Page 18 of King of Manhattan

"I'm calling in all my markers," I interrupt. "Every last one. I need a clean slate. A legitimate business, paperwork that'll stand up to any scrutiny."

There's a long pause. "That's... a tall order, Mr. Russo. It'll take time."

"You have until I get back from Paris," I say. "Make it happen."

I end the call, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. It's a start. A way to build a life that Emily can be a part of without fear, without compromise.

As the plane takes off, carrying me towards Paris, towards Emily, I allow myself to hope. Hope that I'm not too late. Hope that she'll give me a chance to explain, to show her who I can be. Who I want to be. With her.

I close my eyes, picturing her face. "I'm coming, Emily," I whisper. "Wait for me."

The city lights fade below, and I feel like I'm leaving behind more than just my empire. I'm leaving behind the old Vincent Russo. The man who thought love was a weakness, who believed he was better off alone.

∞∞∞

The Parisian morning air is crisp as I step out of my hired car. My heart races, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through my veins. After a week of searching, my team finally tracked Emily's phone to this quaint café in the 6th arrondissement. The charming streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés stretch out around me, but I barely notice the picturesque scenery. My focus is entirely on the café before me.

I pause outside, taking in the scene through the window. And there she is, standing in line, her honey-blonde hair catching the sunlight. Emily. My Emily. The sight of her steals my breath away. She looks tired, a little thinner perhaps, but still achingly beautiful. I drink in every detail - the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the nervous tap of her foot against the polished floor.

I watch as she reaches the counter, hesitating. Even from here, I can see the frustration on her face as she struggles with the French menu. A small smile tugs at my lips. Some things never change. I remember our first meeting in that New York coffee shop. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and step inside. The bell chimes softly, but Emily doesn't turn. I move closer, close enough to hear her halting French as she tries to order. The familiar scent of her perfume reaches me, bringing with it a flood of memories - the charity galas, the museum, nights spent tangled in each other's arms.

"Un café, s'il vous plaît," she manages, her accent making me smile despite the tension of the moment. "Avec... um... lait d'amande?"

Before the barista can respond, I step up beside her. "Elle prendra un grand latte au lait d'amande avec un trait de vanille et une pincée de cannelle," I say smoothly in French. "Et un espresso pour moi, s'il vous plaît."

I feel Emily freeze beside me, her breath catching. Slowly, she turns to face me, her eyes wide with shock. A myriad of emotions flicker across her face - surprise, fear, anger, and something that looks suspiciously like longing.

"Vince?" she whispers, her voice a mix of disbelief and something else I can't quite identify. Hope, maybe?

"Hello, Emily," I say softly, drinking in the sight of her. Up close, I can see the shadows under her eyes, the slight pallor to her skin. She looks like she hasn't been sleeping well. The thought that I might be the cause of her distress twists something inside me.

The barista clears his throat, breaking our intense eye contact. I hand over some euros, not bothering to wait for change, and guide Emily to a small table in the corner. She doesn't resist, but I can feel the tension radiating off her.

We sit in silence as we wait for our drinks, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between us. When the barista brings our coffees, Emily wraps her hands around the mug, as if seeking warmth. I watch as she takes a sip, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"It's exactly how I like it," she murmurs, almost to herself.

I nod. "I remember everything about you, Emily. Even the little things."

Her eyes meet mine, a mix of emotions swirling in their depths. "How did you find me?" she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I consider lying, but I've come too far for that. "I had my people track your phone," I admit. "I know it's an invasion of privacy, but I was worried. You disappeared without a word."

Emily's eyes flash with anger. "You were worried? Vince, I found out you're a criminal! That you've killed people! What did you expect me to do?"

I lean forward, my voice low and intense. "I expected you to let me explain. To give me a chance." I run a hand through my hair, frustration seeping into my tone. "Do you have any idea what it did to me, thinking I'd lost you for good?"

Her eyes soften slightly at this. "Vince, I-"

"I love you, Emily," I interrupt, the words bursting out of me. Her eyes widen in shock. "I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I kept things from you. But I'm here now, and I want to make things right."

Emily shakes her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "How, Vince? How can we make this work when your whole life is-"

"Was," I correct her gently. "My whole life was criminal activity. But not anymore."

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my messages before handing it to her. "Read these," I say. "They're from Marco."

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