Chapter 9 - The Restoration of the Earth
The spring came early to Boston that year, the warm April sun melting the last of the winter ice from the harbor pilings and turning the grass of the Brookline estate into a brilliant, emerald carpet.
The grand conservatory of the Russo manor had been completely transformed.
The marble floors and antique mirrors remained, but the space was no longer a cold museum for tin soldiers. It had been turned into a massive, state-of-the-art botanical sanctuary. High-tech irrigation systems hummed softly through copper pipes, and the air was thick with the beautiful, clean scent of blooming lilacs, jasmine, and rare, medicinal herbs from the Pacific Northwest.
At the center of the conservatory sat a large, rich plot of organic soil where Anna was currently kneeling, wearing an old denim apron over a white sundress, her hands covered in dirt as she taught Leo and Lily how to plant a row of wild sweet-strawberries.
"Make sure you cover the roots completely, Leo," Lily said, her seven-year-old voice filled with a stern, older-sister authority that made Anna laugh. "Otherwise the sun will get them too hot."
"I know, Lily," Leo said seriously, his little hands carefully smoothing the dark earth around the small green stem. "Anna told me three times already."
"She’s right, Leo," a deep voice said from the glass doorway.
Dante Russo stood there, wearing a crisp white linen shirt and trousers, his hands in his pockets, his silver eyes catching the brilliant morning sunlight. The hard, strategic lines of his face had softened over the months, replaced by a deep, permanent contentment that made him look younger, happier, and breathtakingly handsome.
He walked over to the plot, entirely ignoring the fact that his expensive leather shoes were sinking into the damp soil, and knelt down beside Anna. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, elegant velvet box, and set it gently on the edge of the wooden planting tray.
"What’s this?" Anna asked, a beautiful, breathless smile touching her lips as she wiped her dirty hands on her apron.
Dante opened the box. Inside sat a simple, stunning ring carved from ancient white gold, set with a flawless, uncut emerald stone that looked exactly like the color of the rare purple roots she had used to save his son.
"The Wellingtons’ trial concluded this morning, Anna," Dante said, his voice a low, steady vibration that filled the warm conservatory with a profound peace. "Charles and Julian Vance have been sentenced to life without parole. The Russo family has taken full control of the northern transit lines, and we’ve converted them all to clean cargo transit."
He took her right hand in his, completely unbothered by the dirt on her skin, and slid the white-gold ring onto her finger.
"I promised you on that first day that I would make you the most protected woman in this city, Anna," Dante whispered, his silver-gray eyes locking onto hers with an unyielding, eternal devotion. "But today, I am asking you to make me the happiest man. Be my wife, Anna. Let’s build a world where our children only have to grow beautiful things."
May you like
Anna looked at the ring, then at the little boy whose life she had saved, then at her own daughter who was currently clapping her hands in pure joy. The long, hard years of delivery shifts, thirty-six-dollar checking accounts, and lonely kitchens had finally vanished into the warm spring air.
"Yes, Dante," Anna whispered, tears of pure happiness pricking her eyes as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. "A thousand times, yes."
