Chapter 8 - THE FIRST TIME ENZO ASKED
I graduated nursing school eighteen months after the restaurant.
Leo attended.
He was eight.
Enzo wore a suit.
Of course.
I wore white under my graduation gown.
When my name was called:
“Hannah Marie Brooks.”
Leo shouted:
“THAT’S MY HANNAH!”
Everyone laughed.
I almost fell walking across the stage.
Afterward, Enzo handed me flowers.
Nothing else.
No check.
No keys.
No jewelry.
Progress.
“You resisted.”
“Barely.”
“What did you want to buy?”
“A car.”
I stared.
“For graduation?”
“Useful.”
“No.”
“I know.”
I smiled.
“Thank you for flowers.”
That night, he asked:
“Dinner.”
I looked at him.
He closed his eyes.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
“Better.”
“As a date.”
There.
For two years, something had existed between us.
But I had refused to examine it while:
I was injured.
Financially vulnerable.
Living under his protection.
Using a settlement linked to his organization.
Finishing school.
Now?
I had my own apartment.
My own job offer at Mount Sinai.
My own health insurance.
My own bank account.
My own life.
So I said:
“Yes.”
Enzo Valenti looked more nervous than he had facing federal investigators.
Beautiful.
We went to a tiny Italian restaurant in Brooklyn.
Not his.
I checked.
“You investigated the ownership?”
“Yes.”
“You are impossible.”
“Healthy.”
We talked.
Not about Julian.
Not Dario.
Not blood.
Books.
My mother.
His brother Matteo.
Why Leo hated peas.
Why Enzo secretly liked old Broadway musicals.
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
At the end, outside my building, he stopped.
“May I kiss you?”
A question.
Not a debt collection.
Not ownership.
Not inevitability.
“Yes.”
He kissed me carefully.
Then stepped back.
No possessive speech.
No “mine.”
No threats against the world.
Just:
“Good night, Hannah.”
I went upstairs shaking.
The next morning, Leo called.
“How was the date?”
“Who told you?”
“Marco.”
Traitor.
“It was fine.”
“Did you kiss?”
“Goodbye.”
He screamed.
I hung up.
May you like
Family, apparently.
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