Chapter 8 - THE LIFE THAT COST LESS THAN THE OLD ONE
Nursing school was worse the second time.
Not academically.
I remembered more than expected.
The problem was time.
Classes.
Clinical rotations.
Diner shifts.
Studying.
Lily and Grace appearing at my apartment with snacks because Dominic believed “study support” did not count as interfering.
It absolutely counted.
I allowed it.
Dominic and I dated slowly.
Very slowly.
Our first dinner lasted three hours.
Not because it was romantic.
Because Grace called six times.
The first:
“Daddy, Lily stole my charger.”
The second:
“Daddy, Lily says your security code.”
The third:
“Daddy, Mrs. Alvarez says stop calling.”
By the sixth call, I was laughing so hard I cried.
Dominic looked offended.
“You find my suffering entertaining.”
“Yes.”
Our second date was interrupted by Julian because a shipping contract had collapsed.
I made Dominic turn off his phone.
He stared at me.
“What if something happens?”
“Is anybody bleeding?”
“No.”
“Then someone else can be rich for two hours.”
He turned it off.
That mattered.
The Vale organization changed.
Not overnight.
Dominic sold several illegal gambling operations.
Closed protection rackets.
Cut relationships that had existed since his father’s time.
Some men left.
Others resisted.
There were threats.
But Gabriel’s conspiracy had taught Dominic something power rarely teaches voluntarily.
The empire could eat his family.
So he made it smaller.
Vale Atlantic remained enormous.
Shipping.
Logistics.
Warehouses.
Construction.
All legitimate enough that federal auditors eventually stopped occupying conference rooms.
Dominic joked that legal businesses required more paperwork than crime.
I told him that was justice.
Nathan Reed resigned from security.
Not because Dominic fired him.
Because Reed could not forgive himself for giving up the girls’ route.
Dominic offered him a position in corporate logistics.
No weapons.
No child protection.
Reed accepted.
Noah recovered and returned to college.
Lily sent him drawings.
Grace mailed cookies.
Gabriel eventually received multiple life sentences.
Vincent accepted a plea agreement and disappeared into federal prison.
None of that brought Sophia back.
But the girls finally knew the truth.
The seven-year-old version.
Their mother had been brave.
She wanted a safer life.
A cruel man made a terrible decision.
She loved them until the end.
Dominic cried when he told them.
So did I.
One year after the diner, Grace asked if we could visit the alley.
Dominic hated the idea.
Therapist approved it.
So we went.
The dumpster remained.
The broken pallets were gone.
Snow covered the asphalt lightly.
Grace stood beside me.
“I was there?”
“Yes.”
“Behind that?”
“Yes.”
Lily frowned.
“It was bigger.”
“You were smaller.”
Dominic stood behind us.
He looked sick.
Grace took his hand.
“You found us.”
He looked at me.
“Emily found you.”
Grace nodded.
“Then Daddy found Emily.”
Children.
Always reducing life to unbearable truths.
By my final semester, I worked fewer diner shifts.
Clinical rotations became intense.
One evening, I came home at eleven and found Dominic asleep on my couch.
Lily and Grace slept in my bed.
I stared.
He opened one eye.
“Before you yell—”
“Why are you here?”
“Pipe burst at the estate.”
“You own hotels.”
“They wanted you.”
My heart betrayed me.
“That is manipulation.”
“Yes.”
At least he was honest.
I sat beside him.
He looked at my scrubs.
“Bad shift?”
“A child coded.”
His expression changed.
“Did they—”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“Six-year-old. Asthma attack.”
Dominic sat up.
“What happened?”
“We got him back.”
I covered my face.
For ten hours I had been fine.
Professional.
Focused.
Then home.
And suddenly shaking.
Dominic did not touch me immediately.
He waited.
“Can I?”
I nodded.
He pulled me against him.
I cried.
Ugly crying.
He said nothing.
That was perfect.
Eventually I whispered, “This is why I left school.”
“Because children get sick?”
“Because Mom died.”
I had never told him the whole thing.
“I was in clinicals while she was declining.”
My voice shook.
“I missed a call.”
Dominic tightened his arms.
“She died before I reached the hospital.”
“Emily.”
“I told myself I chose school over her.”
“No.”
“I know that intellectually.”
“But?”
“It still feels true.”
He understood.
Of course he did.
Sophia.
The last fight.
Grief is irrational because love is.
“Your mom knew you loved her.”
I cried harder.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He rested his cheek against my hair.
“But I know dying people usually remember love better than scheduling mistakes.”
That sounded like therapy.
“You stole that from Dr. Rosen.”
“Maybe.”
I laughed against his shirt.
A month later, I graduated.
My mother’s old anatomy notes sat inside my bag.
Lily and Grace screamed louder than anyone when my name was called.
Dominic stood.
Actually stood.
The announcer had to pause because the girls would not stop cheering.
I became a registered nurse six weeks later.
Pediatric emergency department.
Children’s Harbor.
The same hospital where Grace recovered.
The first paycheck made me cry almost as much as graduation.
I paid my own rent.
Bought detergent without calculating loads.
Small luxuries.
Dominic never mocked that.
One night, after a shift, he took me to the lake house.
No guards nearby.
Or at least none visible.
Dinner waited.
I narrowed my eyes.
“What are you planning?”
“Nothing.”
“Suspicious.”
He handed me a key.
I stared.
“Absolutely not.”
“It is not a house.”
“What?”
“Office.”
I looked at the key.
Vale Community Health Initiative.
“You need medical advisors.”
“Yes.”
“You have doctors.”
“They are annoying.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“Exactly.”
“What are you offering?”
“Part-time clinical advisory position.”
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?”
“I just started nursing.”
“Fine.”
He took the key back.
I stared.
“That’s it?”
“You said no.”
This man.
This impossible, terrifying man had finally learned.
I smiled.
“Ask me in two years.”
“Okay.”
No pressure.
No purchase.
Choice.
I kissed him first.
It was the first time.
Dominic froze for half a second.
Then kissed me back.
When we separated, he looked almost stunned.
“That was unexpected.”
“Good.”
“I like unexpected.”
“I noticed.”
He touched my face carefully.
“Emily.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
My heart stopped.
He continued before I could respond.
“You do not have to say it.”
Good.
Because I was crying again.
“I hate how often you make me cry.”
“I can stop talking.”
“Probably wise.”
He smiled.
I touched his coat.
May you like
“I love you too.”
The terrifying Dominic Vale looked more frightened by those words than by any gun I had ever seen pointed toward him.
