Chapter 10 - A Table for Two
Vincent stared at Norah for five long, agonizing seconds.
He looked at her tear-filled eyes, her trembling hands, and the pure, unadulterated terror on her face—terror not of death, but of losing his trust.
He remembered the night she stood over a boiling pot of chicken bones in a dark kitchen, making food for herself from scraps. He remembered her taking the first bite of scrambled eggs without hesitation. He remembered her spotting the subtle tremor in Marcone’s hands when no one else noticed.
He knew what betrayal looked like. He had seen it in his underboss’s eyes, in Marcone’s smile, in his own mother's shadow.
Norah Bennett was not a betrayal. She was his salvation.
Vincent turned back to Agent Vance, his expression transforming into an icy wall of absolute contempt.
"Agent Vance," Vincent said, his voice quiet, steady, and terrifyingly absolute. "Your informant is a pathetic addict lying to save his own skin. Miss Bennett came into my employment through a standard cleaning agency, long before her brother’s arrest in Miami."
Vance’s eyes narrowed. "Vincent, don't be a fool. She’s an easy angle—"
"Miss Bennett is not an angle," Vincent interrupted sharply, taking three slow steps toward the lead federal agent, towering over him with terrifying presence. "She is my fiancée."
Agent Vance froze. Norah gasped softly behind him, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"In three weeks," Vincent continued smoothly, "Norah Bennett will become Mrs. Rossy. She has full legal immunity regarding spousal communications, and any attempt by your agency to harass, intimidate, or frame her using her deadbeat brother will result in a civil lawsuit that will strip your task force of its federal funding."
Vincent gestured casually toward the study doors.
"Take your ledgers, Agent Vance. Search every file. You will find that every dock operation under my control is fully compliant with state and federal maritime laws. Now... get out of my house."
Vance stared at Vincent, realizing he had been completely outmaneuvered. With a bitter scowl, Vance signaled his men. "Seize the servers in the office. We're leaving."
Ten minutes later, the federal sedans sped away from the estate gates, leaving the grounds quiet once more.
Inside the grand foyer, the heavy oak doors swung shut.
Norah stood near the archway, her chest heaving, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "Vincent... why did you say that to him?"
Vincent walked across the marble floor, stopping right in front of her. He reached out, taking her hands in his, pulling her close against his chest.
"I said it because it's the truth," Vincent murmured softly, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Or at least... it’s the truth if you'll have me."
Norah looked up into his eyes, seeing the profound depth of love, respect, and devotion shining there.
"You really want to marry a girl who made you trash soup?" she laughed through her tears.
"I want to marry the woman who saved my life," Vincent said, pulling a small black velvet box from his jacket pocket. He opened it to reveal a breathtaking, flawless six-carat emerald-cut diamond ring. "I want to spend every morning eating soft eggs with you, and every evening listening to you tell me why I shouldn't work so hard."
Norah smiled, her heart overflowing with an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. "Yes," she whispered, leaning up on her tiptoes. "Yes, Vincent. A thousand times yes."
Vincent pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply as sunlight filled the grand foyer of the Rossy estate.
One year later.
The Rossy estate was host to a grand celebration—not a meeting of armed kapos or mob bosses, but a charity gala benefiting children's hospitals across New York. Hundreds of distinguished guests laughed and drank champagne in the grand ballroom.
In the private garden behind the mansion, away from the noise and cameras, a small, elegant table was set for two under the stars.
Norah sat across from Vincent, dressed in a breathtaking white silk gown that caught the moonlight. Sitting between them was a single, plain white porcelain bowl filled with golden chicken broth, translucent onions, and wild rice.
Vincent picked up his silver spoon, ladled a small portion, and fed it to Norah first, smiling warmly as she accepted it.
Then he took a spoonful for himself, savoring the simple, rich, comforting flavor that had brought him back from the edge of the grave.
He set his spoon down, reached across the table, and took his wife’s hand, locking his fingers with hers under the clear, starlit sky.
"Best meal of my life," Vincent whispered.
May you like
"Every meal with you," Norah replied, pressing his hand against her cheek, "is a gift."
And under the quiet light of the Tuscan moon, the king and his queen ate together in perfect, unbreakable peace.
