Chapter 8 - Four Years Without a Crown
Matteo’s trial began in winter.
Sadi testified for less than an hour.
It felt longer than the years before it.
She described her father’s letter, the locker, the last conversation they had shared.
She did not claim to know things she had only learned afterward.
When the defense attorney pushed, she repeated what she remembered and admitted what she didn’t.
Outside the courtroom, she shook so hard she spilled water down her coat.
Elena handed her another cup.
“You did well.”
“I wanted to scream.”
“I know.”
“I wanted him to look sorry.”
Elena glanced toward the closed doors.
“He doesn’t get to decide whether today mattered.”
Eli testified the following week.
Sadi waited where he could see her when he came out.
He walked toward her without speaking.
They held each other until his breathing settled.
The verdict came after three days of deliberation.
Guilty on multiple counts.
The convictions included the crimes arising from the fire and Eli’s captivity.
Not every charge resulted in conviction.
Enough did.
At sentencing, Ruth stood with a paper she barely looked at.
“You took my husband,” she told Matteo. “Then you kept my son alive in a way that made us mourn him. I hope one day you understand what you did. My family will not wait for that day to live.”
Sadi had never been prouder of her mother.
Dominic’s case concluded separately.
He pleaded guilty to financial and criminal conduct established through the investigation. His cooperation and other factors affected the sentence.
They did not prevent imprisonment.
Four years.
Restitution.
Forfeitures.
Restrictions that would follow him after release.
Sadi sat behind his attorney when the sentence was read.
Dominic turned only once.
Their eyes met.
No request passed between them.
Afterward, they were allowed a brief conversation in an interview room with counsel nearby.
“I won’t ask you to wait,” he said.
“Good.”
He smiled faintly.
“You’ve gotten very good at that word.”
“I had practice.”
His hands rested flat on the table.
“I meant what I wrote.”
“So did I.”
She had written that she cared about him.
Not because he could protect her.
Not because his name frightened rooms into silence.
Because she had watched him tell truths that dismantled his own life.
Because he listened.
Because the man beneath the reputation had begun making decisions worth respecting.
Caring was not the same as certainty.
She told him that too.
“I don’t know what four years will do.”
“Neither do I.”
“I’ll keep teaching. I’ll help Eli. I might leave this city.”
“You should.”
“I might meet someone.”
He looked down briefly.
Then back at her.
“You should have the life you want.”
The words cost him.
She could see it.
That made them matter.
Sadi leaned across the narrow table and kissed him.
Not a promise disguised as comfort.
A choice belonging to that moment.
When she stepped back, his eyes were wet.
“Was that because of the wager?”
She laughed through her own tears.
“Don’t ruin your first decent kiss.”
He smiled.
For once, there was no audience to reward it.
The years did not pass in a montage.
They passed through seasons, repairs, setbacks, and ordinary Tuesdays.
Sadi qualified as an instructor and opened a small training studio.
Eli took accounting classes under his own name.
Ruth planted tomatoes in buckets on the apartment balcony.
Nathan testified, accepted consequences for his own conduct, and later began supervised work helping young athletes avoid exploitative promoters.
Dominic wrote.
Sometimes Sadi visited.
Sometimes she needed distance.
He respected both.
Some letters stayed unanswered for weeks. She stopped apologizing for that, and he stopped opening his with explanations for why she should feel obligated to reply. When she described a good, ordinary day, he celebrated it without asking where he belonged inside it. Slowly, affection stopped feeling like another demand she had to meet. It became something she could set down, pick up, and examine in daylight, without anyone punishing her for taking time.
On the studio wall, she hung her father’s photograph beside a simple rule.
Nobody earns the right to hurt you by saying they love you.
May you like
She read it every morning.
Then she unlocked the door.
