Chapter 8
The applause lasted nearly a minute.
Vincent watched from the back.
Of course he did.
He always watched.
Too closely.
Like he remembered everything.
Afterward, Elena found him beside the loading docks.
“You came.”
“You invited me.”
“I invited you three weeks ago.”
“I remember everything.”
She smiled.
“I know.”
For four years, Elena had wondered why Vincent Moretti remembered the night she helped those thirty-seven families.
Now she finally asked.
“Why did it matter so much?”
Vincent became quiet.
Four years earlier, one of his logistics companies had collapsed after a manager embezzled payroll funds.
Thirty-seven dockworkers were about to lose their homes.
Elena had been a junior executive at Marlowe Shipping then.
She discovered the problem during a joint contract review.
Instead of exploiting it, she quietly arranged emergency work for every displaced employee until Vincent could rebuild the operation.
She never told the press.
Never asked for repayment.
Never even told Vincent directly.
“You saved thirty-seven families,” he said.
“I found them temporary jobs.”
“You did more than that.”
“It was the right thing to do.”
“That’s why I remembered.”
Elena studied him.
“You make me sound better than I am.”
“No.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“I simply paid attention.”
Her breath caught.
That had always been the frightening thing about him.
Not violence.
Not money.
Not reputation.
Attention.
Vincent Moretti saw people.
Sometimes too clearly.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“I owe you another apology.”
“For what now?”
“The cathedral.”
She laughed.
“You already apologized.”
“Not completely.”
He looked almost uncomfortable.
That fascinated her.
“I said what I said because I needed the Vales to believe you were protected.”
“I know.”
“But part of me meant it.”
Her smile faded.
Vincent continued before she could respond.
“Not that you belonged to me.”
He stepped closer.
“That I wanted you.”
Silence.
Forklifts moved somewhere inside the warehouse.
The river slapped against concrete.
Elena’s heart beat harder.
“For how long?”
“Four years.”
She stared.
“Thirty-seven families?”
“Thirty-seven families.”
“You waited four years?”
“You were with Adrian.”
“You could have said something.”
“You loved him.”
“I thought I did.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Elena looked at him for a long time.
Then she said, “Ask properly.”
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
“You seem to have a historical problem with asking women things properly.”
Understanding appeared.
Then amusement.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you choose.”
“No private jet?”
“No.”
“No restaurant you secretly own?”