THE PROPOSAL

Elena does not notice anything strange about the evening at first.

Dante tells her to dress nice. He says he is taking her somewhere, but he will not say where.

She figures it is just a break from all the noise. The trial. The hidden room. The photo of Adrian still sitting on Marco's desk like a splinter none of them can pull out.

She has been carrying so much weight lately that a simple night out sounds like exactly what she needs.

"You're being weird," she says, watching him fix his cufflinks in the mirror.

He is standing in front of the tall mirror in their bedroom, his fingers moving carefully, precisely.

His reflection stares back at her, and there is something different in his eyes tonight. Something she cannot quite name.

"I'm always weird," he says. His voice is light, but there is a nervous edge underneath it.

"You're weird in a specific way tonight." She crosses her arms, studying him. She tilts her head, trying to read him. "Are we in danger? Is this a danger thing?"

"No." He turns around. Something in his face softens. "No danger. I promise."

"Then what?"

"You'll see." He crosses the room and kisses her forehead. His lips are warm against her skin. "Just trust me. Wear something nice. I will be back in an hour."

"An hour?"

"I have to pick something up." He is already heading for the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle and looks back at her. "Do not snoop."

"I never snoop."

"You snoop constantly."

"I'm thorough." She smiles, and he laughs, and then he is gone, and she is left standing in the bedroom alone, wondering what on earth he is up to.

She spends the next hour getting ready. She takes her time. She showers and washes her hair. She puts on the dress she bought weeks ago but has not had a chance to wear yet. It is deep blue, the color of the sky just before night falls.

She curls her hair and puts on the earrings Sofia gave her for her birthday. She looks at herself in the mirror and does not recognize the woman staring back. She looks happy. She looks like someone who is about to have a good night.

When Dante returns, he is wearing a dark suit and carrying a small box wrapped in plain paper. He does not say what is inside. He just smiles and offers her his hand.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready for what?"

"You'll see." He leads her out of the penthouse, down the elevator, into a car that is already waiting. The driver does not ask where they are going. He just pulls away from the curb and heads toward the edge of the city.

---

The car does not take them to a restaurant.

It takes them somewhere quieter. Past the edge of the city. Down a narrow road she does not recognize until they are nearly there. And then she does, all at once, her breath catching in her throat.

The road is lined with old trees, their branches arching overhead like a tunnel. The leaves are just beginning to turn, hints of gold and orange in the fading light.

The air smells like earth and grass and something sweet she cannot name.

Elena sits up straighter in her seat. Her hands press against the window.

"This is the church," she says. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. "From the note. From the garden."

"Yes." Dante's voice is careful, like he is testing the ground before he steps on it. He is watching her face, searching for her reaction.

The building is smaller than she pictured. Old stone, ivy climbing one wall, thick and green. A garden behind it gone slightly wild with years of no one tending it.

But even wild, it is beautiful. Roses grown up over an old iron gate, the last of the evening light pouring gold across everything, making it all look like a painting.

The car stops at the bottom of the path. Dante gets out first and comes around to open her door. He offers his hand.

She takes it, and he helps her out of the car.

"You planned this," she says. She does not take her eyes off the church.

"I did." He takes her hand and leads her through the gate, into the garden itself. His fingers are warm around hers.

"I wanted you to see it. Really see it. Not just hear about it from me."

Elena walks slowly through the overgrown paths. Her fingers trail along flowers she does not remember but somehow still feels something for.

An ache low in her chest that is not quite memory and is not quite nothing either. The roses brush against her hands. Their petals are soft. Their scent fills the air.

The garden is quiet. The only sounds are the birds settling in for the night and the soft rustle of their footsteps in the grass.

The light is golden and fading. Everything feels suspended, like the world has stopped spinning just for this moment.

"This is where we used to meet," she says softly.

"Every chance we got." Dante stops beside her, watching her face. His eyes are dark and warm in the golden light. "I used to wait right there, by that gate.

And you would come running down the path like you could not get here fast enough."

"Did I really?"

"Every time." He smiles, a soft, distant smile. "You always had a flower in your hair. You would pull it out and give it to me.

I kept every single one. Pressed them in a book. They are still there somewhere."

Elena's throat tightens. Her eyes burn with tears she is trying to hold back. "I wish I could remember running down that path."

"Maybe you do not need to remember it," Dante says quietly. "Maybe we just make a new memory instead."

Something in his voice shifts. Elena turns to look at him properly. And that is when she notices. Really notices. The way his hands are trembling slightly at his sides. The way he is not quite meeting her eyes anymore. The way he keeps swallowing, like his throat is dry.

"Dante?" Her voice is uncertain. "What is going on?"

He takes a breath. A long, shaky breath.

"Ten years ago," he says. His voice is rough, like it is costing him something to speak. "I planned to marry you in that church behind us. I had the ring. I had the date picked.

I had every single detail worked out in my head, over and over, because I could not stop thinking about it."

Elena's heart pounds. Her breath catches. She feels like the ground is shifting beneath her feet.

"Dante—"

"And then I lost you." His voice breaks slightly. "And I buried that ring along with every plan I ever made for us, because I could not stand to look at it.

I put it away. I tried to forget it existed." He reaches into his jacket. His hand is still shaking. "I found it again. A few weeks ago. It was exactly where I left it."

