Chapter 10 - Luca Gave Up the Chair
Adrian was charged.
Dominic was arrested two days later.
Evan returned to prison on new charges.
Sofia cooperated fully.
Then came the part nobody on Facebook would find exciting.
Paperwork.
Depositions.
Accountants.
Attorneys.
Government meetings.
The actual destruction of a criminal empire looked less like gunfire and more like people highlighting spreadsheets.
Luca surrendered control of nine companies.
Four were dissolved.
Three legitimate businesses survived.
Transportation.
Restaurants.
Commercial real estate.
He placed them under independent management.
Then he resigned.
I read the document twice.
“You’re leaving everything?”
“Everything that requires the old structure.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know.”
That terrified him.
I could tell.
Luca DeSantis knew how to command rooms.
He did not know how to have Tuesday afternoon free.
His cooperation agreement kept him out of prison but imposed restrictions, fines, asset forfeitures and years of oversight.
Some people called that getting away with it.
Maybe.
But I watched him sell the home his father built.
Watched family portraits go into storage.
Watched men who once called him Boss stop answering.
Consequences are not always cells.
Sometimes they are identity.
Sofia moved into a smaller house.
Luca visited once.
I did not go.
When he returned, he sat in my kitchen.
“She apologized.”
“How was it?”
“Late.”
“Still useful?”
“Maybe.”
I poured tea.
“She asked if I hate her.”
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
He smiled.
We had become annoyingly predictable.
Then came us.
Harder than Adrian.
Harder than federal agents.
Because Luca wanted to stay.
I wanted him.
Those were not automatically compatible.
“I won’t become your rehabilitation project,” I told him.
He looked offended.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“How?”
“You keep looking at the cabin like it represents redemption.”
He stared.
That was exactly what he was doing.
I continued.
“I live here because I choose it.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to move in because mountains make you feel forgiven.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He thought.
“No.”
Progress.
“I need to figure out who I am without the family.”
“Yes.”
“And you need…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“To figure out whether you love me or the man you rescued.”
I hated him a little for being right.
We separated.
Not dramatically.
No screaming.
He rented a place in Denver.
Started therapy.
That revelation amused Rafael endlessly until Luca threatened to tell everyone Rafael played piano.
I returned to nursing.
Part-time.
Then joined a mountain rescue team.
For six months, Luca and I saw each other once a week.
Dinner.
Walks.
No bodyguards at the table.
No crisis.
We learned normal things.
He hated olives.
I hated jazz.
He cooked well.
I could burn pasta.
He did not like sleeping with doors unlocked.
I did not like anyone standing behind me.
We became people instead of emergencies.
One evening, he asked:
“If I had never been shot, would you have liked me?”
I thought.
“No.”
He laughed.
“Why?”
“You would’ve been unbearable.”
“Fair.”
“And if I hadn’t found you?”
“I’d be dead.”
“That isn’t romantic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Then he looked at me.
“But if I met you now?”
“Yes?”
“I’d still notice you.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“You look at people like their answer matters.”
Simple.
He understood me too.
I kissed him.
May you like
Not because he survived.
Because he stayed while neither of us needed saving.
