Chapter 5 - The Birthday Eleanor Was Afraid She Would Never See
Grace returned to the hospital before the ambulance doors had finished closing.
Dominic saw her running through the emergency entrance carrying the coat she had left in the car.
Her hair was loose.
Face pale.
She reached him.
“What happened?”
“Collapsed.”
“Heart?”
“They don’t know.”
“Was she breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Conscious?”
“Until the ambulance.”
Grace closed her eyes.
Dominic wanted to touch her.
Didn’t.
Not because he didn’t need it.
Because she had left.
And need did not create permission.
Three hours later, the doctors explained.
Dehydration.
Chemotherapy.
Low blood pressure.
Exhaustion.
No stroke.
No heart attack.
Eleanor would stay overnight.
Dominic sat in a plastic hospital chair with his elbows on his knees.
Grace sat two seats away.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Finally she said, “You ate?”
He looked over.
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“No.”
Grace closed her eyes.
“I leave for four hours.”
“I was busy.”
“You own food.”
“I was concerned.”
“So was I.”
He stared.
She stood.
“Cafeteria.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care.”
He almost smiled.
She saw it.
“Don’t.”
They ate terrible hospital sandwiches at one in the morning.
Dominic told her about Eleanor’s last words before losing consciousness.
Grace stopped chewing.
“She told you to call me?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
He hesitated.
“Nothing.”
Grace narrowed her eyes.
“You are a terrible liar for a professional criminal.”
“Alleged professional criminal.”
“What else?”
Dominic looked down.
“She said not to call because she was sick.”
Grace waited.
“She said to call because I missed you.”
Silence.
Grace’s expression softened.
“Do you?”
He could have lied.
Could have made a joke.
Could have protected himself.
“Yes.”
Her eyes dropped.
Dominic continued.
“The house is too quiet.”
“That’s because nobody is banging pots.”
“No.”
He looked directly at her.
“It’s because you aren’t there.”
Grace inhaled.
“Dominic.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Probably.”
“I left yesterday.”
“I noticed.”
“That isn’t enough time to decide—”
“I didn’t decide yesterday.”
She stopped.
He had.
Somewhere between her feeding Eleanor toast and wrapping his bleeding knuckles.
Somewhere between the pantry and the long dining table.
Somewhere between watching Grace transform armed men into onion choppers and hearing her laugh inside rooms that had forgotten laughter.
Dominic had begun wanting her there.
Not as staff.
Not because Eleanor needed her.
Because he did.
That realization terrified him.
“I’m not asking you to come back,” he said.
Grace looked surprised.
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“What are you asking?”
“Nothing.”
She waited.
Dominic smiled faintly.
“I’m trying something new.”
“What?”
“Wanting something without taking it.”
Grace’s eyes filled.
She looked away.
Eleanor woke at six.
The first thing she said was, “Awful hospital coffee.”
The second was, “Why are you both looking miserable?”
Grace hugged her.
Eleanor closed her eyes against Grace’s shoulder.
Dominic turned toward the window.
Two days later, Eleanor returned home.
Grace did not move back in.
But she visited daily.
Cooked twice a week.
Accompanied Eleanor to treatment.
Dominic accepted the boundaries.
Painfully.
A week passed.
Then two.
The ledger from Milwaukee gave federal prosecutors and Dominic’s attorneys enough evidence to freeze Matteo’s financial network.
It also revealed something unexpected.
Salvatore Moretti had not retired to Sicily.
He had died in Chicago eleven years earlier.
The family story was false.
Matteo had known.
More importantly, Anthony Moretti had likely ordered it.
Dominic read the report alone.
Grace found him later because Eleanor sent her looking.
He sat in the library.
No drink.
No lights.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She entered.
“What happened?”
He handed her the page.
Grace read.
“Your father killed your uncle.”
“Probably.”
“And Matteo knew.”
“Yes.”
“That explains some things.”
“It explains why he hates me.”
“Did you kill his father?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t explain everything.”
Dominic looked up.
“In families like mine, responsibility is inherited.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
He watched her.
Grace sat opposite.
“You inherited money.”
“Yes.”
“Businesses.”
“Yes.”
“Enemies.”
“Yes.”
“Violence.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to inherit guilt for choices made before you had power.”
Dominic laughed without humor.
“I benefited.”
“That means you have responsibility.”
She leaned forward.
“Not guilt.”
“Difference?”
“Responsibility asks what you do next.”
The answer hit him.
“What would you do?”
“If I had a criminal empire?”
He almost smiled.
“Hypothetically.”
“I’d probably begin by not calling it an empire.”
“Noted.”
Grace looked at the documents.
“What does Matteo want now?”
“Survival.”
“Will he come after Eleanor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Her face tightened.
Dominic hated the fear.
“I can protect you.”
Grace gave him a look.
He corrected himself.
“I can help protect you, if you want.”
Better.
She nodded.
“I want.”
That single word affected him more than it should have.
Security increased around Grace’s temporary apartment.
Not intrusive.
She chose the team.
Two women, one man.
Dominic did not object.
Eleanor’s birthday approached.
