Chapter 15 - TAKE MY ARM
Six months later, the Plaza ballroom smelled exactly the same.
Orchids.
Roasted duck.
Expensive perfume.
Political ambition.
Mave hated that she recognized the mixture.
“Stop checking the doors.”
She looked at Vincent.
“I’m not.”
“You’ve looked at the entrance nine times.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
“You counted?”
“I learned from you.”
He wore a dark suit.
No gun beneath it.
That still looked strange.
Vincent Costa had spent four months giving testimony.
He turned over accounts.
Warehouses.
Names.
Routes.
Corrupt officials.
Everything.
The government seized most of the Costa organization’s illegal assets.
Several legitimate companies survived under court supervision.
Vincent avoided prison because of his cooperation, though he remained under probation and enough legal restrictions to make him complain at least twice a day.
Leo opened a private security company.
Frank retired.
Donovan moved with Emma to Arizona.
Salvatore Costa waited for trial in federal custody.
Anton Voss had already pleaded guilty.
And Mave?
Mave quit.
Officially.
She started her own logistics consulting company.
Her first client had been a stubborn former crime boss who still believed every meeting should begin ten minutes early.
Vincent hated paying her invoices.
She charged him double.
Tonight was the pediatric-wing charity dinner again.
The hospital had completed the new wing.
Mave stood beside the same marble pillar where everything had begun.
Vincent joined her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
She looked toward him.
“Maybe a little weird.”
“Same ballroom.”
“Same terrible champagne.”
He took her glass and tasted it.
“Still terrible.”
“You’re not supposed to drink on your medication.”
“I’m not on medication anymore.”
“You take aspirin.”
“That is not—”
“It counts.”
He sighed.
“You’re exhausting.”
“You hired me.”
“One of my better decisions.”
“One of your only good decisions.”
“Cruel.”
She smiled.
Across the ballroom, a man near the entrance looked toward them.
Mave stiffened automatically.
Vincent noticed.
His posture changed.
The old instinct.
Fast.
Protective.
Dangerous.
Then the man lifted a camera.
Press.
Nothing more.
Vincent relaxed.
Mave exhaled.
“You still do that.”
“What?”
“Turn into a weapon every time somebody looks at me.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work faster.”
“Demanding woman.”
“Former secretary.”
“My worst loss.”
“Your accountant stole thirty grand.”
“He’s in prison.”
“Then second worst.”
Vincent smiled.
The orchestra changed songs.
Couples began moving toward the dance floor.
Vincent looked at Mave.
She raised an eyebrow.
“You dance?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because neither do I.”
He held out his hand.
Mave stared at it.
For a second, seventeen years of secrets seemed to stand between them.
Her father.
Her mother.
The burned apartment.
Gunshots.
Hospital monitors.
Lies.
Fear.
Love.
None of it disappeared.
That was the thing nobody told you about surviving.
The past did not vanish.
You simply stopped letting it decide what happened next.
Vincent cleared his throat.
“Are you planning to leave me standing here all night?”
“Maybe.”
“People are watching.”
“You used to like that.”
“I used to be an idiot.”
“Used to?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Careful.”
Mave smiled.
Then Vincent leaned closer.
His voice softened.
“Take my arm.”
She looked at him.
The first time he had said those words, there had been a gun in the room.
A killer behind her.
Death waiting near the door.
Now there was only music.
Light.
A man who had finally stopped pretending fear made him weak.
And a woman who had stopped letting other people decide what truths she could handle.
Mave slipped her arm through his.
“No orders,” she said.
Vincent nodded.
“Request.”
“Better.”
They walked toward the dance floor.
Halfway there, Vincent stopped.
“What?”
He looked unusually nervous.
Mave’s eyes narrowed.
“Why do you look like you’re about to confess to another felony?”
“Nothing like that.”
“Vincent.”
He reached into his pocket.
Mave froze.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You don’t even know what this is.”
“You’re reaching into your pocket at a charity gala. Last time somebody did that, bullets started flying.”
Vincent laughed.
Actually laughed.
Then he pulled out a small velvet box.
Mave stared at it.
The entire world seemed to go quiet.
“Vincent.”
“I know.”
“You better not kneel.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“My ribs still hurt when it rains.”
“You’re sixty years old emotionally.”
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“Debatable.”
He opened the box.
Inside was a simple diamond ring.
Not huge.
Not ridiculous.
Just beautiful.
Mave looked at him.
He took a breath.
“I spent most of my life believing love meant protecting people without telling them the truth.”
She said nothing.
“I thought if I controlled enough things, nobody I cared about could get hurt.”
His eyes held hers.
“I was wrong.”
Mave’s throat tightened.
Vincent continued.
“You don’t need me to protect you.”
A pause.
“You never did.”
Her eyes burned.
“But I’d like to stand beside you.”
No performance.
No audience.
No mafia boss.
Just Vincent.
“Mave Hale, will you marry me?”
She stared at him for several seconds.
Then said, “I have conditions.”
His mouth twitched.
“Obviously.”
“No secret surveillance.”
“Agreed.”
“No investigating my friends.”
“Reasonable.”
“No buying dresses without asking.”
He hesitated.
“Vincent.”
“Fine.”
“And if you ever tell somebody you ‘have everyone’s everything’ again, I’m leaving.”
“That was a good line.”
“It was terrifying.”
“You kissed me later.”
“Six gunfights later.”
“Still counts.”
She tried not to smile.
Failed.
Vincent looked at her.
“So?”
Mave let him suffer another three seconds.
Then she held out her hand.
“Yes.”
For once in his life, Vincent Costa looked completely speechless.
She smiled.
“You can put the ring on now.”
“Right.”
His hands shook slightly.
Mave noticed.
She said nothing.
Some things did not need to be pointed out.
He slid the ring onto her finger.
The orchestra kept playing.
People around them laughed and talked.
Nobody knew that a year earlier, a bullet had almost ended their story in the same room.
Vincent looked toward the ballroom doors one last time.
Mave squeezed his arm.
“Stop.”
He looked at her.
“No one’s coming.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
She leaned against him.
“But that’s life.”
Vincent nodded.
For once, he didn’t argue.
They stepped onto the dance floor.
He immediately stepped on her foot.
“Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“You really can’t dance.”
“I told you.”
“This is embarrassing.”
“We can leave.”
“No.”
Mave tightened her arm around him.
“We stay.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You sure?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
And for the first time, when Vincent Costa took Mave’s arm, it wasn’t because somebody was watching.
It wasn’t because a gun was pointed at her.
It wasn’t because he needed to protect her.
It was because she chose to give it to him.
And this time—
May you like
they walked forward together.
THE END
