Chapter Thirty-Seven
MARCO
Just before ten, the lights in Moretti’s boathouse come on.
Armando cuts the engine.
The sudden silence leaves only water striking the hull and the faint creak of the dock ahead. Without running lights, our boat is another dark shape drifting beyond the Moretti property.
Gio stands at the bow, one hand braced against the railing.
He hasn’t moved in six minutes.
No one speaks.
Behind us, Dario and Bruno watch the shoreline. Both men are armed, but their weapons remain beneath their jackets.
We aren’t here to start a war.
Not unless Moretti leaves us no other choice.
A light appears near the eastern side of the house.
Then another.
A siren cuts across the water.
Lights come on throughout the estate. Men appear on the lawn, running along the stone wall toward the boathouse.
Gio looks at me.
“I see it,” I say softly.
Armando starts the engine.
“Go.”
The boat surges toward the dock.
The boathouse doors remain closed.
For one second, I wonder whether we misunderstood the message.
Then a narrow side door flies open.
Lucia runs onto the dock.
She is barefoot and wearing the same dress she wore to Moretti’s house four days ago. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. Maria’s sapphire flashes at her throat each time she passes beneath a light.
Gio exhales her name.
She turns toward the engine.
Her face changes when she sees us.
First relief.
Followed by disbelief.
Then fear.
She looks behind her.
A man appears in the boathouse doorway.
“Stop!”
Lucia runs faster.
Armando brings the boat alongside the dock. The hull strikes a piling and rebounds before he corrects it.
Gio reaches for her.
“Lucy!”
She is nearly close enough to take his hand when two more men rush out of the boathouse.
One raises his weapon.
I draw mine.
So do Dario and Bruno.
Lucia freezes between us.
“Lower it,” I tell the guard.
“Get away from the dock.”
More lights appear along the garden path.
We have less than a minute before the rest of Moretti’s security reaches us.
Gio keeps his hand extended.
“Come on, Lucy.”
She takes one step.
“Lucia!”
Moretti’s voice carries across the dock.
She stops.
He comes through the boathouse with four men behind him. He isn’t wearing a jacket. His white shirt is open at the collar, and for the first time since I met him, he looks less like the head of a criminal organization than a frightened father.
Until he speaks.
“Come back inside.”
Lucia looks at him.
“No.”
“You don’t understand what they’re doing.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“You’ve had four days to think.”
“I’ve had four days to learn that you lock my door every night and change the guard at six.”
Pain crosses his face.
“I was keeping you safe.”
“From whom?”
Moretti looks at me.
“From him.”
Lucia follows his gaze.
I lower my weapon.
“Marco,” Dario warns.
“Lower them.”
No one moves.
“I said lower them.”
Dario obeys first.
Bruno follows.
Armando puts his weapon on the controls in front of him.
Gio never drew his.
His hand remains extended toward Lucia.
Moretti’s men keep their weapons raised.
“You see?” Moretti says. “He comes to my home with armed men.”
“I came because Lucia asked us to.”
“She didn’t contact you.”
“She did.”
Lucia’s gaze remains on me.
Something inside her seems to loosen.
Moretti looks between us.
“She is my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“You forced her to become your wife.”
“Yes.”
The word carries across the water.
Lucia looks at me.
Moretti appears surprised by the agreement.
“You returned her to Mikhailov.”
“Yes.”
“You exchanged millions of dollars for a marriage.”
“Yes.”
Gio glances at me, but I keep my attention on Lucia.
There is nothing I can say that will change how our marriage began.
I took away her choice.
Whatever my reasons, whatever I intended to do afterward, I put her in that car and delivered her to a man she feared.
Then I stood inside a church surrounded by armed men and asked her to marry me.
Moretti knows the facts.
He believes they excuse what he has done.
Moretti turns to Lucia.
“This is the man you trust?”
Her face is pale beneath the boathouse lights.
I put my gun on the deck.
Every Moretti guard watches me do it.
Then I reach slowly inside my jacket.
Dario shifts behind me.
“Easy,” I tell him.
I remove an envelope from the inner pocket.
Lucia recognizes it immediately.
“The divorce papers.”
“Yes.”
“You brought them?”
“I didn’t know what you would choose.”
Something moves across her face.
Pain, perhaps.
Or understanding.
I step onto the dock.
The boat shifts beneath my weight before the solid boards meet my shoes.
Moretti’s men raise their weapons.
I ignore them and hold the envelope out to her.
Lucia takes it.
“They’re still signed?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“If I sign them, the marriage is over?”
“Not immediately. Evelyn would file them, and the court process would begin. I’ve already agreed to every term. I won’t contest it or make you wait.”
“You don’t want that.”
“No.”
The answer costs me nothing.
Lying would.
“I don’t want to lose you. But that doesn’t give me the right to keep you.”
Moretti steps toward her.
“Lucia, come back inside.”
She turns to him.
“You had four days to let me leave.”
“You were angry.”
“I’m still angry.”
“Then give me the chance to repair what I’ve done.”
“You mean after you lock the door again?”
“I won’t.”
Lucia looks toward the house.
From the water, the estate appears peaceful. Light shines from her mother’s windows. The garden stretches dark and quiet toward the shore.
Moretti has given her everything he believes a daughter should want.
A room.
Clothing.
Jewelry.
A place in his family.
He never understood that the locked door turned every gift into part of the cage.
“You wanted to know me,” she says.
“I still do.”
“I wanted that too.”
Moretti’s hand lowers slightly.
“Then stay.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No. You mean I must.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what you’ve said every day since I arrived.”
He looks at her as if the force of his grief should be enough to make her understand.
“I lost twenty-four years.”
