Victor's waterfront deal collapsed.

His investors withdrew.

Leonard Price cooperated with investigators.

Charles Mercer turned over records through his attorney.

Rosa eventually returned to her apartment.

But something had changed.

Dante was no longer disappearing.

Breakfast became dinner.

Dinner became late-night conversations.

Yet one question remained.

Three weeks later, Rosa asked it.

They were sitting inside Bellamy Machine Works.

The old shop still smelled faintly of oil and metal.

“Why didn't you send a letter?”

Dante looked at her.

“I did.”

Rosa frowned.

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Five years ago.”

“I never received anything.”

Dante pulled out his phone.

He found an old photograph.

It showed a handwritten envelope.

Rosa's name was across the front.

“I wrote this the night my father died.”

“What did it say?”

“That I loved you.”

Her eyes remained on the photograph.

“And?”

“That I couldn't ask you to enter the life I had just inherited.”

“You made that decision for me.”

“Yes.”

“Still stupid.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you send it?”

“Your old apartment.”

“I moved two weeks later.”

“I know that now.”

She looked at him.

“You could've called.”

“I could have done a hundred things differently.”

Dante leaned against the workbench.

“But I can't repair five years by pretending I made noble decisions. I was afraid.”

Rosa raised an eyebrow.

“Dante Moretti admits fear?”

“I was terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Losing you.”

She laughed softly.

“You solved that by leaving me.”

“Again—twenty-five and dramatic.”

She stepped closer.

“Forty and still dramatic.”

“Less stupid?”

“Marginally.”

He smiled.

Then Rosa noticed something on the workbench.

Architectural drawings.

“What are those?”

Dante hesitated.

“An idea.”

She opened them.

The plans preserved the exterior of Bellamy Machine Works but transformed the interior into a vocational training center and restaurant incubator.

She looked at him.

“You did this?”

“I paid someone to sketch it.”

“For me?”

“For you to consider.”

Rosa studied the plans.

There were training kitchens.

Workshops.

Classrooms.

A childcare area.

“What is this?”

“A place where people working jobs like yours can learn skills without quitting work first.”

Rosa looked up.

“You remembered.”

“You used to complain that every training program expected poor people to magically stop needing rent money.”

“I still complain about that.”

“I know.”

She studied him.

“What's your ownership percentage?”

“Zero.”

“Investment?”

“If you want it.”

“Control?”

“Yours.”

Rosa narrowed her eyes.

“You've learned something.”

“Painfully.”

She folded the plans.

“I'll consider it.”

“That's all?”

“What did you expect?”

“A kiss would be optimistic.”

“Very.”

“Dinner?”

“Possible.”

Dante smiled.

Rosa took two steps toward the door.

Then stopped.

She returned.

She caught his lapel and kissed him.

Briefly.

Dante stared at her when she pulled away.

“That was unfair.”

“What?”

“You can't do that and leave.”

Rosa smiled.

“Watch me.”

She walked out.

Dante remained beside the workbench.

For perhaps the first time in his adult life, Chicago's feared Dante Moretti had absolutely no idea what to do next.

And he was smiling about it.