Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN I REFUSED TO CALL MOTHER
Tony’s arrest dismantled Regina’s last excuse.
For years, she had told herself everything she did was survival.
Then protection.
Then strategy.
But once Zach was safe and Tony was in custody, all that remained was choice.
I met her at Sophia’s office.
Michael offered to come.
I said no.
That mattered.
Regina sat across from me.
No makeup.
Red hair fading at the roots.
“You look like your father,” she said.
“Don't.”
She flinched.
“I mean it kindly.”
“You used his name to sell me.”
“I know.”
“You forged mine.”
“Yes.”
“You let men follow me.”
“Yes.”
“You hit me.”
Her eyes dropped.
Once.
A year after Dad died.
She had slapped me so hard my lip split.
She apologized afterward.
Then spent years making me believe remembering it was cruel.
“I know.”
“You knew Tony was dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“You still brought me near him.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I thought I could control it.”
“There.”
“What?”
“That sentence.”
I leaned forward.
“You thought your plan mattered more than my right to choose.”
She began crying.
I felt nothing.
That frightened me.
“I loved Gabriel.”
“Maybe.”
“I did.”
“You targeted him.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to him.”
“Yes.”
“He forgave you?”
“He was trying.”
I laughed bitterly.
“He was better than both of us.”
“Yes.”
“Don't agree that quickly.”
A sad smile.
“Sorry.”
I placed documents on the table.
Sophia had negotiated conditions.
Regina could cooperate fully.
Testify against Tony.
Reveal every financial arrangement.
Withdraw her civil claims.
Admit the forged contract.
In exchange, prosecutors would consider her cooperation when addressing charges connected to fraud and witness intimidation.
I was not saving her.
I was not destroying her.
I was stepping out.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Tell the truth.”
“And after?”
“You live with it.”
Her face crumpled.
“Aurora, are you saying you'll never see me again?”
“I don't know.”
“Please.”
“Stop asking me to decide your comfort while I'm still learning what you did.”
She nodded.
That was new.
When I left, Michael waited across the street.
“You said you weren't coming.”
“I didn't.”
“You're literally here.”
“Across the street.”
I almost smiled.
“How did it go?”
“I didn't forgive her.”
“You don't have to.”
“I didn't scream.”
“Disappointing.”
I laughed.
He opened the car door.
I stopped.
“What are we doing?”
His expression changed.
“Going home.”
“No.”
He understood.
“Us.”
“I don't know.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You kissed my forehead.”
“I did.”
“You check whether I eat.”
“Apparently this is evidence.”
“Your mother says you look at me like I belong there.”
He closed his eyes.
“My mother needs hobbies.”
“Michael.”
He looked at me.
For all his reputation, all his money, all the fear surrounding his name, he suddenly seemed like a man terrified of one honest conversation.
“I like you,” I said.
His eyebrows rose.
“Very romantic.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I don't want to be rescued.”
“I know.”
“I don't want money to become protection.”
“I know.”
“I don't want Zach confusing me with his mother.”
That hit him.
“He doesn't.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because he talks about Elena.”
I blinked.
“He remembers?”
“Pieces.”
Michael looked away.
“He knows you are Aurora.”
That mattered.
“And you?”
He returned his eyes to me.
“I know exactly who you are.”
My heart pounded.
“That sounded suspiciously smooth.”
“I've had practice.”
“With women?”
“With negotiations.”
“Worse.”
He smiled.
Actually smiled.
Then became serious.
“I am attracted to you.”
My face warmed.
“I had noticed.”
“I am also aware you met me while escaping abuse, discovered your father died protecting me, and have been living in my house.”
“Yes.”
“That creates an imbalance.”
I stared.
“Did Sophia teach you therapy language?”
“My mother.”
I laughed.
“So what?”
“So nothing happens while you need my house.”
That stunned me.
“You're rejecting me?”
“For ethical reasons.”
“This is humiliating.”
“You proposed to my son first.”
I laughed so hard I had to turn away.
Then he said:
“Get your inheritance.”
“My money is frozen.”
“It won't be forever.”
“Get your own place.”
“Okay.”
“Build something.”
“Bossy.”
“Then if you still want me…”
He paused.
“What?”
“You know where I live.”
I looked at him.
That was the moment I began loving Michael Moretti.
Not when he frightened Regina.
Not when he saved Zach.
Not when he protected me.
When he deliberately removed the thing that made it difficult for me to know whether choosing him was really my choice.
Four months later, Tony pleaded guilty to multiple federal charges.
The archive provided enough evidence to reopen cases, protect witnesses, and expose financial structures.
Bellweather was legally separated from criminal proceeds after a brutal forensic review.
My father’s interest survived.
After taxes, legal expenses, and settlements:
$3.4 million.
I stared at the number.
For months, I had lived on tips.
I bought exactly one ridiculous thing.
A brand-new frying pan.
Zach approved.
Then I rented a small apartment in Brooklyn.
Michael hated the neighborhood.
“It’s twelve minutes from my house.”
“Exactly.”
“Why rent?”
“Because I've been told ownership is emotionally healthy.”
“By who?”
“You.”
“That doesn't sound like me.”
I enrolled in hospitality management classes.
The restaurant where I had worked offered me a management position.
Eventually, I invested modestly and became a partner.
Not a billionaire.
Not a princess.
Mine.
Michael respected that.
From a distance.
Mostly.
Zach visited with supervision.
On my first night in the apartment, he examined everything.
“Where’s my room?”
“You don't have one.”
“Bad planning.”
Michael looked smug.
Then Zach whispered loudly:
“Dad misses you.”
Michael nearly dropped a coffee cup.
“Zach.”
“What?”
I smiled.
“I miss him too.”
Michael looked at me.
Neither of us said more.
Three months after moving out, I went to his house for dinner.
Not because I needed protection.
Not because Zach invited me.
Because I wanted to.
After dinner, Michael walked me to the door.
“Still like me?”
he asked.
I smiled.
“Unfortunately.”
“Independent confirmation?”
“Extensive due diligence.”
He laughed.
Then:
“Can I kiss you?”
The question mattered.
“Yes.”
The kiss was slow.
Careful.
Nothing like the dangerous man stories had built around him.
When we separated, Zach shouted from upstairs:
“ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED YET?”
Michael leaned his forehead against mine.
“I’m sending him to boarding school.”
“You’d last forty-eight hours.”
“Twenty-four.”
I smiled.
For the first time, the idea of marriage did not feel like a cage.
But I was not ready.
Michael never pushed.
May you like
And that made it easier to imagine someday saying yes.
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