Chapter 15 - THE WOMAN WHO TAUGHT THE MAFIA BOSS TO BREATHE
Three years after Faith Willis entered my mansion carrying an eviction notice, I stood in a hospital auditorium watching her receive her nursing qualification.
She walked across the stage.
Accepted her diploma.
And smiled toward the audience.
I was sitting in the front row.
Beside Mrs. Gable.
And Dr. Mercer.
And several people who had become our friends.
When Faith's name was announced, I stood with the help of my cane.
The applause rose around me.
Faith spotted me.
Her smile widened.
I had survived the attack.
Survived the betrayal.
Survived the collapse of the empire I had once believed defined me.
But nothing made me prouder than watching her accomplish something that belonged entirely to her.
After the ceremony, she approached.
“Well?”
I smiled.
“Well what?”
“Do I look like a nurse?”
I laughed.
“You look like someone who worked incredibly hard.”
She hugged me.
I held her close.
“I'm proud of you,” I whispered.
She closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
That evening, I took her home.
Not to the old mansion.
I had sold it the previous year.
Too many rooms.
Too many ghosts.
We lived in a smaller house overlooking Lake Michigan.
It had wide doorways.
A beautiful garden.
A kitchen Faith loved.
And enough space for the future.
I had prepared dinner.
Badly.
Faith laughed when she saw the slightly burned chicken.
“You cooked?”
“I attempted.”
“Should I call the fire department?”
“Probably.”
She kissed my cheek.
We ate.
Talked.
Laughed.
Then I asked her to join me outside.
The lake shimmered beneath the evening lights.
A soft wind moved through the trees.
Faith looked at me.
“Dominic?”
I reached into my pocket.
A small velvet box rested in my hand.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
I smiled nervously.
“Faith Willis.”
She laughed.
“You're doing the full speech?”
“I've practiced.”
“Of course you have.”
I opened the box.
Inside was a delicate diamond ring.
I looked at her.
“When you first came into my life, I was angry at the world.”
My voice trembled.
“I thought I'd lost everything that made me a man.”
Faith's eyes filled.
“Then you told me to breathe.”
I swallowed.
“And I did.”
She smiled through tears.
“But you taught me something much harder.”
“What?”
“That I could lose power and still have a life.”
I took her hand.
“That I could need help and still have dignity.”
Her tears fell.
“And that love wasn't something I could demand.”
I lowered myself carefully onto one knee, using the garden bench for support.
“Faith Willis, will you marry me?”
She covered her mouth.
Then laughed.
“You stubborn man.”
I smiled.
“That's not an answer.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
My breath caught.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Dominic.”
I stood.
She wrapped her arms around me.
And I kissed her beneath the Chicago evening sky.
Six months later, we married in a small garden ceremony.
Mrs. Gable cried.
Dr. Mercer gave a speech.
Faith's friends from nursing school danced until midnight.
And I stood beside my wife, grateful for a future I had once believed impossible.
Some days I walked.
Some days I used my wheelchair.
Some days pain reminded me that recovery was not a straight line.
But I no longer hated the man I had become.
Because I was no longer measuring my life by fear.
I measured it by the people I loved.
By the wrongs I was still working to repair.
By the mornings I woke beside Faith.
And by the ordinary happiness I had once been too powerful to notice.
One evening, years later, Faith found me sitting beside the window watching rain crawl down the glass.
The same kind of rain that had fallen the day we met.
She approached.
“Dominic?”
I looked up.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She smiled.
“Remember the first time I told you to breathe?”
I laughed.
“How could I forget?”
“You were furious.”
“I was terrified.”
She sat beside me.
“Of what?”
I looked at her.
“Of needing someone.”
Faith took my hand.
“And now?”
I smiled.
“Now I know needing someone doesn't make me weak.”
She rested her head against my shoulder.
Outside, the rain continued.
Inside, our home was warm.
May you like
And for the first time in my life, I didn't need the world to fear me.
I only needed the courage to keep loving the woman who had taught me how to breathe.