“And I’m sorry for that.”
Her voice breaks.
Gio starts to move.
I stop him with one hand.
Not yet.
Lucia takes a breath.
“I’m sorry my mother hid me from you. I’m sorry you spent all those years believing she stopped loving you. I’m sorry your father made her believe she would lose me if she told you the truth.”
Moretti’s face goes still.
“But none of that was my decision,” she continues. “I don’t owe you the rest of my life to make up for it.”
“You belong with your family.”
“I get to decide who that is.”
“You barely know these men.”
“I know what they’ve done.”
“Then how can you choose them?”
She looks at me.
Every instinct tells me to reach for her.
To promise her everything.
To convince her.
Instead, I step back.
“You have the papers,” I say. “You can stay with Moretti. You can come with us. Or we’ll take you anywhere else you choose.”
Moretti’s expression hardens.
“She is not leaving with armed men.”
“She decides that.”
“She’s been manipulated.”
“If that’s true, she can walk away from us.”
“You know she won’t.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
That is what makes it a choice.
I look at Lucia.
“If you come with us tonight and decide tomorrow that you want to leave, the gate will open. If you want your own house, we’ll take you there. If you request security, you’ll have it. If you want nothing from me, I’ll accept that.”
“Marco,” she whispers.
“No one on this dock decides but you.”
The men around us become very still.
Moretti looks from Lucia to me.
Then he understands what I am doing.
“You’re making a performance of giving her freedom.”
“No. I’m giving her something both of us have denied her.”
His jaw clenches.
“I am her father.”
“And I am her husband. Neither title is ownership.”
Lucia closes her eyes.
For several seconds, there is only the sound of water moving beneath the dock.
Then she turns to Moretti.
“I’m not choosing against you forever.”
Hope flashes across his face.
“But you haven’t earned the right to call your house mine.”
“I can make this right.”
“Then start by letting me leave.”
His men wait.
Moretti could order them to take her.
He could start a gunfight on the dock and tell himself every death was necessary to protect his daughter.
For one terrible moment, I believe he will.
Then he raises one hand.
His men lower their weapons.
Gio exhales beside me.
Lucia looks at the envelope in her hands.
Then she turns toward the boat.
Gio offers his hand again.
He doesn’t reach across the remaining distance.
He waits.
Lucia steps closer and places her hand in his.
Gio helps her onto the deck.
The instant both her feet touch the boat, he pulls her against him.
She makes a broken sound and buries her face in his chest.
His arms close around her.
I signal Armando.
“Take us out.”
The engine rises.
“Lucia,” Moretti calls.
She lifts her head.
The boat begins to pull away from the dock.
Moretti stands beneath the boathouse lights, surrounded by men who can no longer help him.
He walks to the edge.
“That house is not your home.”
Lucia releases Gio and steps to the railing, the envelope still clutched in one hand.
“Neither is yours while the door locks from the outside.”
The distance between them widens.
Moretti doesn’t call after her again.
Lucia begins shaking before we clear the cove.
I remove my jacket and place it around her shoulders.
She clutches it closed with the hand holding the envelope.
“Are you hurt?”
“My feet.”
I crouch in front of her.
There are shallow cuts along her soles, and blood darkens one heel.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That doesn’t make this acceptable.”
Gio helps her onto the bench while I retrieve the medical kit. The boat rocks beneath us, forcing me to brace one knee against the deck.
I clean the cuts as carefully as I can and wrap both feet in temporary bandages.
Lucia watches my hands.
“You really brought the papers.”
“Yes.”
“You thought I might choose him.”
“I didn’t know what you would choose.”
“But you came anyway.”
“I said I would always come for you.”
“You came for me before.”
I know what she means.
The car.
Mikhailov’s townhouse.
This time is different, but I don’t get to tell her that.
She decides whether it is.
“I won’t ask you to trust a promise,” I say.
Her eyes remain on mine.
“What happens now?”
“Whatever you choose.”
“And if I don’t know yet?”
“Then you don’t decide tonight.”
She looks down at the envelope.
“Do you want me to sign them?”
“No.”
The answer comes too quickly to be mistaken for anything except the truth.
Her mouth trembles.
“That sounded almost emotional.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
Gio sits beside her.
“I already know.”
“No one asked you.”
“I’m part of the conversation.”
“You’re rarely part of the conversation. You’re usually the interruption.”
The familiar argument settles over us.
Small.
Ordinary.
For a moment, none of us speaks.
Then Lucia begins to cry.
Gio wraps an arm around her.
I remain crouched in front of her, one hand resting around her ankle.
“I thought you might not understand the message,” she says.
“I understood,” Gio tells her.
“The roses?”
“Yes.”
“And dinner?”
“Ten if Marco is coming.”
A watery laugh escapes her.
“I knew you’d remember.”
“Of course I remembered.”
She looks at me.
“I wasn’t certain you would come.”
The words cut deeper than they should.
“I will always come for you.”
Her gaze drops to the papers again.
This time, she holds them out to me.
I don’t take them.
“They’re yours.”
“I don’t want them.”
She looks at the dark water.
After a moment, she tears the envelope in half.
Once.
Then again.
The papers inside split with it.
Her face remains solemn, but there is no hesitation in what she has chosen.
She turns and releases the pieces over the side of the boat.
The wind catches them, separates the folded pages, and scatters them across the black water behind us.
Gio lets out a breath.
Armando looks back from the controls.
“Where are we going?” he asks her.
I don’t answer.
Neither does Gio.
Lucia watches the lights of Moretti’s estate disappear behind us.
Then she reaches for my hand.
Her other remains wrapped around Gio’s.
“Home,” she says.