Chapter 6 - The Price of Becoming a Lombardo
Clemente did not speak on the drive home.
Natalie sat beside him.
Margaret was safe in another vehicle.
Vittorio was in custody.
The documents were secure.
They should have felt victorious.
Instead, one sentence had poisoned everything.
Why your mother is still alive.
At the mansion, Clemente walked directly toward Teresa.
She was sitting beside Elizabeth.
“Who signed my father’s death certificate?”
Teresa’s face changed.
“Clemente.”
“Answer.”
“Dr. Rinaldi.”
“He worked for Vittorio.”
“Yes.”
“Was my father murdered?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t.”
He leaned forward.
“And my mother?”
Teresa looked at Elizabeth.
Elizabeth slowly stood.
“She’s alive.”
Clemente stopped breathing.
Natalie had never seen him look young before.
Not handsome.
Not powerful.
Young.
A boy hearing impossible news.
“Where?”
Elizabeth answered.
“Boston.”
“Why hasn’t she contacted me?”
“She believes you hate her.”
“Why?”
“Because Vittorio told her you knew she abandoned you.”
Clemente laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
“I was eight.”
Teresa began crying.
“I told you she died because Vittorio threatened to take you.”
“You let me mourn a living woman.”
“I kept you alive.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Clemente walked away.
Natalie followed him into the courtyard.
He stood with both hands against the stone railing.
She waited.
After a minute he said, “You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“You should probably leave.”
“Probably.”
“You’re still here.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because someone once told me I was allowed to be angry at a person I loved.”
Clemente looked down.
“You love your mother.”
“I do.”
“And you hate what she did.”
“Sometimes.”
He nodded.
“Complicated.”
“People usually are.”
He exhaled.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be somebody’s son again.”
Natalie moved beside him.
“You don’t have to know tonight.”
Their hands rested inches apart.
Clemente did not touch her.
Natalie moved her little finger until it touched his.
He looked down.
Then at her.
Permission.
His hand closed gently around hers.
The next morning brought another war.
Not with guns.
With lawyers.
Board members.
Banks.
Reporters.
The contract proving Natalie’s ownership was authentic.
By noon, the Lombardo board had confirmed that the Strauss estate had a legitimate claim to forty-nine percent of the holding company’s original equity, subject to adjustments from decades of restructuring.
The numbers were enormous.
Natalie stared at the preliminary valuation.
“Is this real?”
Clemente looked over her shoulder.
“Yes.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Please don’t. That rug is nineteenth-century.”
She stared at him.
He smiled.
She laughed.
For the first time since dinner, she laughed without guilt.
Then the board asked the inevitable question.
Were Clemente and Natalie truly engaged?
The lie had become financially significant.
If they denied it immediately, markets might interpret the ownership dispute as hostile.
If they confirmed it, they were lying publicly.
Natalie closed the conference room door.
“This ends.”
Clemente nodded.
“I agree.”
She had expected resistance.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you’d propose another twenty-four hours.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you were right.”
He sat across from her.
“I used my name to defend you instead of defending your name.”
Natalie said nothing.
“I won’t do it again.”
“So we tell them.”
“Yes.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
Something inside her felt unexpectedly disappointed.
That annoyed her.
Clemente noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I spent twenty-four hours pretending to be your fiancée.”
“And you were terrible at it.”
She threw a pen at him.
He caught it.
That evening, they held a press conference.
Clemente stepped to the microphones.
Natalie stood beside him.
“The reports concerning Miss Strauss and me require clarification.”
Natalie’s heart beat faster.
“The engagement announced last night was not planned.”
Cameras flashed.
“It was something I said in a private family moment because members of my family treated an extraordinary woman with disrespect.”
Natalie looked at him.
Clemente continued.
“I believed calling Natalie my fiancée would force them to give her the respect she already deserved.”
He paused.
“I was wrong.”
The room became quiet.
“Natalie Strauss does not need my name to make her important.”
Reporters began shouting questions.
Clemente raised one hand.
“She is also the lawful successor to Eleanor Strauss, one of the original founders of our company. We are cooperating fully to restore what was taken from her family.”
A reporter called, “So you’re not engaged?”
Clemente looked at Natalie.
“No.”
The word hurt more than it should have.
Then he added:
“Not unless she someday chooses to be.”
Natalie’s eyes widened.
The room exploded.
Clemente walked away from the microphones.
Natalie followed.
Behind the curtain, she grabbed his arm.
“What was that?”
“Honesty.”
“You just told thirty reporters you want to marry me.”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I said I would marry you if you chose.”
“That’s worse.”
“Why?”
“Because now I have to think about it.”
He smiled.
“That was the idea.”
She stared at him.
“You’re infuriating.”
“You’ve mentioned it.”
Then his phone rang.
Boston number.
Clemente stopped smiling.
He answered.
“Hello?”
Natalie watched every trace of confidence leave his face.
A woman spoke on the other end.
Clemente’s eyes filled.
He whispered one word.
“Mom?”
The following afternoon, Clemente flew to Boston.
Natalie did not go.
That was his reunion.
His wound.
His choice.
Instead, she spent the day with Elizabeth.
Mother and daughter sat across from each other in Natalie’s apartment, drinking coffee that went cold.
Fourteen years could not be repaired in an afternoon.
They did not try.
Elizabeth apologized without demanding forgiveness.
Natalie cried without pretending tears meant reconciliation was complete.
They talked.
Then stopped.
Then talked again.
It was a beginning.
At six that evening, someone knocked.
Natalie expected food delivery.
She opened the door.
Clemente stood there.
His eyes were red.
“You came back.”
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
He swallowed.
“She kept every birthday card she never sent me.”
Natalie’s heart broke.
He held out a small box.
“My mother gave me something.”
“What?”
“She said your grandmother left it with her.”
Natalie opened the box.
Inside was a ring.
Not extravagant.
Old gold.
A small diamond.
Beneath it was a folded note in Eleanor’s handwriting.
Natalie opened it.
She read the first line.
Then stopped.
Clemente asked, “What does it say?”
Natalie looked at him.
May you like
The note began:
If a Lombardo man ever gives this ring back to a Strauss woman, make sure he understands what it means before she says yes.
