Chapter 17 - The Man Who Chose to Stay
Three weeks later, Tony Richie testified before a federal grand jury.
Nobody in his old world believed it.
Some called him weak.
Others called him a traitor.
Tony called it Tuesday.
When he returned to the estate, Lorenzo was waiting with coffee.
“How bad?”
“Six hours.”
“Did you lie?”
“No.”
“That must have been exhausting.”
Tony laughed.
“Your turn is Thursday.”
Lorenzo stopped smiling.
“I dislike this new world.”
“You created it.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
They sat on the terrace.
The grounds looked different.
Part of the east wall was being removed.
Not repaired.
Removed.
Lorenzo intended to replace the massive stone barrier with lower fencing and expanded gardens.
Tony had mocked him for days.
“What’s next?” Tony asked. “A public playground?”
“Do not push me.”
“Mia would approve.”
At the mention of her, Lorenzo looked toward the driveway.
Clara and Mia had moved to Port Washington a week earlier.
The mansion felt strangely empty.
Too quiet.
Rocco complained Mia’s absence reduced kitchen morale.
Tony claimed Lorenzo checked his phone whenever the gate camera triggered.
Lorenzo denied this.
Poorly.
“You could visit,” Tony said.
“I do.”
“Once.”
“It has been seven days.”
“Exactly.”
“She’s settling.”
“Clara or Mia?”
“Yes.”
Tony smiled.
“You are terrible at this.”
“What?”
“Being normal.”
“I have never claimed otherwise.”
Tony’s smile faded.
“Michael’s sentencing deal is moving.”
Lorenzo nodded.
Michael’s cooperation had exposed Adrian’s financial network and dozens of compromised intermediaries.
He would still face prison.
Years.
But not decades.
“He asked about you,” Tony said.
“Why?”
“Maybe he likes you.”
“Impossible.”
“He wanted to know whether you blamed him.”
Lorenzo considered.
“I do.”
Tony sighed.
“But?”
“But blame is not the same as hatred.”
Tony nodded.
“I’ll tell him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Tell him he can ask me himself.”
Tony understood.
Michael was finally being treated like a man responsible for his choices, not the fragile little brother everyone needed to manage.
It might be the first real respect anyone had given him.
Rocco emerged carrying two plates.
“I made lunch.”
Tony looked.
“What is it?”
“Food.”
“I can see that.”
“Then eat.”
Rocco sat.
“I am retiring.”
Both men stared.
“No,” Lorenzo said.
Rocco frowned.
“That is not how retirement works.”
“You cannot.”
“I’m sixty-eight.”
“You said that as if you were proud of it.”
“I am tired.”
Tony pointed toward the construction.
“You’re not tired. You’re nosy.”
Rocco ignored him.
“I want a small restaurant.”
Lorenzo blinked.
“What?”
“Twenty tables.”
“Where?”
“Port Washington.”
Tony immediately smiled.
Lorenzo narrowed his eyes.
“You planned this.”
Rocco looked innocent.
“I like the water.”
“You hate tourists.”
“I will charge them more.”
Tony laughed so loudly a gardener turned.
Lorenzo shook his head.
“Fine.”
“I did not ask permission.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because I need an investor.”
“Absolutely not.”
Rocco smiled.
“You’ll invest.”
“I will not.”
“You will.”
Tony whispered, “He will.”
Lorenzo glared at both.
That afternoon Lorenzo drove to Port Washington.
No security convoy.
One vehicle followed at a distance despite Clara’s rule.
Compromise.
Her apartment was on a quiet tree-lined street.
He stood outside holding flowers.
Then looked at them with disgust.
He had negotiated million-dollar deals with less uncertainty.
Clara opened the door.
She looked at the flowers.
“Who died?”
Lorenzo stared.
“This is why people don’t buy you things.”
She smiled.
“Come in.”
Mia ran from the living room.
“Uncle Lorenzo!”
She hit him at full speed.
He lifted her.
“You’re heavier.”
“No.”
“That is how growth works.”
“No.”
Clara took the flowers.
“They’re beautiful.”
“I was told this is normal.”
“By whom?”
“Rocco.”
“That explains why half of them look like kitchen herbs.”
Lorenzo inspected the bouquet.
She was right.
Mia dragged him toward the living room.
“I have a room!”
“I assumed.”
“No, come see.”
Her bedroom was small.
Yellow curtains.
Stuffed animals.
Drawings taped crookedly to the wall.
No cameras.
No hidden passages.
No guards outside the door.
Lorenzo felt unexpectedly emotional.
Mia climbed onto the bed.
“This is Bunny.”
“I know Bunny.”
“This is Princess Horse.”
“That appears to be a giraffe.”
“No.”
Lorenzo looked at Clara.
She whispered, “Don’t fight this battle.”
He nodded gravely.
After dinner, Mia fell asleep on the sofa between them.
Clara lowered the television volume.
“You look uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mia’s foot is in your ribs.”
“I have survived worse.”
Clara smiled.
Outside, ordinary traffic moved down the street.
No gates.
No armed patrols.
Lorenzo looked around.
“I understand.”
“What?”
“Why you wanted this.”
Clara watched him.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She waited.
He struggled for words.
“Nobody here knows who I am.”
“Mrs. Alvarez upstairs thinks you’re my boyfriend.”
Lorenzo turned.
Clara bit her lip.
“What did you tell her?”
“That you’re emotionally unavailable and overdressed.”
He stared.
Clara laughed.
Lorenzo looked down at Mia.
“She might be right.”
“About which part?”
“Both.”
Silence settled.
Then Lorenzo spoke.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Clara’s expression softened.
“Do what?”
“Whatever this is.”
He gestured between them.
“I understand negotiations. Security. Business.”
“I know.”
“I don’t understand arriving with flowers and sitting on sofas.”
“You’re doing surprisingly well.”
“Mia is cutting off circulation in my left leg.”
“That’s family.”
The word landed.
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Family?”
Clara became quiet.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I liked it.”
She stopped.
Their eyes met.
Lorenzo leaned closer slowly, giving her every chance to move away.
She didn’t.
Their kiss was gentle.
Brief.
Nothing like the dramatic moments either had imagined love should resemble when they were younger.
It felt better because of that.
Mia moved between them.
Both froze.
The child opened one eye.
“Are you kissing?”
Clara turned bright red.
Lorenzo said, “Go back to sleep.”
Mia smiled.
“I knew it.”
Her eye closed.
Clara covered her face.
Lorenzo stared.
“She is three.”
“She is terrifying.”
“Agreed.”
Later, standing outside the apartment, Lorenzo received a call from Tony.
“How’d it go?”
“Why are you calling?”
“To check on my emotionally unavailable friend.”
Lorenzo looked through the window.
Clara carried Mia toward the bedroom.
Warm light filled the apartment.
“I think I’m staying.”
Tony became quiet.
Not staying in the apartment.
Staying in this life.
The honest one.
The uncertain one.
The one where fear was not authority and love was not ownership.
Tony understood.
“Good,” he said.
For decades, Tony had been the man who stayed beside Lorenzo.
Now Lorenzo was learning that staying meant something different.
Sometimes it meant remaining when things became dangerous.
Sometimes it meant telling the truth when leaving would be easier.
May you like
And sometimes it meant showing up at a small apartment with ridiculous flowers because a child expected you for dinner.
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