Chapter 10 - AT 2:17, I WAS FINALLY HOME
One year after the night I almost died, I woke at 2:16 a.m.
For a moment, instinct returned.
My heart tightened.
My hands expected to tremble.
My body remembered ice.
Trauma has a clock.
Mine had been frozen at 2:17.
I turned toward the nightstand.
2:16.
Beside me, Elena slept with one hand beneath her pillow.
She had moved into my room three months earlier.
Not because I asked.
Because one rainy Tuesday she walked in carrying two suitcases and said, “Lily thinks it’s ridiculous that we keep pretending.”
I had asked, “Pretending what?”
Elena replied, “That I don’t sleep here five nights a week anyway.”
Fair.
The clock changed.
2:17.
Nothing happened.
No violent cold.
No machines.
No poisoned medication.
No Vanessa whispering that everything would be fine.
Only rain against the windows.
Chicago beyond the glass.
And Elena breathing beside me.
I stared at the clock until it changed to 2:18.
Then I smiled.
“Are you watching the time again?”
Elena’s eyes remained closed.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I’m a respected businessman now. I don’t lie.”
She opened one eye.
“You own a trucking company.”
“Four trucking companies.”
“Congratulations.”
I kissed her forehead.
She pushed my face away.
“Sleep.”
I should have.
Instead, I went downstairs.
The mansion had changed.
Fewer guards.
More photographs.
Lily’s backpack abandoned beside a chair.
Soccer cleats near the staircase.
A ridiculous ceramic bowl she had made in art class sitting in the middle of an antique table worth more than my first apartment.
My father would have hated it.
I loved it.
Romano Capital survived.
Most of it had always been legitimate.
I sold businesses connected to old operations, closed others, and placed a compliance board over the companies I kept.
Marco transformed Romano Logistics into one of the fastest-growing freight groups in the Midwest.
He complained about government paperwork every day.
I considered that justice.
My cooperation agreement spared me prison, though not consequences.
Fines.
Asset forfeitures.
Restrictions.
Endless meetings with attorneys.
News stories calling me everything from “reformed mob heir” to “Chicago’s most improbable corporate turnaround.”
I ignored most of them.
The organization my father built fractured after Vincent’s arrest.
Some men went legitimate.
Some disappeared.
Some were arrested for crimes that had nothing to do with me.
For years, I had believed walking away would make me weak.
Instead, it exposed how much strength I had wasted protecting a throne I had never actually wanted.
I walked into the kitchen.
Someone was already there.
Lily.
She sat at the island in pajamas eating ice cream directly from the container.
I stopped.
She froze.
We stared at each other.
“What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?”
“I asked first.”
“I’m your child.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It works on Mom.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She considered.
“You can’t prove that.”
I took the spoon from her.
“Bed.”
She frowned.
Then she noticed the clock.
2:21.
“Did it happen?”
“What?”
“The bad time.”
I understood.
“No.”
“You got up.”
“Habit.”
She studied me.
“Are you scared?”
“Sometimes.”
“Still?”
“Probably always a little.”
She nodded like that made sense.
Then she climbed down from the stool.
Before leaving, she wrapped her arms around my waist.
She was getting taller.
Too quickly.
“Good night, Dad.”
My hand rested against her hair.
“Good night.”
She ran upstairs.
I remained there for a long time.
Then I noticed an envelope beneath the ice cream container.
My name was written across it.
DOMINIC.
I opened it.
Inside was a drawing.
Three stick figures.
One tall man.
One woman.
One girl.
A house.
A giant sun.
At the top, Lily had written:
MY FAMILY.
I was still staring at it when Elena entered.
“You caught her?”
“Yes.”
“I told her no ice cream after dinner.”
“She’s criminally inclined.”
Elena stared at me.
“Poor influence from the father.”
“Probably.”
She noticed the drawing.
Her expression softened.
“She made that yesterday.”
I set it on the counter carefully.
“I’m framing it.”
“You frame everything.”
“It’s evidence.”
“Of what?”
“That somebody likes me.”
Elena leaned against the island.
“I suppose two people do.”
“Only two?”
“Dr. Harris tolerates you.”
“Marco likes me.”
