Chapter 8 - The Last Enemy
Marcel was captured in an old church outside the city.
The same church where Dorian's father had once held private meetings.
Dorian was still wearing a sling when he arrived.
I stayed in the federal vehicle.
He had wanted me nowhere near the building.
For once, I agreed.
Through the glass, I watched him enter.
Thirty minutes passed.
Then an agent came outside.
“We need you.”
“Why?”
“He asked for you.”
I stepped out.
Inside, Marcel sat beneath the stained-glass windows.
He looked older than I remembered.
Smaller.
The power was gone.
Dorian stood several feet away.
Marcel smiled when he saw me.
“So this is the woman.”
I stepped closer.
“Yes.”
“You ruined him.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“I made him.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at Dorian.
“But I helped him choose who he wanted to become.”
Marcel laughed.
“Do you know what he was before you?”
“Yes.”
“A killer.”
“Yes.”
“A thief.”
“Yes.”
“A liar.”
“Yes.”
Marcel looked pleased.
“And you love him anyway?”
I answered without hesitation.
“Yes.”
Dorian looked at me.
Marcel's face changed.
“You don't belong here.”
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
“You think love changes men?”
“No.”
I stepped forward.
“Choice does.”
Marcel looked at Dorian.
“You chose weakness.”
Dorian's answer was calm.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I chose a life.”
Marcel sat back.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that he had lost.
Not because Dorian had become stronger.
Because Dorian had stopped caring about winning.
He only cared about surviving with us.
The investigators arrested Marcel on multiple charges tied to the network and my mother's death.
Weeks later, the case against Dorian reached its final stage.
He testified.
He admitted his history.
He did not excuse it.
He did not claim he had always been innocent.
He simply told the truth.
“I made choices in a world where bad choices had consequences.”
He looked at the jury.
“But when I realized what that world was costing the people I loved, I chose to leave it.”
The evidence supported him.
The court accepted his cooperation.
Most of the most serious charges were dismissed or reduced in exchange for testimony and evidence against the network.
Dorian did not walk away untouched.
He paid enormous financial penalties.
Several companies were liquidated.
He lost properties.
He lost powerful business relationships.
He spent months rebuilding.
But he kept his freedom.
And he kept us.
The divorce hearing remained.
Three months after the trial, we sat in the same courtroom where our marriage had nearly ended.
I looked at the judge.
Dorian sat beside me.
The judge asked, “Do you still intend to dissolve the marriage?”
I looked at him.
He looked back.
“No,” I said.
The judge smiled slightly.
“Mr. Cross?”
“No.”
The judge looked at the paperwork.
“You are withdrawing the petition?”
“Yes.”
We walked out together.
On the courthouse steps, reporters waited.
One shouted:
“Mrs. Cross, why did you change your mind?”
I smiled.
“Because I discovered that divorce papers are not always the end of a marriage.”
Another reporter asked, “Are you staying with him because of the baby?”
I looked at Dorian.
Then at my stomach.
“No.”
I answered carefully.
“I am staying because I choose him.”
Dorian took my hand.
The crowd went quiet.
We drove home.
That night, I found him in the nursery.
He was standing beside the crib.
“You're still building it?”
“Yes.”
“You've been working on it for months.”
“I want it perfect.”
“Our baby won't care.”
“I will.”
I smiled.
He turned toward me.
“Come here.”
I walked into his arms.
He placed his hand on my stomach.
The baby kicked.
He laughed.
“I think he likes me.”
“You don't know it's a boy.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because I asked.”
I laughed.
“You're ridiculous.”
“I have excellent instincts.”
“You also once thought I was allergic to strawberries because I didn't eat them.”
“You weren't.”
“No. I just don't like them.”
He looked offended.
“That's worse.”
I kissed him.
And for the first time in years, I believed our future might actually be ours.
Not Dorian's.
Not mine.
Ours.
Then the baby kicked again.
He smiled.
“Definitely a boy.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Go to bed.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
He kissed my forehead.
The man who once ruled every room he entered now let me order him to bed.
It was strangely satisfying.
Three weeks later, my mother came home.
When she walked through the front door, I could not move.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Then we both cried.
She touched my stomach.
“My grandchild.”
I hugged her.
Dorian stood nearby.
My mother turned toward him.
“You kept your promise.”
Dorian nodded.
“I tried.”
“You succeeded.”
She took his hand.
“Take care of my daughter.”
He answered:
“I will.”
My mother smiled.
“I know.”
That evening, we ate dinner together.
My sister told embarrassing stories.
Dorian pretended to be offended.
My mother laughed.
And I realized something.
For years, we had all lived like survival was the only goal.
Now we were learning how to live.
There was still fear.
There were still scars.
But there was also laughter.
There was still love.
May you like
And there was a baby on the way.
For the first time, that felt like enough.
