Chapter Twelve #3
“You sent me black roses. Three of them, to symbolize death.” The preserved rose is held up carefully. “I kept one. Had it preserved and gilded. Because even in death, even in endings, something beautiful can remain.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “Alessandro—”
“And—” The other item from the pocket comes out, a small key on a simple chain. “This is the key to my penthouse. To my home. I want you to have it. Want you to know that wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, you have a place that’s yours, safe and protected.”
“You’re giving me a key.” She says it like it’s something momentous.
“I’m giving you access to my life. My space. Everything I have.” The key is pressed into her palm, followed by the preserved rose. “I’m giving you my heart, Elena. In whatever form you’ll accept it.”
“Your heart.” She looks at both items, then back at me. “Alessandro De Luca, are you asking me to move in with you?”
“I’m asking you to let me keep you safe. To share my space and my life and whatever future we can build together.” The vulnerability in admitting this is new and uncomfortable. “I’m asking you to be mine in every way that matters. To trust me to protect you. To—”
Her kiss cuts off the rambling. When she pulls back, tears stream down her face but her smile could light the entire city.
“Yes. To all of it, yes.” She clutches the rose and key as though they’re precious. “And Alessandro? I have something for you too.”
“You do?”
“Well, not here. But—” She bites her lip. “Tomorrow is Christmas. And I may have made something for you before everything went to hell. It’s at my apartment above the shop.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“It should. Christmas gifts are meant for Christmas.” Her smile turns impish. “Besides, the anticipation will be good for you.”
“Anticipation is overrated.”
“Says the man who just spent three hours edging me.”
The laugh that escapes is startled. “Fair point.”
She settles back into my arms, and the comfortable silence that follows is broken only by her steady breathing and the distant sounds of suburbia.
Tomorrow will bring Christmas morning in the penthouse, provided Marco arranges for her shop apartment to be cleared. Tonight, in this safe house, wrapped around each other while the world continues its violent spin, happiness feels almost possible.
Almost.
Because men like me don’t get happy endings. Don’t get white picket fences and quiet retirements. We get prison or death, and if lucky, I get to choose which.
But maybe men like me get stolen moments. Get Christmas mornings with women who choose us despite everything. Get to hold them close and pretend, just for a while, that love can triumph over violence.
Christmas morning breaks clear and cold over Seattle. The penthouse sparkles with lights Marco’s people installed overnight, a tree in the corner, garlands across the windows, stockings hung with care because apparently my second-in-command is secretly a romantic.
Elena stands at the window in one of my shirts, coffee in hand, watching the sunrise paint the city gold. She’s been quiet since waking, thoughtful in a way that makes me nervous.
“Everything okay?”
“Perfect.” She turns, and the smile she gives me is soft, genuine. “I was just thinking, a month ago, I was alone in my apartment, drinking terrible coffee and wondering if I’d ever find someone who understood me. And now,” She gestures at the penthouse, at me, at everything. “Now I have all this.”
“Careful. That almost sounds like happiness.”
“Maybe it is.” She sets down her coffee and crosses to her bag, pulling out a small wrapped package. “Merry Christmas, Alessandro.”
The package is surprisingly light, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon that’s definitely from her shop. Inside is a leather journal, handmade by the look of it, with my initials embossed on the cover in gold. The pages are thick, expensive, the kind meant for important things.
“Open it,” she says softly.
The first page holds her handwriting which is elegant, with flowing script that must have taken hours.
For Alessandro,
Because monsters need someone to remember they’re human. Because shadows need light to exist. Because every terrible thing you’ve done to protect what you love deserves to be balanced by something beautiful.
Write in this. Your thoughts, your fears, your hopes. The things you can’t say out loud. Let it be a place where The Shadow can rest and Alessandro can breathe.
All my love, Elena
The subsequent pages are blank, waiting to be filled. But tucked between them are pressed flowers—white amaryllis, the same kind from the first arrangement made for my mother. Small reminders of light in a book meant to hold darkness.
“You made this.” The words come out rough.
“The week before everything went to hell. I thought—” She swallows hard.
“I thought maybe you needed a place that was just yours. Where you didn’t have to be The Shadow or the boss or anything except yourself.
