Chapter 9 - The Price of Becoming Free
Victor was arrested twelve days after leaving the hospital.
Norah stood beside him when federal agents entered the estate.
He did not resist.
Gabriel did.
Verbally.
Creatively.
Norah learned several new insults.
Victor faced charges tied to businesses he had inherited and continued operating for years.
Racketeering.
Illegal gambling.
Financial coercion.
No murder charge.
No evidence connected him to the disappearances whispered about throughout the city.
But the legitimate crimes were enough.
Norah watched agents handcuff him.
Victor looked at her.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Wait for me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“This is a terrible time to become stupid.”
“I could go to prison.”
“Yes.”
“For years.”
“Yes.”
“You deserve a life.”
“I’m aware.”
“Norah—”
She kissed him in front of everyone.
When she pulled back, Victor looked stunned.
“I decide what I do with my life.”
The prosecutor offered Victor a deal.
Full cooperation against Vincent, Mercer, corrupt officials, and remaining criminal networks.
In return, reduced charges.
Victor accepted.
Not because he was innocent.
He wasn’t.
He told Norah that himself.
“I benefited from fear,” he said through the glass during one visit. “Even when I didn’t order violence, I knew what my name meant.”
She pressed her palm against the glass.
“What happens now?”
“I answer for it.”
For six months, the city seemed to turn itself inside out.
Councilmen resigned.
Judges were indicted.
Police officers were arrested.
Mercer testified against Vincent.
Vincent testified against Mercer.
Each tried to save himself.
Samuel testified too.
Fineian entered treatment for gambling addiction and eventually accepted a job in another state.
Norah rebuilt her own life.
Not with Victor’s money.
With hers.
She returned to work as a freelance event coordinator, the career she had abandoned years earlier while constantly rescuing Fineian.
Ironically, her first major contract was a charity gala.
She refused to serve Merlot.
Gabriel found that hilarious.
Victor eventually pleaded guilty to three federal financial offenses.
The judge considered his cooperation, voluntary disclosure of records, restitution, and the fact that he had dismantled illegal operations before charges were filed.
He received eighteen months.
Norah cried in the courthouse bathroom.
Then she washed her face and walked back out.
Victor was being led away.
He stopped.
“You can still change your mind.”
She glared.
“Eighteen months isn’t long enough for me to find someone less annoying.”
He smiled.
That smile carried her through winter.
Then spring.
Then another winter.
They wrote letters.
Victor’s were surprisingly terrible.
Short.
Precise.
Almost corporate.
Norah,
Food bad. Gabriel visited. Fineian called. I miss you.
Victor.
She sent the letter back with corrections.
His next one contained:
I miss you very much.
Progress.
Samuel visited Victor too.
Their relationship was strange.
They were cousins by blood and brothers through shared grief.
Daniel’s death connected them.
Evelyn’s courage connected them.
Eventually, forgiveness began doing what revenge never had.
It gave them somewhere to go.
Fourteen months into Victor’s sentence, Norah received a call.
Early release.
She drove to the facility herself.
Victor walked through the gate carrying one small bag.
He had lost weight.
His hair was slightly longer.
The silver at his temples seemed more visible.
Norah got out.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Victor dropped the bag.
Norah ran.
He caught her.
She wrapped both arms around his neck.
Victor buried his face against her hair.
Neither spoke.
They did not need to.
On the drive home, Victor noticed they were not heading toward his estate.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Norah drove beyond the city.
She stopped before a smaller house overlooking a lake.
Victor stared.
“What is this?”
“Home.”
“Mine?”
“Ours, potentially.”
He looked at her.
“I sold the estate.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Gabriel is incapable of keeping secrets.”
“That explains a lot.”
Norah led him inside.
No armed guards.
No security command room.
No politicians.
A kitchen.
A fireplace.
A porch overlooking water.
Victor stood in the middle of the living room.
For the first time since Norah had known him, he seemed uncertain what to do with peace.
She walked toward him.
“You hate it?”
“No.”
“Too small?”
“No.”
“Too normal?”
Victor looked around.
Then at her.
“It’s perfect.”
That evening they ate takeout pizza on the floor because the dining table had not arrived.
Victor opened a bottle of wine.
Norah stared at it.
“Merlot?”
He smiled.
“Sentimental value.”
She poured two glasses.
Victor immediately moved his chair farther away.
“Coward.”
“I’ve learned.”
Later, beneath the porch lights, Victor reached into his pocket.
Norah saw the velvet box.
“You kept it?”
“For eighteen months.”
He went down on one knee.
This time there was no hospital medication.
No gunshot wound.
No criminal empire waiting outside.
“Norah Hastings.”
She covered her mouth.
Victor looked up.
“You destroyed a four-thousand-dollar suit, exposed a conspiracy, dismantled my entire life, and somehow gave me a better one.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Victor—”
“Marry me.”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
He stood.
Norah kissed him.
Then she whispered against his mouth:
“Your suit was ugly.”
Victor stared at her.
“It was Italian.”
“It was gray.”
“It was custom.”
“It deserved the wine.”
He kissed her again.
Neither noticed the black sedan parked across the lake road.
Inside it, a man lifted a camera.
The shutter clicked.
Once.
Twice.
Then he sent the photographs to someone saved under a single initial.
D.
May you like
The reply arrived immediately.
So Victor Russo finally thinks he’s free.
