Chapter 12 - THE SECOND TIME I ASKED SLOAN TO MARRY ME
I did not move in with Sloan after prison.
Every tabloid predicted I would.
They were disappointed.
I rented a townhouse in Brooklyn.
Three bedrooms.
One for Willa.
One for Eva if she ever wanted.
One for me.
No staff living inside.
A housekeeper came twice a week and refused to call me Mr. Moretti because Sloan told her not to.
Betrayal.
My supervised release limited business activity.
Fine.
Moretti Holdings no longer existed in its old form anyway.
Legitimate hotel and logistics businesses had been reorganized under professional boards.
My ownership became passive and reduced.
The Bellini port assets transferred into an independent public-benefit holding structure.
Workers gained representation.
No hereditary chair.
No family succession.
Eva received financial rights through an individual trust.
Willa too.
Money without throne.
It took expensive lawyers to invent what ordinary families call savings.
Sloan completed the final stage of divorce asset separation that we had never properly resolved.
Then she started dating me.
That sentence amused her.
“You're my ex-husband.”
“Yes.”
“Who spent eighteen months in federal prison.”
“Yes.”
“Whom I am dating.”
“Yes.”
“My therapist hates how this sounds.”
“Mine charges more because of it.”
She laughed.
Our first date after prison was dinner.
No bodyguards inside.
Second was a walk.
Third ended because Willa vomited in the car.
Romance.
Eva went to Columbia.
She chose New York partly because she wanted to remain near Anna.
Partly because she wanted to know me.
She refused to admit the second.
Fine.
Anna moved to Connecticut.
Not hidden.
Real name.
Anna Vale.
For the first time in sixteen years.
She worked in publishing.
Eva spent weekends with her.
Some with me.
Some with friends.
I learned that fatherhood to a seventeen-year-old mostly involved transferring money for food after she insisted she did not need anything.
I also learned not to track her phone without permission.
That lesson involved a very loud dinner.
Sloan supported Eva.
Against me.
Traitors everywhere.
Isabella moved back to New York openly.
She used Isabella Moretti for legal correction but preferred Bella Hart socially.
Her choice.
Rose entered a plea arrangement related to evidence concealment and obstruction around Megan Doyle's identity.
No prison due to age and cooperation.
Probation.
Public testimony.
She donated most inherited assets.
She never asked Isabella to forgive her.
That helped.
Carlo remained imprisoned.
Claire Rizzo eventually wrote to Eva.
Eva asked me whether she should read it.
I said:
“What do you want?”
She stared.
“You are getting annoyingly good at that.”
“Practice.”
She chose no.
Willa turned three.
At her birthday party, she saw her old hospital bracelet inside a memory box Sloan kept.
“Mine?”
Sloan nodded.
“Yes.”
Willa pointed at EVA-2.
“What that?”
Sloan and I looked at each other.
Not yet.
“You had a hospital code,” Sloan said.
“Why?”
“Because adults make paperwork complicated.”
Good.
Willa accepted this and demanded cake.
Children are merciful.
Six months later, Sloan received a job offer in Boston.
A hospital administration role.
Better pay.
Better hours.
She hesitated to tell me.
When she did, I felt old Vincent wake inside me.
Boston.
Willa.
Distance.
My daughter.
My ex-wife.
No.
Then I killed the word before speaking.
“What do you want?”
Sloan stared.
“Boston.”
My chest tightened.
“Then take it.”
“You hate that.”
“Yes.”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Healthy.”
“I dislike you.”
“No, you don't.”
No.
I really did not.
Sloan moved.
Willa with her.
I traveled under supervision-approved schedules at first.
Then after release ended, more freely.
Every other weekend became Boston.
Then more.
Eva mocked my train habits.
“Billionaire takes Amtrak.”
“Traffic is worse.”
“Sure.”
Sloan lasted ten months in Boston.
Then her hospital system offered a New York leadership role.
She accepted.
Not for me, she insisted.
Mostly.
We moved into separate apartments seven blocks apart.
Again.
Then one Sunday Willa asked:
“Why Daddy go home?”
Sloan froze.
I crouched.
“Because Daddy has his own house.”
“Why?”
Excellent question.
“Adults are complicated.”
“Stupid.”
“Yes.”
Sloan laughed.
Six months later, she asked me to move in.
She asked.
Not me.
I stared at her.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
Good.
“Then?”
“I want to try.”
We rented a new place together.
Not old penthouse.
Never.
