Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN A CRIME BOSS COULD NOT HIRE
Gabriel asked me to move in after two years.
I said no.
He looked wounded.
Good for him.
“Why?”
“Because your apartment has six armed men downstairs.”
“Four.”
“Not helping.”
“You could choose another property.”
“Still yours.”
He understood.
Eventually.
I liked my apartment.
Not the one above the laundromat.
I had moved.
Two bedrooms.
Sunlight.
A desk for my consultancy.
Paid entirely by me.
That mattered more than square footage.
Gabriel stayed there sometimes.
He hated my mattress.
I told him suffering built character.
He bought nothing without asking.
Progress.
One evening, he said:
“I could invest in Bennett Language & Risk.”
“No.”
“I didn't finish.”
“You didn't need to.”
“What if terms are market—”
“No.”
He sighed.
“You enjoy this.”
“Deeply.”
My company did not need his money.
That was the point.
It grew.
We handled Japanese-English transactions, then Korean and German through new hires.
I remained the Japanese specialist.
Every contract required paired review.
No language version treated as secondary.
My father would have been unbearable with pride.
Then Gabriel’s organization changed further.
He sold the remaining illegal gambling interests.
Closed private lending operations that depended on intimidation.
Transferred port businesses into independently audited structures.
Several old associates left.
One threatened him.
Authorities handled it.
Not Elias.
That was progress too.
Gabriel still had history.
Nothing erased it.
He had hurt people.
Ordered violence.
Built power partly through fear.
He did not become a different man because he fell in love.
He became a man making different choices repeatedly.
Much less romantic.
Much more believable.
Then he proposed.
Badly.
We were cooking in my apartment.
He was ruining rice.
I said:
“You grew up in Japan.”
“How are you this bad at rice?”
“Aiko cooked.”
“Tragic.”
He turned off the stove.
Then:
“Claire.”
Something in his voice changed.
“No.”
He blinked.
“You don't know what I'm asking.”
“You're touching your left jacket pocket.”
He swore softly.
I laughed.
“Continue.”
He took out the ring.
Simple.
Beautiful.
No giant stone.
He had learned.
“I don't want you inside my world because you can translate it.”
Good start.
“I don't want you because you stopped Pike.”
Better.
“And I don't want you because you tell me when I'm wrong.”
“Excellent, because that sounds exhausting.”
He smiled.
“I want to marry you because when work ends, you're still the person I want to tell things to before I decide what they mean.”
That hit.
Hard.
He continued:
“You made language feel less like a wall.”
My eyes filled.
“And you?”
I asked.
“What did I make it?”
“A door.”
Too poetic.
Unfortunately effective.
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
May you like
Then the smoke alarm went off because his rice was burning.
Aiko, wherever she was, probably felt vindicated.
