Chapter 13 - THE DON'S SURRENDER
The rain had returned by the time Dante’s car pulled through the iron gates of the Marblehead estate.
The perimeter guards saluted as the headlights swept across the lawn.
Dante walked up the stone steps.
His coat was wet, his knuckles grazed, but his stride was steady.
He opened the heavy oak doors.
The grand foyer was warm, lit by the roaring fire in the adjacent drawing room.
Gemma stood by the fireplace.
She was wearing a soft cream sweater, her hands wrapped around a porcelain mug.
Her Walther PPK rested on the mantle beside a vase of white roses.
When she heard the door shut, she turned.
She saw him.
Unbroken.
Alive.
Her mug clattered onto the side table.
She ran across the Persian rug without caring about the ache in her healing side.
Dante caught her in his arms, lifting her off the floor as she collided with his chest.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, burying her face into his wet collar.
“You’re safe,” she breathed against his ear.
“I promised you I would come back,” Dante whispered.
He carried her to the sofa beside the fire and sat down, keeping her in his lap.
He stroked her damp curls away from her face.
“The Corvos are gone,” he told her.
“New York won't challenge us again.”
“And Bianca?” she asked softly.
“Sentenced to twenty-five years at a maximum-security facility in upstate New York.”
“She won't see daylight until she’s fifty.”
Gemma let out a long breath, leaning her head against his shoulder.
The fire crackled, casting dancing gold light across their faces.
“It feels quiet,” she whispered.
“For the first time in five years... it feels completely quiet.”
“It’s not quiet,” Dante said softly.
He reached into his coat pocket.
He pulled out the velvet box.
Gemma froze.
Her eyes drifted down to the black box in his palm.
“Dante...”
“Five years ago, you walked into my office,” Dante said.
His voice was thick with emotion he had never allowed himself to speak aloud.
“You had a resume from Boston College and the cleanest ledger work I had ever seen.”
“I thought you were just another employee.”
“I was wrong.”
He opened the velvet box.
Inside rested a flawless emerald-cut diamond, surrounded by dark blue sapphires.
The colors of the ocean and the night sky.
“You kept my secrets,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.
“You kept my sanity.”
“And when the world fell apart, you bled to keep me alive.”
“I don't want a political alliance, Gemma.”
“I don't want a marriage of convenience to satisfy old men who care only about fear.”
“I want you.”
“I want the woman who saw every shadow of my soul and chose to stand beside me anyway.”
A tear slipped down Gemma’s cheek, catching the golden firelight.
“Dante... are you sure?”
“You are the Don of this city.”
“They will say I’m just your assistant.”
Dante smiled.
It was the warmest, most genuine expression she had ever seen on his face.
“Let them say whatever they want.”
“Tomorrow, you won't be my assistant.”
“You will be the Don’s wife.”
“Will you marry me, Gemma?”
Gemma smiled through her tears.
She reached out and took his scarred face in her hands.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“A thousand times, yes.”
Dante slid the ring onto her finger.
May you like
It caught the light of the fire, brilliant and unbreakable.
He pulled her down into his arms and kissed her, sealing the only vow that had ever mattered.
