Chapter 8 - The Empire He Chose to Lose
Three weeks passed.
Scarlet returned to Magnolia.
Tony was gone.
Bellini was in federal custody facing charges tied to fraud, kidnapping, and conspiracy.
The restaurant had a temporary manager.
But Vincent’s chair remained empty.
Table six.
Beside the window.
Scarlet hated that table.
Every morning she looked at it.
Every morning it reminded her of a man holding an espresso cup while she told him he looked tired.
Milo recovered faster emotionally than she did.
Samuel moved back to Chicago but did not ask for forgiveness.
He simply showed up.
Hospital appointments.
Grocery runs.
Homework.
Scarlet allowed him into their lives one inch at a time.
Trust, she discovered, did not return dramatically.
It returned through ordinary things.
One Tuesday afternoon, Marco entered Magnolia.
Scarlet immediately approached him.
“Where is Vincent?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Marco.”
He sighed.
“He’s alive.”
“That was not my question.”
“He’s dismantling everything.”
Scarlet frowned.
“What?”
Marco sat at the counter.
“Vincent has spent fifteen years building his organization. He’s spent three weeks taking it apart.”
Scarlet stared.
“Why?”
“Because Bellini proved something.”
“What?”
“That as long as Vincent operates in that world, anyone he loves becomes a target.”
Scarlet sat opposite him.
“What does dismantling mean?”
“Selling legitimate holdings. Closing illegal operations. Turning evidence over through attorneys. Cutting deals where he can.”
“He can do that?”
“Not without enemies.”
Scarlet understood.
“Rizzo.”
Marco nodded.
“Vincent is giving him what he always wanted.”
“The territory?”
“All of it.”
“Why?”
“To end the war.”
Scarlet felt angry.
Not touched.
Angry.
“He’s sacrificing his entire life without asking anyone.”
Marco smiled faintly.
“Now you understand why working for him is exhausting.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Scarlet leaned forward.
“Marco.”
“No.”
“I will sing.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Loudly. For hours. I’m terrible.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Scarlet inhaled.
Marco immediately raised both hands.
“Lake Geneva.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Unfortunately.”
Vincent was staying in a small house overlooking the lake.
Scarlet arrived at sunset.
She found him chopping firewood.
Of all possible images she had imagined, this was not one.
He saw her.
The ax stopped.
“No.”
Scarlet crossed her arms.
“Nice greeting.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Apparently that’s your favorite sentence.”
“How did you find me?”
“Marco.”
“I’m firing him.”
“He predicted that.”
Vincent put down the ax.
“You need to go home.”
“You left me a check.”
“For Milo.”
“I tore it up.”
His expression tightened.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want your money.”
“Scarlet—”
“I wanted you.”
Silence.
Vincent stared at her.
Scarlet’s courage nearly failed.
She continued anyway.
“You lied to me. You manipulated situations. You make decisions for everybody because somewhere along the way you decided protecting people gives you the right to control them.”
Vincent absorbed every word.
“You’re right.”
That irritated her further.
“Stop agreeing so easily.”
“What would you prefer?”
“I’d prefer you fight.”
“For what?”
“For me!”
The words echoed across the lake.
Vincent went still.
Scarlet’s eyes filled.
“You decided I deserved a world without you. Did you ever think maybe I should decide what I deserve?”
Vincent looked away.
“You don’t understand what I’ve done.”
“I know enough.”
“No. You don’t.”
“Then tell me.”
He did.
Not every detail.
But enough.
Violence.
Threats.
Men he had hurt.
Decisions he regretted.
A life constructed from fear.
Scarlet listened without interrupting.
When he finished, he expected disgust.
Instead she said, “Do you regret it?”
“Some of it.”
“Not all?”
“No.”
She appreciated the truth.
“Are you trying to change because of me?”
Vincent hesitated.
“You started it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
He looked at the lake.
“I’m changing because I finally realized I hate the man I have to be to survive that world.”
Scarlet stepped closer.
“That answer I believe.”
Vincent looked at her.
She touched his face.
“You look tired.”
A broken laugh escaped him.
“You traveled ninety miles for that?”
“No.”
She kissed him.
Vincent froze.
Scarlet pulled back.
“That was disappointing.”
“What?”
“I expected the legendary Vincent Moretti to be faster.”
He caught her waist.
The second kiss was not disappointing.
For several seconds, there were no syndicates.
No enemies.
No hospital bills.
No lies.
Only two exhausted people beside a quiet lake.
Then headlights appeared on the road.
Vincent broke the kiss.
Three black vehicles approached.
His expression changed.
“Inside.”
Scarlet saw it immediately.
“Rizzo?”
Vincent reached beneath his jacket.
“Yes.”
Scarlet looked at the approaching cars.
“So much for retirement.”
Vincent took her hand.
And this time, when danger arrived, he did not tell her what to do.
He asked.
“Will you trust me?”
Scarlet squeezed his hand.
“For the next five minutes.”
“That’s all I need.”
But when the first vehicle stopped, the man who stepped out was not Salvatore Rizzo.
It was Samuel Hayes.
May you like
Scarlet’s father.
And he had a gun pressed against the back of his head.
