"Thank you all for coming tonight." My voice carries through the ballroom. "I know your time is valuable, so I'll keep this brief."
Polite laughter ripples through the crowd.
"We're here to launch The Elena Fund—a foundation dedicated to supporting families dealing with cancer. Specifically, the hidden costs, the treatments insurance won't cover, the gaps that force impossible choices."
I pause, let that sink in.
"My mother died when I was twenty-three. Not from cancer, but from shame and circumstance, from the weight of decisions no one should have to make alone." I find Bianca in the crowd and her eyes are glistening. "I've learned since then that many families face similar impossible choices, that women especially, make sacrifices no one ever sees. Sacrifices that cost them everything."
The room is silent now, attentive.
"The Elena Fund exists to honor those sacrifices, to make sure no family has to choose between dignity and survival. Every dollar raised tonight goes directly to covering cancer treatment costs for families who can't afford them."
I let that land.
"Because some debts can't be repaid. But they can be honored."
Applause erupts, loud and genuine.
I step off the stage and head straight for Bianca. She's crying now, not bothering to hide it.
"You—" Her voice breaks. "You turned it into something good."
"I turned your pain into purpose," I correct. "There's a difference."
"Dante—"
"It's not charity." I brush away her tears. "It's loyalty. You gave me something real—something I didn't think I deserved. So I'm going to honor it. Forever."
She kisses me right there, in front of everyone, soft and desperate and full of things we don't say out loud.
When we break apart, the room has noticed and whispers ripple through the crowd.
Let them talk.
I'm done hiding what she means to me.
An hour later, I find Giulio near the bar.
He's been watching me all night, scowling every time someone congratulates me on the foundation, every time they shake my hand and call me a man of vision.
"Dante." He sets down his glass. "We need to talk."
"No, we really don't."
"This foundation—it's a mistake. You're drawing attention to?—"
"To what?" I step closer. "To the fact that I care about something other than power? To the possibility that I'm capable of compassion?"
"To weakness." His voice drops. "You're making yourself vulnerable, exposing soft spots enemies can exploit."
"Then let them try."
"You're being reckless?—"
"I'm being honest." I lean in. "Something you've never been capable of. You destroyed our family with your corruption, drove Mom to drink herself to death. And now you want to lecture me about vulnerability?"
His face goes red. "I did what I had to?—"