The doctors warned she might not have energy for a party.
Eleanor informed them that doctors knew nothing about proper birthday policy.
She turned eighty-three on a Sunday.
The house transformed.
Not into a Moretti event.
No politicians.
No crime bosses.
No business spectacle.
Eleanor chose the guest list.
Former household staff.
Two nurses.
A librarian she had known forty years.
Several grown children she had once cared for.
Grace.
Dominic.
Luca.
Daniel.
Twenty-eight people.
Grace cooked.
Dominic offered caterers.
Grace threatened him with a spoon.
He withdrew.
At four that afternoon, Eleanor came downstairs wearing a deep green dress.
Everyone applauded.
She cried.
Dominic did too.
Privately.
Grace noticed anyway.
Dinner filled the long dining table.
The same room Dominic had abandoned for years.
Children ran between chairs.
People laughed.
Someone spilled wine.
Dominic did not care.
At dessert, Grace carried out a lemon cake.
Eleanor stared.
“You remembered.”
“Apparently lemon is a personality disorder in this house.”
Eleanor laughed until she coughed.
Then she stood.
Dominic moved immediately.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re swaying.”
“I’m old.”
She tapped her glass.
The room quieted.
“I had planned a speech.”
Dominic groaned.
“Of course you did.”
“Interrupt me and I’ll rewrite your childhood publicly.”
He surrendered.
Eleanor looked around.
“I have spent eighty-three years discovering that people misunderstand what makes a house.”
Grace’s eyes filled.
“Walls are useful. Roofs, essential. Money helps.”
She looked at Dominic.
“But a house becomes a home only when people inside it notice one another.”
Dominic swallowed.
“I spent many years caring for a boy who believed being feared would keep him from being hurt.”
His jaw tightened.
Eleanor continued.
“He became a man who is very good at being feared.”
Some guests smiled nervously.
“He is less talented at being known.”
Grace looked at him.
Dominic did not look away.
Eleanor turned toward Grace.
“And then a woman wearing a ridiculous lemon apron entered his kitchen and informed him he had opinions about vegetables.”
Grace laughed through tears.
“I would like everyone to understand that I hired Grace for her cooking.”
She paused.
“Mostly.”
Dominic groaned.
The room laughed.
Eleanor smiled.
Then her expression became serious.
“My birthday wish is simple.”
She looked at Dominic.
“Stop living like survival is the same as life.”
Then Grace.
“And stop running from places just because you are afraid they might become home.”
Grace froze.
Eleanor sat.
Applause came slowly.
Then warmly.
Dominic wanted to be angry at the manipulation.
He couldn’t.
The party continued.
At nine, most guests left.
Grace cleaned the kitchen.
Dominic entered.
“I thought you were supposed to stop working.”
“Cooking creates dishes.”
“We employ people.”
“They’re tired too.”
He picked up a towel.
Grace stared.
“What?”
“You’re drying dishes?”
“I understand the concept.”
“Do you?”
He took a plate.
Grace handed him another.
They worked quietly.
Then Dominic said, “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Today.”
“She deserved it.”
“Yes.”
Grace smiled.
“She was happy.”
Dominic looked toward the doorway.
“She was.”
He turned back.
Grace was close.
Closer than either realized.
Her hair had fallen from its clip.
Flour streaked one cheek.
The lemon apron was back.
Dominic lifted his hand.
Stopped.
Grace noticed.
“May I?”
he asked.
Her breath changed.
“Yes.”
He brushed flour from her cheek.
His fingers lingered.
Grace looked up.
Dominic had kissed women before.
Many.
Beautiful women.
Sophisticated women.
Women who understood that nothing after midnight meant anything in the morning.
This felt more dangerous.
Grace whispered, “Dominic.”
He kissed her.
Softly.
Once.
Then pulled back.
She stared.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I shouldn’t have—”
Grace grabbed his shirt and kissed him again.
That ended the apology.
His hands settled at her waist.
Careful.
Her body warm against him.
The kitchen smelled like sugar and lemon.
When they separated, both were breathing differently.
Grace touched his chest.
“This complicates things.”
“Yes.”
“I still don’t trust your family.”
“Good.”
“I’m not moving back in.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You will.”
“Possibly.”
She smiled.
Then the kitchen window shattered.
Dominic moved instinctively.
He pulled Grace down.
A bullet struck the cabinet behind them.
Security alarms erupted.
Dominic covered her body with his.
Another shot hit stone.
Then silence.
Guards flooded the room.
Luca shouted into his radio.
Dominic lifted his head.
“Grace?”
“I’m okay.”
He checked anyway.
No blood.
Then someone screamed upstairs.
Eleanor.
Dominic and Grace ran.
They found Eleanor’s room empty.
The balcony door open.
One guard unconscious.
On the floor lay Eleanor’s cane.
And beside it, a white card.
Dominic picked it up.
One sentence.
YOU TOOK MY FATHER.
I TOOK YOURS.
NOW I’LL TAKE HERS.
Matteo had Eleanor.
May you like
And Dominic discovered there was something more terrifying than losing power.
Losing the person who had taught him love before he knew what the word meant.
