Chapter 2 - THE FIVE YEARS ELENA STOLE BACK
“Elena.”
Her name sounded strange in Dominic’s mouth after five years.
Not unfamiliar.
Worse.
Familiar enough to hurt.
Elena’s fingers tightened around the green door.
Lily, completely unaware of what had just happened between the two adults, stepped inside and began removing her wet red coat.
“Mama, he knows you.”
Elena finally looked down.
“Lily.”
There was fear in her voice.
Dominic heard it immediately.
The little girl did too.
“What?”
“Go wash your hands.”
“But—”
“Please.”
Lily looked between them, then hugged the ragged rabbit against her chest.
“Okay.”
She disappeared down the narrow hallway.
Neither adult spoke until a faucet began running somewhere in the apartment.
Then Elena whispered:
“You need to leave.”
Dominic stared at her.
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“You do not come to my door after five years and say no to me.”
“You disappeared.”
“I survived.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It was for me.”
Rain tapped softly against the awning above them.
Dominic looked past her.
The apartment was small.
One bedroom, perhaps two.
A secondhand sofa.
Children’s drawings taped carefully to the wall.
A sewing machine near the window.
An inhaler on the kitchen counter.
A stack of envelopes held beneath a chipped ceramic mug.
Overdue notices.
He saw all of it in seconds.
Elena noticed him seeing it.
“Do not.”
“What?”
“Look around like you’re calculating how much everything costs.”
His jaw tightened.
“I wasn’t.”
“You always calculate.”
“Not this.”
“Especially this.”
Dominic’s eyes returned to her face.
She had changed.
Thinner.
Older in ways five years should not have made her.
A faint tiredness beneath her eyes.
The left wrist scar was still there.
Everything else about her felt like evidence of a life he had not been allowed to witness.
“Is Lily mine?”
The question came quietly.
Elena went completely still.
Dominic’s chest tightened.
That silence was an answer.
But he needed words.
“Elena.”
“You do not get to walk into her life because a photograph fell out of your wallet.”
“I asked you a question.”
“And I am telling you she is not a problem you solve.”
“I didn’t call her one.”
“You don’t have to.”
Her eyes filled.
“You solve everything.”
“Not you.”
That stopped her.
For one second, neither of them moved.
Then Dominic repeated:
“Is she mine?”
Elena looked toward the hallway.
The water stopped running.
She lowered her voice.
“Yes.”
Dominic forgot how to breathe.
One word.
Three letters.
Five years.
He looked toward the hall where his daughter was washing her hands because her mother told her to.
His daughter.
The thought did not fit inside him.
“Why?”
Elena’s face changed.
“You have no idea how much I hate that question.”
“I deserve an answer.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You deserve the truth. That is not the same as deserving forgiveness.”
“Fine.”
“Your father found out.”
Dominic froze.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
Vittorio Moretti had been dead for three years.
In life, he had been feared in Brooklyn, respected in Manhattan, and hated in places where his influence reached before his name did.
He had never approved of Elena.
Dominic knew that.
He had not known how far that disapproval went.
Elena crossed her arms over herself.
“I was nine weeks pregnant.”
Dominic’s eyes closed briefly.
Nine weeks.
He had been there.
He had slept beside her.
Held her.
Talked about buying a place outside the city where no Moretti business could reach.
And she had been carrying Lily.
“He came to my apartment.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Elena hesitated.
“Your uncle Cesare.”
Dominic opened his eyes.
Cesare Moretti.
His father’s younger brother.
Family consigliere then.
Senior adviser now.
One of the three men Dominic trusted with access to almost everything.
“What did they want?”
“For me to disappear.”
Dominic’s face hardened.
“And you listened?”
She laughed once.
A wounded sound.
“They showed me photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“You.”
She swallowed.
“With Victoria Hale.”
Dominic frowned.
Victoria.
Daughter of a senator.
A woman Vittorio once wanted Dominic to marry.
“Elena, I never—”
“I know that now.”
He stopped.
She continued.
“Your father told me the engagement was already arranged.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“He lied.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
Elena’s eyes became wet.
“He played me a recording.”
Dominic felt cold.
“Of what?”
“Your voice.”
“What did I say?”
She looked directly at him.
“That if I became a liability, they should handle it.”
His stomach dropped.
“I never said that about you.”
“I know.”
“Where did he get the recording?”
“I don’t know.”