” Her hand covers mine. “You carry so much, Alessandro. Sometimes you need to put it down. Even if it’s only on paper. ”
The gesture is so thoughtful, so perfectly her, that speaking becomes difficult. “It’s perfect. Thank you, tesoro.”
“You’re welcome. Now—” She eyes me expectantly. “I believe it’s traditional for gift exchanges to be reciprocal?”
“Greedy.”
“Curious. There’s a difference.”
The small blue Tiffany box has been burning a hole in my pocket since collecting it yesterday. The jeweler nearly wept with joy at the commission, a custom piece, rush order, money no object.
The box is placed in her hands, and watching her face as she opens it is worth every dollar spent.
Inside, nestled in white silk, is a ring.
Not a traditional engagement ring, it’s too soon for that, despite how much the idea appeals.
Instead, it’s a cocktail ring, a large amber stone surrounded by diamonds, set in platinum.
The deep honey color of the center stone matches her eyes when she’s happy, and the diamonds catch the light like stars.
“Alessandro.” His name is a whisper. “This is—”
“Too much?” Doubt creeps in. “I can have them change it—”
“No! God, no. It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.” She slides it onto her right hand and it fits perfectly, because of course Marco got her ring size somehow. “But this must have cost—”
“Don’t worry about cost. Worry about whether you like it.”
“I love it.” She holds her hand up, watching the stones catch the light. “But Alessandro, this is significant. Rings mean something.”
“Yes, they do.” Taking her hand, I study the ring, her hand in mine, the stone glinting between us. “They mean you’re mine. I’m claiming you publicly. Anyone who looks at you will know you belong to The Shadow.”
“Possessive.”
“Extremely.” No point in denying it. “But Elena, this isn’t just about possession.
It’s about—” How to explain what she means?
“It’s about the fact that you’re the best thing to happen to me in fifteen years.
You see the monster and choose to stay anyway.
That you make me want to be better than I am, even though I’ll probably fail spectacularly. ”
“You won’t fail.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because I’ll be there to remind you.” She rises on her toes, kissing me softly. “We’ll figure it out together. The monster and the florist. The Shadow and the light. All of it.”
“Together,” the word is tested, tasted. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.” She glances at the clock. “Though speaking of stuck, don’t you have a crime empire to run? Enemies to vanquish? Federal investigations to dodge?”
“All of that can wait.” I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Today is Christmas. Today, I’m just Alessandro, and you’re just Elena, and nothing else matters.”
“Just Alessandro and Elena,” she repeats, smiling. “I like that too.”
“Good. Because tomorrow, reality returns. Tomorrow, we deal with Greco and the feds and everything else.” The promise comes dark, certain. “But today, today is ours.”
“Ours,” she agrees, settling into my arms. “The perfect Christmas.”
“Not quite perfect yet. But it will be.” The words come quiet, meant for me as much as her.
“Soon, you’ll legally belong to me. Soon, everyone will know that Elena Harper is under The Shadow’s protection.
And tesoro—” The ring catches the light as her hand rests over my heart.
“Soon, you’ll be Elena De Luca. My wife.
My heart. Mine in every way the law and God and this violent world recognizes. ”
She looks up, eyes wide. “Are you, is that—”
“Not a proposal. Not yet.” Though the hunger for it burns. “But a promise. When this mess with Greco is settled, when the immediate danger passes, I’m going to ask you properly. On my knees if it’s what you want. With a ring that makes this one look like a placeholder.”
“I don’t need a bigger ring.”
“But you’ll get one anyway. Because you deserve everything I can give you.” The kiss is soft, reverent. “You deserve a man who’s worthy of you, but you’re stuck with me instead. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret this choice.”
“I could never regret choosing you.”
“You say that now. Wait until you’ve survived a few years of my world.”
“Then I guess we’ll find out together.” Her smile is pure sunshine. “Merry Christmas, Alessandro.”
“Merry Christmas, tesoro.”
And standing there in the penthouse with city lights sparkling and a woman who chose darkness wrapped in my arms, happiness doesn’t feel quite so impossible anymore.
Still unlikely. Still probably doomed.
But possible.
And for a man like me, possibility is more than enough.
THE END