The lobby doors opened behind him, letting in the smell of rain.
He made no move toward me.
“I loved you before you resigned,” he said.
“But I confused love with protection and protection with control.
I am not asking you to forget that.”
“What are you asking?”
“For dinner.
In a public place.
You choose where.
You arrive alone, and you leave whenever you wish.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Those are very specific terms.”
“I had six months to learn.”
I studied the man who had once seemed as immovable as gravity.
He was still dangerous.
Still complicated.
Still responsible for a world I could never pretend was ordinary.
But the door behind him was open.
The decision was mine.
“One dinner,” I said.
“No locked doors.
No hidden files.
No orders disguised as concern.”
Dante inclined his head.
“Agreed.”
“And my sister is never leverage.
Not for your enemies.
Not for you.”
“Never.”
I stepped past him into the rain.
He did not grab my wrist or direct me toward a waiting car.
He simply walked beside me, matching my pace.
For three years, I had mistaken his certainty for strength and my silence for loyalty.
That night, for the first time, neither of us pretended.
I was not his employee.
I was not his possession.
And when I finally reached for his hand, it was because he had learned to leave mine free.
