Chapter 8 - The Marriage That Became Real
The months after Roman's arrest were chaotic.
There were investigations.
Hearings.
Financial seizures.
Court testimony.
People who had hidden behind Roman suddenly wanted immunity.
People who had called Grant a criminal suddenly wanted interviews.
Brena refused them all.
She had no interest in becoming famous.
She wanted her life back.
Her studio reopened.
The fire had destroyed much of it.
But Tiberio rebuilt it.
Not secretly.
Not as a gift with conditions.
As a loan with a contract.
Brena laughed when she saw the paperwork.
“You actually wrote me an interest rate.”
“Yes.”
“You're unbelievable.”
“I wanted you to know it wasn't charity.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
It took time for Tiberio to understand that trust could not be repaired through grand gestures.
He had to learn ordinary intimacy.
Coffee.
Grocery shopping.
Arguments about furniture.
Coming home before midnight.
Asking instead of ordering.
The first time Brena told him she was angry, he did not defend himself.
He listened.
The first time she asked where he had been, he answered.
The first time he had to attend a meeting involving dangerous people, he told her.
The marriage changed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Then one evening, Brena found Tiberio in the kitchen trying to cook.
She stared.
“You're cooking.”
“I can cook.”
“What is that?”
“Chicken.”
“It looks frightened.”
He laughed.
She smiled.
It was the first time they laughed together without pretending.
Later that night, they sat on the balcony.
Tiberio looked at her.
“Do you regret it?”
“The marriage?”
“Yes.”
Brena looked at the city.
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
She turned toward him.
“But I don't regret knowing you.”
His eyes softened.
“That means a lot.”
“Don't get sentimental.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
He smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
“I never asked you properly.”
“Asked me what?”
“To marry me.”
Brena laughed.
“You already did.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“That was the contract.”
He took a small box from his pocket.
Brena's heart skipped.
Inside was a ring.
Not the original wedding ring.
Something simpler.
A thin band with a small emerald.
“I don't want revenge,” he said.
“I don't want contracts.”
“I don't want you because of your father.”
“I don't want you because I think I can protect you.”
He took a breath.
“I want you because you're the first person who ever made me want a life instead of an empire.”
Brena looked at him.
“That's dangerously romantic.”
“I've been practicing.”
She laughed through tears.
“Ask me.”
Tiberio took her hand.
“Brena Walsh, will you marry me?”
She smiled.
“You're asking a woman you already married.”
“I know.”
“And if I say no?”
“I'll respect it.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He placed the ring on her finger.
She looked down.
Then back at him.
“Now we do it my way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Small ceremony.”
“Fine.”
“Family.”
“Fine.”
“No mafia.”
Tiberio smiled.
“Agreed.”
“No business.”
“Agreed.”
“No revenge.”
“Never again.”
Their second wedding took place six months later.
There were fewer guests.
No newspapers.
No cameras.
No powerful businessmen.
Only people they loved.
Maya stood beside Brena.
Grant walked his daughter down the aisle.
Tiberio waited at the end.
When he saw her, his eyes filled.
Brena reached him.
“You look nervous.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
He laughed softly.
The ceremony was simple.
No speeches about power.
No promises about appearances.
Only truth.
When Tiberio said, “I choose you,” Brena believed him.
After the ceremony, they danced beneath hanging lights.
Grant approached Tiberio.
“I owe you an apology.”
Tiberio nodded.
“Yes.”
Grant smiled.
“I wasn't expecting forgiveness.”
“You don't have it yet.”
“I know.”
“But you have a chance to earn it.”
Grant held out his hand.
Tiberio shook it.
Brena watched from across the room.
May you like
For the first time, the two men were not enemies.
They were simply men who had survived the same war from opposite sides.