Large apartment overlooking Riverside Park.
No secret elevators.
No dead credentials.
We changed locks ourselves.
Marco complained.
Ignored.
One year later, I bought a ring.
Then waited four months.
Not because uncertain.
Because proposing to a woman I once divorced out of fear deserved patience.
Finally, on a rainy Friday afternoon, I came home early.
Sloan was asleep on the couch.
Willa, now four, curled against her.
The scene stopped me.
Years earlier I had walked into a bedroom and found Sloan asleep with a newborn.
My first instinct had been:
Whose child is that?
Now I looked at my family and thought:
Home.
Sloan opened her eyes.
“You're staring.”
“Yes.”
“Creepy.”
“Probably.”
Willa remained asleep.
I sat.
Sloan noticed my hand in my pocket.
“No.”
I froze.
“What?”
“If that is a phone, fine.”
“It isn't.”
Her eyes widened.
“Vincent.”
I took out the ring.
Simple.
No Bellini stone.
No Moretti heirloom.
Bought new.
Sloan started crying before I spoke.
“This is not fair.”
“What?”
“I look terrible.”
“You look like the first day.”
“Which was also terrible.”
Fair.
I did not kneel immediately.
“Six years ago I asked for a divorce because I thought losing you would hurt less if I chose it first.”
Sloan's eyes filled.
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Allowed?”
“Allowed.”
I continued.
“I do not want the marriage we had back.”
“Good.”
“I want the woman who told me no when I deserved it.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“The mother who protected Willa when I wasn't there.”
Another.
“The person who made me learn that protecting people without asking them is just control wearing better clothes.”
Sloan covered her mouth.
“I want Eva in our lives.”
“Yes.”
“Anna too.”
“Yes.”
“Isabella.”
“Mostly.”
I almost smiled.
“Rose?”
Sloan thought.
“With boundaries.”
“Agreed.”
I finally knelt.
Willa woke.
Of course.
“What Daddy doing?”
Sloan laughed through tears.
“Apparently making a questionable decision.”
“Again?”
I stared.
“Who taught her that?”
“Everyone.”
Fair.
I looked at Sloan.
“Will you marry me again?”
She cried.
Willa whispered:
“Say yes.”
Sloan looked at her.
“Do not help.”
Then back at me.
“No empire?”
“No.”
“No choosing my job?”
“No.”
“No deciding where Willa goes without me?”
“No.”
“No disappearing because you're scared?”
My throat tightened.
“No.”
“If you're scared?”
“I say it.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Relief.
Then Willa shouted:
“YAY.”
Eva called ten minutes later.
“You proposed without me?”
“You are at college.”
“Poor planning.”
“You wanted veto power?”
“Yes.”
“Denied.”
She laughed.
“Congratulations, Dad.”
Dad.
Still rare.
Enough.
We married three months later.
Twenty-seven guests.
Anna came.
Eva stood beside me.
Willa carried flowers.
Isabella sat with Rose, separated by one strategically placed chair.
Marco attended and complained the security was inadequate.
Jenna told him to shut up.
Perfect.
No Moretti priest.
No political figures.
No port executives.
No one asked who inherited what.
During vows Sloan said:
“The first time I married Vincent Moretti, I loved him and still did not understand how much fear ran his life.”
I looked down.
“The second time, I know.”
Everyone laughed softly.
“He is controlling.”
“Yes.”
“Annoying.”
“Yes.”
“Still capable of making a phone call sound like a threat.”
“That is voice genetics.”
More laughter.
“But he asks now.”
Her eyes filled.
“And when he forgets, he comes back and asks again.”
My turn.
“I cannot promise you nothing dangerous ever follows my name.”
Sloan listened.
“I can promise our daughters will never be used to protect that name.”
Eva looked down.
“I cannot give Eva the sixteen years I missed.”
My voice broke.
“I cannot give you back the pregnancy I abandoned without knowing.”
Sloan cried.
“I cannot erase what my family did to Isabella, Anna, Megan, Rose, Claire, or anyone else.”
Silence.
“But I can stop calling the future an inheritance.”
I looked at Willa.
“It belongs to whoever lives it.”
We exchanged rings.
No empire.
No replacement.
No primary heir.
Just people.
After the ceremony, Eva found me alone near the terrace.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Actually?”
I thought.
“Happy.”
She smiled.
“That's disgustingly normal.”
“Yes.”
Then she hugged me.
May you like
Not long.
Still counts.
