Chapter 13 - I Asked the Mafia Boss to Marry Me
It took seven months.
Not because I was uncertain about Roman.
Because marriage is not only emotion.
That was one of the biggest things I had learned.
Contracts matter.
Names matter.
Property matters.
Custody matters.
Medical authority matters.
Privacy matters.
Love does not become less real when you read the paperwork.
Sometimes love becomes safer.
Rachel drafted our prenup.
Roman’s attorney complained it was “aggressive.”
I said, “Thank you.”
Roman laughed.
My assets remained mine.
His remained his.
Sophie's trust remained independently controlled.
No family business interest automatically transferred through marriage.
My employment and advocacy work remained independent.
Medical power of attorney included explicit restrictions.
Roman read every page.
Signed.
No argument.
We discussed where to live.
Not Bellavista House.
Never.
Too much history.
Roman agreed to sell the residential portion while preserving some foundation offices.
We bought a house together.
I chose it.
He hated the kitchen.
I loved the windows.
He wanted gates.
I wanted neighbors.
We compromised.
One gate.
Many neighbors.
Sophie wanted a treehouse.
That became apparently more important than everything else.
We talked about children.
That conversation was hard.
I did not know whether I wanted another pregnancy.
Some days I did.
Some days the idea terrified me.
Roman never treated my hesitation like a problem to solve.
“We already have Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“If we never have another, we have Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“If you decide someday, we decide together.”
That word.
Together.
Eventually, the decision became clear.
Not another child.
Not then.
Maybe never.
And we were okay.
One Saturday morning in October, Roman was building Sophie’s treehouse badly.
He could negotiate multimillion-dollar contracts.
He could not read lumber instructions.
I watched from the yard.
“You put that board backward.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Sophie leaned over the railing.
“Mama's right.”
Roman looked betrayed.
“You're supposed to be my assistant.”
“I like Mama more.”
I laughed.
Roman muttered something in Italian.
He climbed down.
There was sawdust in his hair.
Purple paint on one thumbnail because Sophie had returned to nail art.
A pencil behind his ear.
No suit.
No guards visible.
No ballroom.
No DeLuca performance.
Just Roman.
I knew.
“Wait here.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I went inside.
The ring was in my desk.
He had given it to me months earlier without ceremony.
“Keep it,” he said. “Whether you ever use it or not.”
I walked back outside.
Roman stared at the small box.
Sophie screamed.
“Oh my gosh!”
“Sophie.”
“ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?”
The entire neighborhood probably heard.
Roman did not move.
I stood in front of him.
“You're supposed to kneel,” Sophie whispered.
“Not helping.”
Roman’s eyes never left mine.
“Mara.”
“I've read the contracts.”
He laughed softly.
“I know.”
“I like the house.”
“You chose it.”
“I know.”
“You hate my kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“I’m still right about the kitchen.”
“No.”
I opened the box.
“I want to marry you.”
Roman’s face changed.
Every controlled layer vanished.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Sophie yelled, “SAY YES, DAD.”
Roman laughed and wiped his eyes.
“You're crying.”
“Apparently.”
“Good.”
He looked at Sophie.
“Your mother says it gets the scared out.”
She beamed.
He looked back at me.
“Yes.”
I handed him the ring.
“Put it on me.”
His hands shook.
Roman DeLuca’s hands shook.
He slid the ring onto my finger.
Then he kissed me.
Sophie made vomiting sounds.
Perfect.
We did not announce the engagement publicly for two months.
By then, Serena’s appeals had failed.
Voss was serving his sentence.
The civil cases had settled.
The Rebecca Lane Center was independent and stable.
Victor DeLuca had moved to Florida and reportedly spent most of his time complaining about golf.
Life became quieter.
Not entirely.
Roman’s world would never be entirely quiet.
But quieter.
The wedding planning became its own absurdity.
Roman’s family expected three hundred guests.
I said forty.
Roman suggested eighty.
We settled on sixty.
Mrs. Porter demanded flowers.
Sophie demanded a chocolate fountain.
Rachel demanded nobody ask her legal questions during dinner.
No one obeyed Rachel.
No cameras.
No press.
No ballroom.
We chose a small lakeside inn in Vermont.
Near Noah.
Near the place where Rebecca’s evidence had survived.
I visited her grave before the wedding.
Alone.
Her headstone was simple.
I brought cinnamon gum.
Ridiculous.
Perfect.
I sat on the grass.
“You should be here.”
Wind moved through the trees.
“You should have gotten older.”
My throat tightened.
“You should have been allowed to hate your knees and complain about taxes and text me annoying things.”
I wiped my face.
“Sophie knows your name.”
That mattered.
Not every detail.
Not yet.
But she knew Rebecca carried her.
She knew Rebecca protected her.
She knew a woman she would never meet had chosen to help get her home.
“I don't know if there’s anything after this,” I whispered.
“But if there is, thank you.”
I left the gum beside the stone.
On the drive back, Roman called.
“Where are you?”
“Out.”
“That's vague.”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Do you want company?”
Not “I'm coming.”
Not “Send me your location.”
Do you want company?
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
He groaned.
“You're supposed to say it back.”
“I love you.”
“Better.”
I hung up.
At sunset, Sophie and I stood beside the lake.
She held my hand.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
I considered lying automatically.
Adults tell children yes because we think happiness should be simple.
Instead I said:
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Me too.”
Then she looked at my ring.
“Does this mean Roman stays forever?”
I crouched.
“No one can promise forever.”
Her smile faded slightly.
I touched her cheek.
“But it means we're choosing each other today.”
She thought.
“And tomorrow?”
“We choose again.”
“And next Tuesday?”
I laughed.
“Especially Tuesday.”
She nodded.
That satisfied her.
It satisfied me too.
Because forever had once sounded like ownership.
Now it sounded different.
Not one choice made once.
A thousand choices.
May you like
Repeated freely.
That was the only forever I wanted.
