I have power over the head of the Marini family.
And in this moment, I realize I don't want anything else than the knowledge that I'm not expendable.
"I don't know if I want power," I say quietly, scared. Not of Saint, but of his reaction. "Not in the family. Not the way you mean."
He goes still. "Seriously?"
I swallow.
"I'm a good strategist. I proved that. But Saint—" My voice breaks. "I got Igor killed. My plan helped Artem murder a room full of people. And I—" Tears are falling now, and I can't stop them. "I can't stomach it. The violence. The casualties. The good people who end up dead because of games we play. I'm not able to compartmentalize that."
"Gemma—"
"I killed Alexei. And in the moment…" I take a shaky breath. "I felt powerful. Alive. But afterward?" I shake my head. "I felt sick. Not because he didn't deserve it, but because I realized—I'm good at violence. Too good. And if I stay in this world, really stay in it, I'll become something I don't want to be." I release a shaky breath. "I'll become my fucking mother."
He's quiet, staring at me, and I suspect he's processing my words.
"What do you want?" he asks. "If not this. Then what?"
"I want autonomy." The word feels right. "I want to be equal with you. Not in the family. We matter, not the business. I want to go back to school—get my MBA and learn how to actually run things." I take a breath. "And I want to help with the legitimate businesses. The real estate. The investments. The legal operations. I want to use my brain, but I'm not interested in being used to hurt people."
He stares at me, his eyes wide, and his mouth slightly dropped. He's shocked.
"You want to go back to school?"
"Yes. Is that—" I stop. "Is that okay?"
"Okay?" He laughs. Broken. Relieved. "Gemma, I thought you wanted to be at the table. Making moves. Running operations. I thought—" He stops. "I thought I was going to have to spend every fucking day of my life worried about you." He runs a hand through his hair. "More than I already fucking am."
I move closer. "I'm good at strategy. At seeing patterns. At manipulating systems. But I don't want to use those skills to hurt people. I want to use them to build things. Grow things. Create things that last." I reach up, cupping his cheek. I can feel the stubble under my fingertips, and it grounds me. "I love you Saint. You made me love you, but I want to love myself too. I want us to figure out how to do this marriage thing, together. Not with you being Lord of the Manor."
He's quiet for a long moment.
"The legitimate businesses are a mess," he finally says. "Antonio focused on the family stuff. The illegal operations. The legit side is profitable but disorganized. My father was good at that stuff, and when he died, it went to shit. We could do better. Make more. Expand properly."
"Exactly." I'm getting excited now. "We have so much potential. Real estate holdings that aren't being maximized. Investments that could be diversified. Legitimate revenue streams that could eclipse the illegal ones if managed correctly."
"You've been thinking about this."
"I've been thinking about a lot of things." I take his bruised hand. "I don't want to be your second. Or your strategist. Or your weapon. I want to be your wife. Whatever that means. And I want my own thing. Something that's mine. Where I have control. Autonomy. But it doesn't have to be separate."
"Business school," he repeats. Like he's testing the words.
"Yes. Columbia has an executive MBA program. I could start in the fall. It's two years. Part-time. I'd still be here. Still be your wife. But I'd have something that's mine."
He's processing. I can see it. Working through implications. Concerns. Control issues.
"What if I said no?" he asks. "What if I said it's too dangerous? That I need you here?"
"Then we'd have a problem." I meet his eyes. "Because I need this, Saint. I need to be more than Mrs. Marini. More than your wife. More than the woman you protect and control and manage. I'm exhausted by men trading and selling me like I'm a pawn and not a person. I need this—this autonomy, this choice, this future I'm building for myself."
"I don't want to control you?—"
"I know, but you try anyway. It's your nature." I touch his face. "I need something that's outside your control. Where I have power. Where I'm not asking permission or seeking approval. Where I'm just... me."
Silence. Heavy.
Then: "Okay."
