Chapter 11 - THE FIRST FUTURE DANTE ASKED ABOUT INSTEAD OF ARRANGING
Dante did not propose.
He asked a housing question.
This was how Gia knew therapy had ruined his dramatic instincts.
They had been together three years.
Corrado had accepted plea and sentence on financial conspiracy, obstruction, witness intimidation, and fire-related conspiracy counts.
No murder conviction.
Michael’s death remained officially accidental.
Gia had made peace with uncertainty.
Luca lived between Toronto and New York.
He never returned permanently to Moretti business.
Sofia attended graduate school in Boston and refused family trust board invitations.
Smart girl.
Moretti Holdings had independent chair and CEO.
Profitable.
Boring.
Dante discovered boring could be luxurious.
Gia’s company expanded into Chicago.
Parker & Vale handled museum installations, corporate launches, political dinners, and one royal-adjacent wedding Gia refused to discuss.
Her warehouse now had sprinkler controls nobody could sabotage without three alerts.
Independent security ended after threat disappeared.
No need permanent fear.
One Wednesday, Dante stood inside Gia’s kitchen.
He had a key.
Given after two years.
Not copied.
Not assumed.
Given.
He was cooking pasta badly.
Gia watched.
“Why is sauce gray?”
“It is mushroom.”
“It looks like concrete.”
“You are free to leave.”
“My kitchen.”
Dante closed eyes.
“Right.”
She laughed.
Then he said:
“I saw a house.”
Gia froze.
“No.”
“What?”
“That sentence is how men start moving women.”
Dante turned off stove.
“Let me restart.”
“Please.”
“I saw a house that made me wonder whether you would ever want to live together.”
Better.
Gia leaned against counter.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“Your apartment has one closet.”
“You have too many coats.”
“True.”
“My place?”
“Feels like security headquarters.”
“Yes.”
“New?”
“Maybe.”
Gia studied him.
“Are you proposing property?”
“I am proposing discussion.”
Therapy language.
She hated how useful.
“What would ownership look?”
“Half.”
“I pay half.”
“Yes.”
“No Moretti trust.”
“Yes.”
“No security cameras I don’t control.”
“Yes.”
“Separate offices.”
“Yes.”
“Your brother can’t move in.”
Dante smiled.
“Luca would rather die again.”
“Good.”
They laughed.
Gia thought.
A new house.
Not his.
Not hers.
Could be.
“Show me.”
Dante’s face lit.
Then controlled.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
She pointed.
“You already scheduled viewing.”
He froze.
Gia laughed.
“You did.”
“I reserved a time.”
“Without asking.”
“To avoid losing slot.”
“Dante.”
“I can cancel.”
“Do.”
His face fell.
She smiled.
“Then ask me tomorrow whether I want to view another.”
He stared.
“That is irrational.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
Next morning:
“Would you like to look at houses Saturday?”
“Yes.”
Infuriating.
They bought six months later.
Brooklyn Heights brownstone.
Not gigantic.
Four floors.
Too many stairs.
Gia claimed top studio.
Dante got library.
Closets negotiated like international treaty.
Title 50/50.
Independent lawyers.
No hidden trust.
No debt to Moretti.
Dante could have paid cash.
Gia insisted mortgage for her half.
He complained interest rates.
She said freedom sometimes had fees.
He accepted.
Living together was not romantic every day.
Dante woke at five.
Gia hated mornings.
Gia left equipment samples everywhere.
Dante aligned them.
She moved them back crooked out of principle.
He cooked better eventually.
She learned he had nightmares about Red Hook.
He learned she checked locks twice because apartment burglary never entirely left body.
Neither mocked.
One night Luca called at two.
Dante woke panicked.
Gia sat beside.
Call was only Sofia stranded after flight cancellation.
Normal family problem.
Dante laughed afterward.
“Twenty years of secrets and now emergency is JetBlue.”
Gia smiled.
“Growth.”
Then Michael Parker Integrity Fund took first major case.
A young accountant named Alana Cho had evidence a national charity diverted restricted medical donations into executive expenses.
She was terrified.
Gia met.
No personal savior.
Fund provided counsel.
Salary bridge.
Forensic support.
Alana disclosed.
Regulator investigated.
The system worked.
Gia visited father’s grave after.
“You would like this.”
Then corrected:
“Maybe.”
Facts.
Dante eventually asked another future question.
Children.
Gia was forty-one now.
Not impossible.
Not automatic.
He said:
“Do you want them?”
Gia stared.
“That is large Tuesday question.”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
Dante thought.
“I thought I did because family expects continuity.”
“Bad reason.”
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“I like Sofia.”
“I like employees’ children.”
“I like returning them.”
Gia laughed.
“Same.”
They decided no biological children unless desire changed.
No tragic infertility.
No surprise pregnancy.
A happy life could be two adults.
Luca and wife.
Sofia.
Gia’s godchildren.
Families not measured only by descendants.
That was important in Moretti world.
Then marriage.
Dante asked differently.
Not “Will you marry me?”
First:
“Would marriage make our life better?”
Gia stared.
“You have become unbearable.”
“Therapy.”
“Yes.”
They discussed.
Taxes.
Medical decisions.
Property.
Commitment.
Emotional.
Gia did want.
But not yet.
She said:
“I want you to ask later.”
“How much later?”
“Not telling.”
“That is cruel.”
“Survive.”
He did.
Eight months later, Gia was setting up an auction-house anniversary gala.
Same building where they met.
She was on sidewalk.
Equipment case newer.
No broken latch.
Dante arrived in charcoal coat.
Of course.
Gia looked.
“Are you going to help or stand there looking expensive?”
Dante smiled.
“Depends.”
“On?”
He crouched.
Picked up brass pole.
“Whether my hands are clean.”
Gia laughed.
Then he reached pocket.
Stopped.
“May I ask something inconvenient?”
She knew.
Her heart pounded.
“Yes.”
Dante did not kneel because he was already crouching holding curtain support.
Gia burst out laughing.
“This is terrible staging.”
“I blame event planner.”
“Continue.”
He put pole down.
Took ring.
Simple emerald-cut diamond in platinum.
No family stone.
No Moretti history.
“I bought this with my personal income after leaving chair.”
Gia stared.
“You prepared disclosure?”
“Yes.”
“Very romantic.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“Gia Parker.”
“I do not want to own your future.”
“I want to be invited into it.”
“Will you marry me?”
Her eyes filled.
She made him wait five seconds.
Purely because she could.
“Yes.”
Dante exhaled.
“Good.”
She glared.
He laughed.
“Sorry.”
Then:
“May I put ring on?”
“Show-off.”
“Yes.”
She held hand.
The same hand he had once wrapped with embroidered handkerchief.
No debt.
May you like
No invoice.
Just choice.
