Chapter 8 - What the Ring Meant
Dante survived.
The bullet passed through his shoulder.
No artery.
No lung.
The doctor called him lucky.
Dante called the doctor dramatic.
I nearly hit him with a hospital pillow.
“You were shot.”
“I’ve been shot before.”
“That is not comforting.”
He looked at me from the hospital bed.
“You stayed.”
The quietness of those two words stopped me.
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to the ring.
“You kept it.”
“Yes.”
Neither of us asked what that meant.
Not yet.
Outside his room, everything was unraveling.
Richard Vale was arrested.
Federal investigators seized documents from six companies.
Marcus was taken into custody too.
But something unexpected happened.
He cooperated.
The man who had spent years destroying my confidence became one of the witnesses who helped expose Vale.
It did not erase what he had done.
It did not earn forgiveness.
But for the first time, Marcus made a choice that cost him something instead of costing me.
My mother and I faced a more complicated repair.
We argued.
We cried.
I told her that disappearing had broken something in me.
She did not defend herself.
“I was terrified,” she whispered.
“You were my mother.”
“I know.”
“You should have trusted me.”
“You were twenty-four.”
“I was still your daughter.”
She cried.
So did I.
Healing did not arrive as one beautiful conversation.
It arrived awkwardly.
Coffee.
Questions.
Silences.
Old photographs.
One afternoon, she told me Dad used to keep my childhood drawings in his desk.
Another afternoon, I screamed at her for missing my wedding.
Both were necessary.
Dante came home six days later.
I helped him into his house.
“You realize I can walk.”
“You nearly passed out getting into the car.”
“That was strategic.”
“Strategic fainting?”
“It distracted you from my terrible hospital hair.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
Then winced.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“You started it.”
Teresa met us at the door.
She hugged Dante so carefully it made my chest hurt.
Then she pointed upstairs.
“Bed.”
“I’m forty-one.”
“Today you are twelve.”
He obeyed.
That might have been the most frightening demonstration of Teresa’s power I had witnessed.
For two weeks, life slowed.
Dante healed.
I stayed.
Not because security required it.
Because I wanted to.
We ate breakfast together.
I learned he hated grapefruit.
He learned I stole blankets.
He worked from the library until I confiscated his laptop.
“You are tyrannical.”
“You were shot.”
“You mention that frequently.”
“Because you keep forgetting.”
At night, we talked.
Really talked.
About his father.
My father.
Our mistakes.
My marriage.
His life.
One evening, I asked why he had never married.
He looked toward the fire.
“I almost did.”
I waited.
“She wanted the Caruso name. The access. The life.”
“Not you?”
“Apparently I was included.”
I smiled sadly.
“What happened?”
“I discovered she was providing information to one of my father’s rivals.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was educational.”
He looked at me.
“I stopped confusing being desired with being known.”
The sentence stayed with me.
Weeks passed.
The scandal grew.
Vale’s empire collapsed.
My father’s stolen interest was restored to his estate pending settlement.
I suddenly possessed more money than I knew what to do with.
But the first thing I bought was not a car.
Or house.
Or dress.
I rented a tiny office.
Then I hung a sign.
BENNETT RESTORATION & DESIGN
Dante stood outside with me.
“You’re reopening it?”
“Not Dad’s company.”
I smiled.
“Mine.”
His pride was quiet.
That made it better.
“I have a building that needs restoration.”
“No.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Hiring a qualified architect?”
“I haven’t renewed my license.”
“I can wait.”
“You are impossible.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
I turned toward him.
He looked healthier now.
The scar through his eyebrow caught the afternoon light.
I lifted my left hand.
His mother’s ring remained there.
Dante noticed.
His smile faded.
“Have you decided?”
“Yes.”
He went very still.
I slipped the ring off.
Pain flashed across his face before he could hide it.
Then I placed it in his palm.
His fingers closed around it.
“I understand,” he said.
I almost laughed.
“No, you don’t.”
He looked at me.
I closed his fingers around the ring.
“You told me to keep it until I decided what it meant.”
“Yes.”
“I decided.”
My heart began pounding.
“It means nothing if I put it on myself.”
His breath stopped.
May you like
I held out my hand.
“Ask me properly.”