“Marco likes your trucks.”
I smiled.
Then I reached into the kitchen drawer.
Elena’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing?”
I removed a small velvet box.
She stared at it.
“No.”
“That isn’t usually the reaction.”
“Dominic.”
“Elena.”
“You were supposed to do this tomorrow.”
I froze.
She covered her mouth.
Then started laughing.
“You knew?”
“Lily told me.”
I closed my eyes.
Traitor.
From upstairs came a muffled shout.
“SORRY!”
Elena laughed harder.
“This family has no operational security.”
“Apparently not.”
I looked down at the ring.
For one second, memories of Vanessa flashed through my mind.
Another ring.
Another promise.
Another future built on something rotten.
Elena saw the hesitation.
Her laughter disappeared.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I don’t mean because of Lily. Or because of eight years ago. Or because you saved my life.”
“Then why?”
“Because when everything disappeared, you were still there.”
My voice dropped.
“And for the first time, staying alive became more important than being feared.”
Her eyes filled.
I opened the box.
The ring was simple.
Not small.
I was still me.
But simple by my standards.
“Elena Ramirez, I have been shot, poisoned, investigated, betrayed, kidnapped once, and forced to attend three federal compliance seminars.”
She laughed through her tears.
“The seminars were the worst.”
“By far.”
I took her hand.
“And somehow asking you this is still terrifying.”
“Good.”
“Will you marry me?”
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then she said, “I have conditions.”
I sighed.
“Of course.”
“No secret business.”
“Agreed.”
“No men with guns at parent-teacher conferences.”
“That happened once.”
“Dominic.”
“Fine.”
“No deciding things for me because you think you’re protecting me.”
I hesitated.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll work on it.”
“Acceptable.”
“And?”
“And Lily keeps my last name too.”
I smiled.
“She can have both.”
Elena nodded.
“Then yes.”
I slipped the ring onto her finger.
She kissed me.
Upstairs, something crashed.
Then Lily yelled, “IS IT DONE?”
Elena pulled away.
“Go to bed!”
“DID YOU SAY YES?”
“Yes!”
A cheer exploded from the second floor.
I laughed into Elena’s shoulder.
Six months later, we married in the garden behind the mansion.
No cathedral.
No senators.
No orchestra flown from Europe.
No five-hundred-person guest list.
Thirty-seven people attended.
Marco was my best man.
Dr. Harris drank too much champagne and told anyone willing to listen that I was medically the most irritating patient in Illinois.
Rebecca Sloan did not attend, which I considered her wedding gift.
Lily walked Elena down the aisle.
That had been her idea.
Mine too, secretly.
Elena wore a simple ivory dress.
No diamonds except her ring.
When she reached me, she whispered, “You look nervous.”
“I’m considering escape.”
“Try it.”
I smiled.
There had been a time when rooms fell silent because I entered them.
A time when powerful men lowered their voices when speaking my name.
I thought fear was proof I mattered.
I had been wrong.
Standing beneath summer lights with Elena’s hand in mine and Lily grinning between us, I discovered something far more powerful.
Being loved by people who knew exactly who I was.
Not the legend.
Not the boss.
Not the Romano name.
Me.
That night, after the guests left, the three of us sat barefoot beside the lake eating leftover wedding cake.
At 2:16 a.m., Lily pointed dramatically toward my watch.
“Almost time.”
Elena smiled.
I looked at the numbers.
2:17.
One year earlier, that minute had belonged to Vanessa.
To Vincent.
To poison.
To fear.
Now Lily shoved frosting onto my nose.
Elena laughed.
And I realized the memory no longer owned me.
I wrapped one arm around my wife.
The other around my daughter.
Chicago glittered beyond the water.
My old empire was gone.
Anthony’s name had been cleared.
Mateo Ramirez was publicly recognized as the man who had discovered Vincent’s betrayal.
Lily was safe.
Elena was home.
And I was alive.
Not feared.
Not untouchable.
Not invincible.
Just alive.
For the first time, that was enough.
At 2:18 a.m., my daughter rested her head against my shoulder.
May you like
At 2:19, Elena took my hand.
And at 2:20, I stopped looking at the clock.
