Chapter 7 - The Unspoken Truth
Three months later.
Spring had arrived in Narragansett. The harsh, freezing sea winds had softened into a warm, gentle breeze that carried the scent of blooming hyacinths and fresh salt spray across the terrace of the Ramos estate.
The Martin family empire was completely dead.
Arthur Martin had passed away quietly in his hospital bed two weeks after learning that his entire fortune had vanished into state receivership. Thomas had been convicted on all counts and was currently serving a thirty-year sentence in a federal penitentiary in Pennsylvania.
The docks, now under legitimate municipal oversight, were thriving, and the war that had plagued Providence for three years was officially over.
I sat on the sunlit stone terrace, wearing a light blue linen dress that left my arms and shoulders uncovered. I no longer hid my scars under long sleeves or heavy high-collar lace. They were part of my history, but they no longer defined my future.
On the table beside me lay a newly published report from the Noelle Martin Foundation for Victims of Domestic Violence—a ten-million-dollar grant program funded entirely by my share of the recovered Martin assets.
Footsteps sounded on the stone tiles behind me.
Diego walked out onto the terrace, wearing a simple white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark trousers. Gone was the rigid, guarded posture of the mafia boss. In its place was a man who looked relaxed, grounded, and undeniably handsome.
He carried a tray with a pot of fresh tea and two delicate china cups.
"You're working again," Diego chided gently, setting the tray down and sitting in the chair beside me.
"I'm reviewing grant applications for the new shelter in Boston," I smiled, taking the cup of tea he poured for me. "We're funding thirty new beds and a full legal defense team."
"You're doing incredible work, Noelle," Diego said softly, his dark eyes looking at me with an intensity that always made my heart jump.
We sat in quiet comfort for a few moments, listening to the waves crash against the rocks below.
"Diego?" I asked quietly, setting my cup down.
"Hmm?"
"Our arrangement," I began carefully, looking down at my hands. "The war is over. The Martins are gone. You fulfilled every single promise you made to me."
Diego grew still. His dark eyes locked onto mine, his cup hovering halfway to his mouth. "And?"
"And... we never settled what happens now," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Our marriage was built on a contract of revenge. We signed papers under duress. If you want to annul the marriage, or if you want your freedom... I have my own capital now. I can leave whenever you—"
"Noelle," Diego interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, firm command.
He set his teacup down with a sharp click, stood up, and walked over to my chair. He dropped down onto one knee beside me, taking both of my hands in his heavy, warm palms.
"Do you really think I did all of this just for revenge?" Diego asked, looking deep into my eyes.
"Didn't you?"
"In the beginning, yes," Diego admitted honestly, his thumbs lightly tracing the back of my knuckles. "I wanted to hurt your father. But the moment I saw you standing at that altar—so quiet, so brave, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you break—I knew I was looking at the most extraordinary woman I would ever meet."
He took a deep breath, his hands tightening around mine.
"And when I saw what they did to you... when I wrapped my jacket around your shoulders... I didn't want revenge anymore, Noelle. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to build a world where no one could ever hurt you again."
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My heart hammered against my ribs, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Diego..."
"I don't want an annulment, Noelle," Diego whispered, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss against the back of my hand. "I don't care about the contracts, or the war, or the Martin name. I love you. I have loved you since the night you handed me the map to your father's vault and told me you weren't afraid."