Dominic did.
Pieces of conversations.
Edited.
Spliced.
His father had used such methods before.
Never against him.
Or so Dominic had thought.
Elena continued.
“I still didn’t believe him.”
“Then why leave?”
Her face crumpled.
“Because he told me about the baby.”
Dominic stared.
“You told him?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“Your doctor.”
Silence.
Elena had visited a private Moretti physician after fainting during dinner.
Dominic remembered.
The doctor said exhaustion.
Nothing more.
His father had bought the rest.
Elena whispered:
“Vittorio told me if I stayed, my child would become part of your world before she ever had a choice.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“And Cesare?”
“Was worse.”
“What did he say?”
“That babies are useful.”
The words changed Dominic’s face.
“He said enemies watch cradles.”
Elena’s voice broke.
“He said if I truly loved you, I would leave before your enemies knew you had something worth taking.”
Dominic looked away.
Because that part contained enough truth to be dangerous.
His world had used family exactly that way.
His father had made sure Elena understood it.
“He gave you money?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“I didn’t keep it.”
“What did you do?”
“I used enough to leave New York.”
“And the rest?”
“Gave it to a women’s shelter in Philadelphia.”
Something like disbelief crossed his face.
“You donated my father’s money?”
“I hated him.”
Despite everything, Dominic almost smiled.
That was Elena.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Why didn’t you contact me after he died?”
“I tried before he died.”
“What?”
She walked toward a small cabinet.
Opened it.
Removed a box.
Inside were letters.
Dozens.
All returned.
DOMINIC MORETTI.
Greystone address.
Office address.
A Manhattan apartment Dominic had once owned.
Each stamped:
UNDELIVERABLE.
REFUSED.
RETURN TO SENDER.
Dominic picked up the first.
His hands went cold.
“Who intercepted these?”
Elena looked at him.
“That is what I want to know.”
He opened one.
The date was five years earlier.
Dominic,
I don’t know what your father told you. I don’t know what parts of what he showed me were real. I am pregnant. If you want nothing to do with us, tell me yourself. I will believe it if it comes from you.
His hand began shaking.
He opened another.
Lily is three months old. She has your eyes when she’s angry.
Another.
She said “mama” today.
Another.
I saw your father died. I am sorry. I thought maybe now you would answer.
Dominic could not continue.
He placed the letters down.
“I never received one.”
“I figured that out eventually.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“How?”
“I sent one certified.”
She pulled out a receipt.
Signed for.
C. MORETTI.
Dominic stared.
Cesare.
His uncle.
Elena’s voice turned cold.
“He signed for it.”
Dominic looked toward the hallway.
Lily appeared there.
Clean hands.
Rabbit tucked beneath one arm.
“Mama?”
Elena immediately wiped her face.
“Yes, baby?”
“Can I have crackers?”
“Of course.”
Lily walked to the cabinet.
Dominic watched every movement.
She climbed onto a small stool.
Reached for a chipped plate.
Her hair fell across her face.
His daughter.
Five years of first words.
Fevers.
Birthdays.
Nightmares.
Rainy walks.
All gone.
Not because Elena chose to keep him away.
Because his family did.
Lily turned.
“Do you want crackers?”
Dominic almost broke.
“Yes.”
She put three on a plate.
Then reconsidered.
Added two more.
“You’re big.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Dominic crouched when Lily approached.
She handed him the plate.
“Thank you.”
“You know my mama from the picture?”
“Yes.”
“Were you friends?”
Elena’s eyes found his.
Dominic chose carefully.
“We were very close.”
Lily smiled.
“Mommy says close friends come back.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Dominic felt the sentence enter somewhere nothing armored could stop it.
Then headlights swept across the window.
A black sedan stopped outside.
Dominic stood.
Bruno exited first.
But another man stepped from the rear passenger door.
Silver hair.
Perfect charcoal overcoat.
Cesare Moretti.
Elena went pale.
Dominic looked through the glass.
His uncle stared up at the apartment.
Not surprised.
Not confused.
He knew exactly where he was.
And exactly who lived behind the green door.
Dominic put down the plate.
“Lock it.”
Elena stared at him.
“What?”
“The door.”
“Dominic—”
“Please.”
That word made her move.
She locked it.
Outside, Cesare climbed the steps.
Then knocked three times.
May you like
Calmly.
Like a man who had been waiting five years for a problem to return.
