Chapter 8 - THE MAN WHO STOPPED CALLING
Dominic disappeared from our lives three weeks after Lily came home.
Not literally.
His security people remained until Caruso’s network was fully dismantled.
Rocco called twice a week.
Police updates came.
Dominic sent Lily a replacement rabbit because Mr. Buttons had lost an eye during the kidnapping.
She rejected it immediately.
“Mr. Buttons has character.”
I agreed.
The new rabbit sat insulted on a shelf.
But Dominic himself stopped calling.
At first I thought he was busy.
Then I understood.
He was avoiding us.
Lily noticed before I admitted it.
“Mr. Dominic mad?”
“No.”
“Then why he gone?”
I stirred macaroni.
“He has work.”
“He always has work.”
Five years old and already inconveniently logical.
I had returned to St. Catherine’s.
Warren Pierce’s arrest sent shockwaves through the hospital.
Administration apologized publicly.
Privately, everything became lawyers and reviews.
Grace cried the first time she saw me.
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“The date.”
I almost laughed.
“You didn’t arrange a kidnapping.”
“I put you near Dominic.”
“Grace.”
“I thought he needed someone normal.”
“Insulting to both of us.”
She smiled through tears.
Then her face turned careful.
“You know he asked me about you for six months before I convinced you to go.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Not romantically.”
“That distinction should come faster.”
“Dominic donated to the trauma unit. He saw you at a fundraiser once.”
“I never met him.”
“You yelled at a hospital administrator because a patient’s family couldn’t get an interpreter.”
My face warmed.
“He remembered.”
“That is deeply unsettling.”
“Then when I told him you were single—”
“You told a mafia boss my relationship status?”
“He was becoming less mafia-ish.”
“That is not a category.”
Grace shrugged.
“He asked if you'd have coffee.”
“You arranged Beluchi.”
“Yes.”
I leaned against the counter.
“He wanted the date.”
“Yes.”
That somehow hurt more.
Because then disappearing had also been a choice.
That evening Lily found me staring at my phone.
“Call him.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I have dignity.”
“What’s dignity?”
“A poor excuse, apparently.”
She handed me the phone.
I didn’t call.
I went to see him.
Dominic had moved from his old Manhattan residence to a townhouse near Riverside Drive.
Rocco opened the door.
He smiled immediately.
“Finally.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I owe Matteo fifty dollars.”
“You bet on me?”
“Timing only.”
“Where is he?”
“Study.”
I walked in without waiting.
Dominic stood near a desk covered in paperwork.
No jacket.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
He looked tired.
And relieved.
Then he hid the relief.
“Claire.”
“Three weeks.”
He blinked.
“Yes.”
“You can count.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
He looked toward Rocco.
Rocco disappeared immediately.
Coward.
Dominic sat.
I remained standing.
“I thought distance was appropriate.”
“Why?”
“You and Lily need normal.”
I stared.
“That sentence irritates me on multiple levels.”
“I expected that.”
“You decided what Lily needs.”
“No.”
“You decided what I need.”
His jaw tightened.
“I decided what I can offer.”
“Same problem.”
He stood.
“Claire, my life has been violence, surveillance, enemies, obligations—”
“And now?”
Silence.
“I’m changing it.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what remains afterward.”
“Then neither do I.”
He looked at me.
“That’s my point.”
“No. Your point is that you are frightened.”
His expression changed.
“Of what?”
I almost laughed.
“Me.”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“No.”
“Wanting us.”
Silence.
There.
I stepped closer.
“You think if you decide we deserve someone safer, you never have to ask whether we might choose you.”
Dominic looked away.
I lowered my voice.
“Adam made decisions for me too.”
He turned sharply.
“I am not Adam.”
“No.”
My eyes burned.
“He hid danger because he loved me. He thought not telling me was protection.”
Dominic understood.
“Claire.”
“I loved him. I still do.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t want another man deciding which truths I can handle.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“You’re right.”
“I know.”
That made him laugh.
A small one.
I smiled.
Then he asked:
“What do you want?”
There it was.
A choice.
Mine.
“I want you to come to Lily’s school concert Friday.”
His face softened.
“That’s what you came here to say?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“I want dinner.”
His eyes changed.
“A date?”
“A real one.”
“At Beluchi?”
“Absolutely not. The track record is terrible.”
He smiled.
“Anywhere you want.”
“And no bodyguards at the next table.”
“Across the street?”
“Dominic.”
“Compromise.”
I laughed.
Then the room became quiet.
He stepped toward me.
Stopped.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
Every strange thing about the last months compressed into that question.
Dominic Moretti.
A man once feared because people believed he took whatever he wanted.
Asking.
Waiting.
I said yes.
The kiss was gentle.
Almost cautious.
That surprised me.
Then I remembered caution was not weakness.
Sometimes it was respect.
When I got home, Lily was waiting with Grace.
She took one look at my face.
“You kissed him.”
I nearly dropped my purse.
“What?”
Grace covered her mouth.
Lily smiled smugly.
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The happy one.”
I looked at Grace.
“Your generation is responsible for privacy being extinct.”
Friday night, Dominic sat in the third row at Lily’s school auditorium.
No black suit.
No visible security.
Just a navy sweater and the old gold watch that had belonged to his father.
Lily came onto the stage dressed as a moon.
She forgot half her song.
Waved at us during the quiet part.
Then tripped over another moon.
Dominic applauded like she had performed at Carnegie Hall.
Afterward, Lily ran to him.
“Did you see?”
“Every second.”
“I messed up.”
“No.”
“I did.”
He crouched.
“Then I liked the messed-up parts too.”
She hugged him.
I looked away for a second because my eyes suddenly burned.
Dominic noticed.
Of course he did.
Later we walked outside.
Snow had begun falling lightly.
Lily held one of his hands.
I held the other.
At the curb she asked:
“Are you my mommy’s boyfriend now?”
Dominic nearly choked.
I laughed.
“I believe that requires discussion.”
Lily looked at me.
“Discuss fast.”
Dominic smiled.
“I’ll do my best.”
And he did.
For the next year, Dominic never rushed us.
He came to dinners.
School events.
Flu days.
One catastrophic kindergarten bake sale.
He learned how Lily liked her toast.
He learned I needed fifteen quiet minutes after bad ER shifts.
He never tried to replace Adam.
That may have been the reason there was eventually room for him.
Meanwhile, the name Moretti changed too.
Dominic sold businesses tied to illegal operations.
Cooperated with investigators.
Closed accounts.
Cut men loose.
Invested what remained in construction, restaurants, logistics, and a hospital violence-intervention program.
People still whispered when he entered rooms.
But fewer whispered mafia boss.
More said businessman.
Lily called him something else.
Mr. Dominic became Dom.
Then one night, without ceremony:
“Can I call you Daddy Dom?”
Dominic froze.
I did too.
He crouched.
“You can call me anything that feels right.”
Lily nodded.
“Okay, Daddy Dom.”
Then went back to coloring.
Dominic walked into the kitchen.
I followed.
He stood facing the sink.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I smiled.
“Good no?”
He nodded.
Then covered his face.
May you like
I wrapped both arms around him.
And for the first time since Adam died, I understood that a family could grow around grief without erasing the people who came before.
