Chapter 7 - The Night the Mansion Went Dark
Victor Santi survived his arrest, which mattered more to Adrian than anyone expected.
There would be no whispered revenge.
No disappearance.
No mysterious accident.
Adrian turned over evidence connecting Victor to the abduction, trespassing, fraud, and the conspiracy surrounding Luca’s death.
“Why?” I asked him.
We were standing in his office.
The same office where everything had started.
Winston slept under the desk.
“Why what?”
“Why let the system handle him?”
Adrian looked toward Chicago.
“Because nine years ago I thought revenge would make losing Luca hurt less.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
He turned back.
“It only gave Victor another nine years of my life.”
That answer told me Adrian had changed.
Or perhaps he was becoming the man he had been before grief convinced him warmth was dangerous.
Claire returned to work after taking two weeks away.
On her first morning back, she found me carrying Adrian’s coffee.
She looked at the tray.
Then at me.
“I see nothing has changed.”
“Actually, he now lets Winston into the office.”
Claire sighed.
“That dog has dismantled twenty-three years of household discipline.”
Winston trotted past carrying one of Marco’s socks.
Claire closed her eyes.
“Twenty-three years.”
Life became quieter.
The additional guards remained.
The cameras stayed.
But the fear slowly faded.
Then Adrian stopped coming to breakfast.
One morning.
Then two.
Then three.
By the fourth, I was angry.
By the fifth, I was worried.
I finally confronted Marco.
“What is happening?”
“You should ask him.”
“I would if he stopped disappearing.”
“He's not disappearing.”
“Where is he?”
“Milwaukee.”
I froze.
“What?”
Marco almost smiled.
“You didn't hear that from me.”
Adrian returned that evening.
I waited in his office.
This time I was sitting deliberately in his chair.
And wearing his reading glasses.
He stopped in the doorway.
“You seem comfortable.”
“I've been practicing.”
He looked at Winston.
“Is she destroying evidence?”
Winston wagged his tail.
“Where were you?”
“Milwaukee.”
“Why?”
Adrian placed a folder on the desk.
I opened it.
Inside were property documents.
My old bakery.
I stared at him.
“No.”
His expression changed.
“You haven't read—”
“I don't care. No.”
“Elena.”
“I will not let you buy me a bakery.”
“I didn't.”
I looked down.
He had purchased the building through an investment company.
But the proposal was not a gift.
It was a business arrangement.
A lease at a sustainable rate.
Equipment financing.
A repayment structure based on revenue.
And an option allowing me to buy the building eventually.
My eyes filled before I could stop them.
“You researched all of this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you said losing the bakery was not the same as wanting to stop baking.”
I remembered saying that weeks earlier.
Once.
At breakfast.
He had remembered.
“I don't want charity.”
“It isn't charity.”
“What if it fails?”
“Then it fails.”
“You'd lose money.”
“I've survived worse.”
I laughed through tears.
Adrian came around the desk.
“Elena, I am not giving you your old life back.”
He touched the folder.
“I’m giving you the opportunity to decide whether you want to build a new one.”
That was different.
That was everything.
But one question remained.
“What happens to us if I leave Chicago?”
His expression softened.
“That's your decision.”
Not stay.
Not choose me.
Not after everything I did for you.
Your decision.
And somehow, that made my answer clearer.
“I haven't decided yet.”
Adrian nodded.
“Then don't.”
May you like
For the first time in months, my future belonged entirely to me.
And what I eventually chose surprised both of us.
