
“That was your proposal?”
“Yes.”
“You own restaurants.”
“Yes.”
“You have helicopters.”
“Yes.”
“You once shut down an entire city block because I wanted gelato.”
“You complained about traffic.”
“You could have planned something.”
His expression shifted.
“I did.”
He reached into his pocket.
Then stopped.
“No.”
I stared.
“No?”
He put the box back.
“I’m doing it wrong.”
This was fascinating.
Dante Moretti was nervous.
I had seen him shot.
I had seen him face armed men.
I had watched him threaten federal prosecutors without blinking.
Marriage terrified him.
Good.
It should.
He stood.
“Leonora Rossi.”
“Oh God.”
“Stop.”
“I’m listening.”
“You changed my life.”
My smile disappeared.
He continued.
“You came upstairs because I was keeping you awake. You insulted me. You threw my money on the floor.”
“You deserved it.”
“Yes.”
“You were awful.”
“Yes.”
“Continue.”
His mouth twitched.
Then seriousness returned.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant protecting people by controlling everything around them.”
My chest tightened.
“You taught me that protection without choice is another kind of fear.”
He knelt.
Not because tradition required it.
Because Dante Moretti, a man who bowed to almost nobody, wanted to ask rather than take.
He opened the box.
A simple diamond ring rested inside.
Beside the cerulean one.
“Keep your name.”
I blinked.
“Keep your work. Keep your money. Keep your apartment downstairs if you want it. Keep every door open.”
His eyes held mine.
“But if you choose me, choose me every day.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“You practiced that.”
“Rocco helped.”
I laughed through the tears.
“That explains why it was almost emotionally healthy.”
“Leo.”
“Yes.”
His entire body stilled.
“Yes?”
“Yes, you idiot.”
He stood so quickly I squealed.
Then I was in his arms.
He kissed me.
And for approximately eleven minutes, the world behaved.
Then Rocco called.
Bellandi had resurfaced.
In Italy.
At the ruins of Dante’s childhood home.
May you like
And he had sent an invitation.
For our wedding.
