April 6th, 8:44pm — Blue Hall, Boston.
The air inside the Blue Hall had mellowed.
Tony had come back in.
Gone was the high-strung tension from earlier, when buyers had nearly gone to war over antiques and exotic weaponry. The remaining guests settled into their seats like nobles watching the final act of a refined play. Conversations grew softer, laughter here and there, and the crisp clink of crystal glasses filled the background with a quiet rhythm.
Tony sat near the back once again, posture relaxed but mind quietly humming with unease. He'd already made a few flashy purchases—notably the diamond necklace, which he didn't even glance at twice. It sat in a black case on the table beside him, catching light, but it might as well have been empty.
The money didn't matter. Not really.
(He had tons of it.)
The Gold-watch, painting, and the craving were already auctioned.
The Watch at $10,000,000
The Painting at $20,000,000
The Craving at $30,000,000
(The event really made money!!!!)
But when the auctioneer, "James Smith" turned to the podium, tapping the mic lightly, something shifted.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the man said with a small bow, his voice smooth, "Our next lot is a unique piece of vintage jewelry, Catalogued just last week. Lot 11: A platinum ring with a blue opal inlay, of unknown origin. Estimated starting bid: $1,000,000. No documented provenance."
Tony turned his head slightly, disinterested. Another piece of old jewelry, probably dug up from some family heirloom trunk. The kind of item bored billionaires bought on impulse.
But then it appeared on the screen.
He blinked.
The image showed a platinum ring, slim, elegant. The blue opal was cut in a way that caught the light from every angle, shimmering with a mesmerizing depth—like moonlight trapped under the ocean.
And then his chest tightened.
No way.
It was it.
It was too specific. Too familiar. He leaned forward slowly, almost afraid to blink.
A memory surged up without warning:
He was fifteen. The sky was orange with sunset, and he sat cross-legged on the cracked porch outside their apartment. His mother was kneeling beside him, her hair up, her hands gentle.
"You lose things too easily, Kai." She gave him a mock glare, then smiled. "So you're going to keep this. Don't sell it. Don't toss it. And for heaven's sake, don't pawn it for snacks."
(Snacks? Whatever do you mean!")
"Um.Sure mom." He gave a casual reply
She pressed the ring into his palm. It was too big for him back then. "When you're older… you'll understand."
Tony blinked the memory away. He was breathing shallow, and his fingers had curled around the armrest.
"Mom!!!" Tears nearly filled his eyes
(He painfully forgot about his mom this whole time. The whole death, reborn, business stuff had unintentionally occupied his brain.)
{(He Hated Himself)}
Clara slid into the seat beside him like she'd been invited. She crossed her legs elegantly and offered him a look—a curious one, not the usual smirk. "You okay? You look like someone stole your dessert."
Tony didn't answer right away. His jaw worked. He turned back to the screen. "That ring... I've seen it before."
Clara followed his gaze. "Looks expensive."
He nodded once, slowly. "It was mine. A long time ago. Or... maybe not mine, exactly. My.....my mom gave it to me."
She turned toward him, eyes sharper now, but still soft. "You sure it's the same one?"
"Yeah. I remember the curve. The way the opal shines like it's holding its breath. She called it a 'storm gem.'"
He let out a shaky laugh.
"Said I was her little storm."
"Mom!!!! I miss you, and I'll get to you. Soon"
The auctioneer's voice rang again.
"Opening bid: $1,000,000. Do I hear $ 2,000,000"
Tony didn't hesitate. His hand was up before he realized it.
Clara raised an eyebrow. "You're really going for it?"
He didn't look at her. "Yeah."
(It's his mom's jewelry, how couldn't he go for it, he promised her.)
Others joined in. The bids ticked up in easy, practiced steps.
"Three million… Seven million… Seventeen Million… Twenty-Nine Million"
Tony raised again. No flinch. No glance around the room. This wasn't a game.
He barely noticed when it hit $30 million. And then $50 million
"Sold!" the auctioneer called, pointing toward the back. "To the gentleman in the final row."
Soft applause.
Tony sat back, tension melting from his shoulders. He hadn't even realized how tightly he'd been gripping the chair.
Clara didn't say anything for a beat. Then: "Didn't peg you for sentimental."
He chuckled, low. "Neither did I."
A steward approached with a small black box, offering it like sacred treasure. Tony opened it carefully.
There it was. Real. Cool light glinting off the opal.
Clara leaned over to look. "You know, if you wore that on your pinky, you'd look like a mafia heir."
Tony grinned faintly. "I think it's always been mine. Just took the long way home."
She smiled. "Nice line. You should write fortune cookies."
He gave her a side glance. "You really don't want to know the story behind it?"
She paused. Then: "Not tonight. I think… some things deserve their silence."
They stood together after a few more minutes. The room had begun to empty out, the crowd filtering toward the open bar and gallery exit.
Outside, Boston's night air greeted them like a whisper—cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of the harbor.
Aaron was by the car again, his phone pressed to his ear. He ended the call quickly when he spotted them.
"Nice win, boss." He nodded toward the velvet box in Tony's hand. "What was so special about this one?"
Tony slid into the car, the box resting on his lap.
"It was hers."
Aaron raised an eyebrow, confused but didn't pry. Clara gave a small wave as the car pulled away.
As they rode through the city, Tony opened the box again, staring at the ring. He slipped it on.
It still fit.
Like it had never left.
A breath left his lips, unsteady.
In the blur of streetlights and reflections, Tony leaned back and let himself remember—not the crime, not the debt, not the chaos—but her.
The way she hummed to herself when doing dishes. Her perfume. The protective look in her eyes.
"I'm still here, Mom," he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time… he believed it.