Chapter 2 #4
I had gone there because the tower had become too full of Elena’s name.
Her file on my desk. Her photograph in the building surveillance reports.
Her father’s debt in every old ledger Adrian pulled from storage.
I could not think inside walls where every room reminded me of the arrangement I had made and the fact that she had not yet told me to go to hell for it.
Saint Aurelia was empty at that hour. The pews held gray light.
The candles had burned down to stubs. My mother’s name was carved into a plaque near the side altar, beside Rafe’s.
We had not buried him there. His mother wanted a private cemetery outside the city.
But Roman had placed the plaque after the funeral, perhaps because he believed marble could turn guilt into remembrance.
I stood in front of it with my hands in my coat pockets.
“You always come here when you are planning to make yourself miserable,” Celia said from behind me.
I did not turn. “Good morning to you too.”
She came to stand beside me. She wore a black coat over a nightgown and had clearly left the house without telling anyone. The Voss family had no casual relationship with leaving houses. It was a small rebellion. I respected it.
“You are thinking about Rafe,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You are thinking you can prevent the past from repeating if you arrange every person in the right place.”
I looked at her. “You have been reading my mind for thirty-one years. It is invasive.”
“I carried you for nine months. You will survive it.”
The chapel settled around us. Somewhere in the back, an old radiator began to knock.
“I asked Elena to marry me,” I said. “You know that.”
“I know.”
“I told myself it would put protection around her.”
“And?”
“And I do not know whether I am protecting her or building another wall.”
Celia’s expression did not soften. My mother loved us. She was not gentle with us when gentleness became an excuse.
“Both can be true,” she said. “The question is whether you keep pretending the wall is a gift.”
I looked down at Rafe’s name.
“When he died, I thought I had failed because I had not acted fast enough.”
“You did fail,” she said quietly.
The words landed without cruelty. That made them sharper.
“I know.”
“But you were twenty-one. You were trying to become a man your father would respect. You thought you had to carry every decision alone because that was how Roman taught you to lead. That was not all your fault.”
I laughed once, bitterly. “You make that sound generous.”
“It is not generous. It is accurate.”
She turned toward the altar.
“Rafe did not die because you loved him,” she continued. “He died because people around him used love as a way to get access. There is a difference. If you decide attachment is the danger, you will become Roman in another suit.”
I said nothing.
She waited until I looked at her.
“Do you want Elena?” she asked.
The answer rose immediately. It was also the part I did not want to examine.
“Yes.”
“Then stop calling it protection when you mean you want her.”
“I cannot ask her for something personal when she is already under pressure.”
“Then do not ask for it yet. Give her every reason to leave if she wants to. Tell her the truth. Let her see you make choices that cost you. And if she still chooses you someday, accept it as a gift rather than a debt.”
Celia’s eyes moved to the plaque.
“Your father will hate it,” she added.
“He hates most things that make other people free.”
“Yes,” she said. “That is why he is lonely.”
A phone vibrated in my pocket. Adrian. I answered.
“What?”
“I found a connection between the Marchetti debt and the hospital foundation,” he said. “You should come back.”
“I am on my way.”
Celia touched my sleeve before I left.
“Damian.”
I looked at her.
“Do not make Elena pay for the lesson Rafe taught you.”
The request followed me out into the blue-gray morning.
By the time I returned to Voss Tower, I had decided to add more provisions to the marriage agreement.
Independent counsel. Separate rooms. Her business untouched.
No claim on her property. No sexual expectation, stated in language no one could soften later.
A right to end the agreement if I lied about something material to her family.
The contract would not turn coercion into kindness.
But it would make one thing clear: I could not ask her to trust me while I held every exit shut.
I deleted half of it.
Then I wrote in provisions I had never offered anyone: independent counsel for Matteo, full disclosure of every material fact, ownership of Elena's business, separate rooms by default, no control over her movement beyond specific security disclosures, no physical expectation of any kind, immediate termination if I violated the terms.
At the bottom, I added one line in plain language.
Nothing in this agreement limits Elena Marchetti's freedom to make her own choices.
I read it for a long time.
It did not make the offer good. It did not make me honorable. It only made the truth harder to hide behind.
Just before dawn, Adrian sent a message.
The D'Angelo surveillance team changed shifts. One car is yours. One is not.
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed back.
Double her protection. Do not let either team see the other.
A reply arrived almost immediately.
You are creating a very crowded street.
I looked toward the dark windows where the city waited.
I knew.