Chapter 19 - Elisabetta’s Last Request
Elisabetta had suffered a heart attack.
Not catastrophic.
Not minor.
Those were the cardiologist’s words.
I hated them.
We sat outside the intensive-care room until three in the morning.
Adrian did not speak.
He stared at the floor.
Clara held my hand.
For months, I had watched Adrian face armed men without blinking.
Now he looked like a frightened boy.
“She raised me,” he whispered.
I knew.
His mother died when he was nine.
His father became colder after.
Elisabetta became everything else.
Breakfast.
Birthdays.
School meetings.
Discipline.
Love.
“She’s not gone.”
He shook his head.
“Everyone leaves eventually.”
I squeezed his hand.
“Yes.”
He looked at me, surprised.
“I’m not going to promise immortality.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Brutal.”
“Real.”
I leaned against him.
“But she’s here tonight.”
The doctor eventually allowed us inside.
Elisabetta looked impossibly small beneath white blankets.
When she opened her eyes, she frowned.
“Why is everyone crying?”
Adrian laughed and cried at the same time.
“You had a heart attack.”
“So?”
“So?”
“I am eighty-two.”
“That does not make it convenient.”
She looked at me.
“Is he annoying you?”
“Constantly.”
“Good.”
Her recovery required surgery.
Risky at her age.
The morning before the procedure, she called me alone.
“Sophie.”
“Yes?”
“Close the door.”
I did.
She pointed at a chair.
“Sit.”
I sat.
“You will marry him.”
I almost laughed.
“That sounds less like a question.”
“I may die tomorrow. I don't have time for politeness.”
“You are not dying tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Then I have time to complain afterward.”
She took my hand.
“Adrian believes you saved him.”
“I didn't.”
“I know.”
I blinked.
She smiled.
“You showed him the door. He walked through it.”
That felt more accurate.
“He still has darkness,” she continued.
“So do I.”
“Good answer.”
She squeezed my fingers.
“Do not spend your marriage trying to cure him.”
“I won't.”
“Do not let him turn protection into control.”
“I won't.”
“And do not let money make your children stupid.”
I froze.
“Children?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m old, not blind.”
“We haven't discussed—”
“You both look at the family section of furniture stores.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
“What's your last request?”
She smiled.
“Move the wedding.”
“What?”
“I refuse to spend six months listening to florists.”
“Elisabetta—”
“Next month.”
“That’s insane.”
“Good.”
The surgery lasted five hours.
Adrian paced so much a nurse threatened to sedate him.
Finally, the surgeon appeared.
“She did well.”
Adrian nearly collapsed.
Elisabetta recovered slowly.
Very slowly.
But she recovered.
Four weeks later, against medical advice, emotional advice, and apparently reason itself, she attended our wedding.
We held it at The Linden Room.
The place where everything began.
No ballroom extravagance.
No thousand guests.
Forty people.
White roses.
Warm candlelight.
My mother walked me down the aisle.
She whispered, “Your father would be proud.”
I believed her.
Adrian stood at the end.
No intimidating billionaire mask.
No ruthless king.
Just the man I loved.
When I reached him, his eyes were already wet.
“You're crying.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Lighting.”
“Liar.”
The officiant began.
Then the front doors opened.
Security immediately moved.
I almost laughed.
Apparently we could not have one normal event.
A federal marshal entered.
Adrian stiffened.
The marshal handed him an envelope.
“Mr. Voss. Official notice.”
Adrian opened it.
His expression changed.
“What?” I whispered.
He handed it to me.
The federal review of Voss Holdings had concluded.
No remaining criminal enterprises.
No concealed illicit accounts.
No outstanding seizures.
For the first time in generations, the Voss name was legally clean.
Adrian stared at the paper.
Then at me.
I touched his face.
“Ready?”
He nodded.
The officiant smiled.
“Shall we continue?”
“Yes,” Adrian said.
Then he corrected himself.
“Absolutely.”
And before the night ended, I became Sophie Carter-Voss.
But one final surprise was waiting.
Elisabetta asked everyone to remain seated.
She stood slowly.
Raised a glass.
And announced that she had sold her private lake estate.
Adrian nearly choked.
“You sold what?”
She smiled.
“To Sophie’s foundation.”
May you like
The room erupted.
And Elisabetta had one more secret.