He opens his palm. And there it is. A simple gold ring. A small stone catching the last of the light. Worn slightly from age but untouched by time in every way that matters.

Elena's hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes fill with tears.

"Dante."

"I'm not asking you to remember the woman who was supposed to wear this ring ten years ago," he says, dropping to one knee in the overgrown grass.

His voice breaks on every word. "I'm asking the woman standing in front of me right now. The one who walked into a war for her cousin. The one who shot her own uncle rather than let him hurt anyone else.

The one who cried at her father's grave and still had the strength to promise him justice."

Tears are falling freely now. Elena does not try to stop them. They roll down her cheeks and drip onto the grass at her feet.

"I loved Elena Rossi with everything I had, ten years ago. And I love the woman she has become even more."

His eyes are wet too. He does not hide it. He does not try to be anything other than exactly what he is in this moment.

"Marry me. Not because of who we used to be. Because of who we are now."

For a moment, Elena cannot speak at all. She just stands there, hand pressed to her mouth, staring down at him kneeling in the grass. The church rises behind him. The garden is full of roses that grew wild and beautiful even after everyone stopped tending them.

"Yes," she finally manages. Her voice cracks on the word. "Yes, of course. Yes."

Dante's whole face breaks open with relief and joy. He is up on his feet in an instant, sliding the ring onto her trembling finger before pulling her into his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground. She laughs and cries at the same time, her arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"I thought you were going to say something terrible," she says against his shoulder, breathless. "The way you were shaking, I thought maybe you were about to tell me you had changed your mind about something."

"I have never been less unsure about anything in my entire life." He pulls back to look at her, cupping her face in both hands. His thumbs brush away her tears. "I have loved you across ten years and a stolen memory and a war we both barely survived. I am not letting you go again. Not for anything."

"Good." She laughs, wiping at her eyes. "Because I was not planning on going anywhere."

He kisses her then. Slow and certain. Right there in the garden where they fell in love the first time. Under a sky just starting to turn from gold to deep, soft blue.

---

"We should get married here," Elena says finally, pulling back just enough to look up at the old stone church. "In that church. The one you always meant to marry me in."

"That was exactly the plan." Dante admits, a real smile breaking across his face now. Something lighter and freer than she has seen from him in weeks.

"I already spoke to the priest. He remembers us. He has been keeping the church standing all these years, half hoping someone from the old neighborhood would come back to use it again."

"You really thought of everything."

"I've had ten years to think about it." His voice softens. "Every detail. Every single one."

Elena looks down at the ring on her finger. Gold catching the last light of the day. Something inside her finally feels whole in a way it has not since long before she even knew what she had lost.

"Ten years late," she says quietly, "but I think this might actually be perfect timing."

"Why's that?"

"Because I get to choose you now." She looks up at him, steady, certain. Nothing like the frightened woman who walked into his penthouse with a fake name and a stolen mission.

"Not because Victor erased anyone. Not because of who I used to be. Because I know exactly who you are, and exactly who I am, and I still want this. I still want you."

Dante's throat works. Emotion is thick in his voice when he finally answers.

"Then let us give ourselves the wedding Victor stole from us." He takes her hand. "And this time, nothing gets to take it away."

They stand there a while longer in the wild, overgrown garden. The church watches over them the way it always meant to. The last light of evening finally gives way to a sky full of soft, early stars.

"We should tell everyone," Elena says. "Sofia. Marco. Gabriel. Mia. They are going to lose their minds."

"I already told Marco." Dante smiles sheepishly. "He helped me pick out the ring."

"He knew?"

"He knew." Dante laughs. "He has known for weeks. He has been insufferable about it."

Elena laughs too. "I cannot believe you kept this secret for weeks."

"I wanted it to be perfect." He brushes a curl of hair back from her face. "You deserve perfect. You have earned it."

She rises on her toes and kisses him again. Soft and sure. A promise sealed.

"The flowers," she says when she pulls back. "We should have flowers. Lots of them. And music. And Sofia standing next to me, crying the whole time."

"Sofia will cry whether or not you want her to."

"True." She smiles. "What about your mother? Will she come?"

Dante is quiet for a moment. "I don't know. She is... complicated. She loves me. She loves you too, I think. But she carries a lot of the old wounds. It might take time."

"Then we give her time." Elena squeezes his hand. "She is family. We do not give up on family."

They walk back toward the car slowly, hand in hand, the garden behind them growing dark and quiet.

Elena looks back once, at the old church silhouetted against the night sky, and feels something settle in her chest. Peace. Rightness.

The sense that some things are meant to happen, even if they take longer than anyone planned.

"I love you," she says. Simple. True.

"I love you too." Dante opens the car door for her. "Always have. Always will."

She slides into the seat. He gets in beside her. The car pulls away from the church, back toward the city, back toward the life they are building together.

Elena looks down at the ring on her finger. It glints in the passing streetlights.

"This is really happening," she whispers.

"It is." Dante takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "And I am going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret saying yes."

She leans her head against his shoulder. The city lights blur past the window. She does not know what tomorrow will bring. There is still Adrian out there, still

a trial to finish, still so many pieces of the past that need to be laid to rest.

But tonight, she is engaged. Tonight, she is loved. Tonight, she is exactly where she is supposed