Page 219 of Money Reigns
He exhales. “The Inn belongs to your family again. I spoke to the Amatos. They’ve released it.”
My breath catches.
“I have a crew coming Monday to renovate. And for the sake of full honesty…” he stands, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded paper, laying it gently on the nightstand. “I set up an account in your name. Ten million. It’s yours. No strings.”
I scramble to stand, I can’t speak.
His hand cups my cheek, gentle. Reverent.
“You’re free, Olivia.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “Your family is free from the Amatos.”
Then, softer.
“And you… you’re free from me.”
Chapter forty-seven
War
The suitcase handle cuts into my palm, but the real weight is in my pocket. A ring box. Heavy. Hopeful.Useless.
If she won’t take it.
I keep walking. Across the street.
Every step feels like bleeding. Like I’m leaving parts of myself behind on the cracked pavement; and I don’t think I’ll get them back. The Inn rises in front of me, worn wood and peeling paint, but alive in a way my glass towers never were.
Inside, behind the front desk, she’s waiting. An older version of Olivia, same bone structure, same smile, only green eyes where Olivia’s are brown.
“Did my boys behave themselves?” she asks, voice soft, teasing.
I nod. “They did.”
Then, without warning, she rounds the counter and wraps her arms around me. I freeze. For a second, I don’t even remember how to return it.
But I do. Slowly. Stiffly.
I let this woman,her mother,hold me. Anchor me.
And I hate how much it breaks me open. It’s so warm it aches. The kind of mother I might have had, if mine hadn’t been taught to chase dollars instead of children.
When she pulls back, her gaze sharpens. “Are you staying?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t want to leave without her. But she—”
“Needs time,” she finishes gently.
I nod once, jaw tight.
She studies me for a long beat, then her voice lowers. “Thank you. Ronnie stopped by before you did, said he was leaving. That’s… a freedom I didn’t think we’d ever get.”
Bittersweet coils in my chest. I incline my head. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Baker.”
Her lips curve. “Jillian. Call me Jillian.”
“You’re welcome, Jillian.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “May I have a room?”
Her brows lift slightly, then she turns and pulls an honest-to-God brass key from the board behind the counter. “Of course. You can have the biggest one—Room 10.”
