Chapter 5 - IF I WASN’T HERE, NOBODY WOULD FIGHT
By noon, Emma knew something was wrong.
Dominic tried to hide it.
He failed.
There were too many men at the gates.
Too many whispered conversations.
Too many phones vibrating.
Emma watched from the kitchen while Maria made grilled cheese.
“Is Anthony coming back?”
Dominic looked up.
“No.”
“Ever?”
“I don’t know.”
She dipped the corner of her sandwich into tomato soup.
“Camille too?”
Dominic hesitated.
Emma noticed.
“You said I can ask anything.”
“You can.”
“Then answer.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Nine years old.
Already negotiating.
“Camille and I are not getting married.”
Emma stared.
“Because of me?”
“No.”
Immediate.
She looked down.
“You found everything because of me.”
“That does not make it because of you.”
“But if I stayed upstairs—”
“You didn’t have an upstairs.”
She stopped.
Dominic regretted the sharpness.
He moved closer.
“Emma.”
She looked at him.
“What happened was already happening before I came home.”
He chose each word carefully.
“You told me the truth.”
She rubbed her thumb against the soup spoon.
“Camille says truth can destroy families.”
Dominic stared.
“When did she tell you that?”
“When I said I was going to tell you about my room.”
His jaw tightened.
Emma continued.
“She said if I did, you would get angry and everything would fall apart.”
Dominic looked toward Maria.
The housekeeper’s eyes filled.
Emma whispered:
“She was right.”
Dominic’s chest tightened.
“No.”
“Daddy—”
“She was not right.”
“But you’re not marrying her.”
“That is because of choices Camille made.”
He crouched beside his daughter.
“Not because you told me.”
Emma looked unconvinced.
Then Vincent entered the kitchen.
He stopped when he saw Emma.
“Sorry.”
Dominic stood.
“What?”
Vincent glanced toward Emma.
Dominic understood.
“Office.”
Emma immediately looked worried.
Dominic touched her shoulder.
“I’ll be back.”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
He meant it.
In the office, Vincent closed the door.
“Kane has eleven men with him.”
Dominic looked unimpressed.
“He counted?”
Vincent almost laughed.
“Three more are thinking about it.”
“Let them think.”
“He’s telling them you’re compromised.”
“By what?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Family.”
Dominic stared.
“He says you came home, found your fiancée cheating and lost your head.”
Dominic walked toward the window.
“Did I?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look worried?”
“Because he’s telling people Camille was passing him information about schedules.”
“That part is true.”
“Yeah.”
Vincent lowered his voice.
“And that she knows enough to make people nervous.”
Dominic turned.
“What did she tell him?”
“We don’t know.”
That was the problem.
Camille had lived beside Dominic fourteen months.
She had heard names.
Places.
Conversations.
Not the darkest ones.
Dominic was never careless.
But enough.
“Where is she?”
“Still upstairs.”
Dominic nodded.
“Kane wants the meeting at the old social club tonight.”
“Of course he does.”
“Everybody’s going.”
Dominic looked at Vincent.
“You?”
Vincent frowned.
“Don’t insult me.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Then Marco burst into the room.
No knock.
Dominic turned immediately.
“What?”
“Emma’s gone.”
The entire world stopped.
“What?”
“Maria thought she was with you.”
Dominic was already moving.
“Where was she last?”
“Kitchen.”
“How long?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
Dominic walked faster.
Then ran.
He checked Emma’s room.
Empty.
His room.
Empty.
Laundry room.
The folded towels were still beside the machines.
Dominic stared at them.
Then saw the sweatshirt.
His old college sweatshirt.
Folded carefully on top.
His pulse jumped.
“Emma!”
Nothing.
Every person in the house started searching.
Not shouting at first.
Then louder.
Gardens.
Garage.
Pool.
Game room.
Guest rooms.
Dominic’s fear became something physical.
Heavy.
Cold.
He had survived bullets.
Prison threats.
Men twice his size coming at him in alleys.
Nothing had ever frightened him like an empty bedroom belonging to his child.
Maria ran toward him.
“She wouldn’t leave the property.”
“How do you know?”
“She doesn’t like the front gates.”
“Why?”
Maria’s face changed.
“Mr. Kane once told her dogs lived outside them.”
Dominic stared.
“There are no dogs.”
“I know.”
Another thing.
Another small cruelty he had missed.
Then Ava came running downstairs.
“I know where she is.”
Dominic turned.
“Where?”
“The old playhouse.”
“What playhouse?”
Ava pointed toward the far gardens.
“The little one near the trees.”
Dominic’s chest tightened.
Isabella had built it with Emma when she was four.
After Isabella died, Emma stopped using it.
Dominic crossed the lawn in less than a minute.
The small white playhouse stood beneath two maple trees.
Door closed.
Dominic slowed as he approached.
“Emma?”
No answer.
He opened the door.
She sat inside on the floor.
Backpack beside her.
Dinosaur pajamas underneath a winter coat.
Dominic stopped.
“What are you doing?”
Emma looked up.
Her face was wet.
“I’m leaving.”
Dominic crouched.
“No.”
“I packed.”
“I can see.”
Her backpack was barely zipped.
A stuffed rabbit stuck out of the top.
Two books.
One sneaker.
Apparently Emma’s packing skills matched her sleepwear.
Dominic’s voice softened.
“Where were you going?”
She shrugged.
“Grandma’s.”
Dominic’s mother lived in Florida.
“Emma.”
“I know it’s far.”
He almost broke.
“Why?”
She looked at the floor.
“Anthony and Camille are fighting because of me.”
“No.”
“You’re fighting Anthony because of me.”
“No.”
“Everybody keeps saying my name.”
Dominic went silent.
Because that part was true.
Emma continued.
“If I wasn’t here, nobody would fight.”
The words crushed something inside him.
He sat on the floor.
Not crouched.
Sat.
Expensive trousers against old dusty boards.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“You are not the problem.”
She wiped her nose.
“Then why was everybody happier when I stayed downstairs?”
Dominic could not answer quickly enough.
Emma noticed.
“You were gone.”
There it was.
The deepest wound.
Not Camille.
Not Kane.
Him.
Dominic looked at his daughter.
“Yes.”
She waited.
“I was gone.”
He did not defend himself.
“I trusted people I should not have trusted.”
Emma listened.
“And I thought making money and keeping dangerous people away from you was the same as being your father.”
Her eyes filled.
“It isn’t.”
“No.”
Dominic swallowed.
“It isn’t.”
Emma whispered:
“You missed my school concert.”
“I know.”
“And the science fair.”
“I know.”
“And when I had the stomach flu.”
“I was in Miami.”
“Camille said you had important things.”
Dominic looked down.
“I did.”
Then back at her.
“None of them were more important than you.”
“But you went.”
The brutal logic of children.
Dominic nodded.
“Yes.”
Emma started crying.
“So maybe you didn’t want me bothering you either.”
Dominic pulled her into his arms.
This time she did not immediately hug him back.
That hurt.
He deserved it.
“You bothered me when you were born.”
Emma sniffed.
“What?”
“You screamed for eleven straight weeks.”
She stared at him.
“You spit up on every shirt I owned.”
Her mouth twitched.
“You bit me when your first tooth came in.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Was I a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
Dominic smiled.
“Fair.”
Then he became serious.
“You have been bothering me for nine years.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I hope you bother me for the rest of my life.”
The tears came harder.
Dominic held her.
“This is your family.”
His voice broke.
“You don’t make yourself smaller to keep it.”
She finally wrapped both arms around him.
They sat there for several minutes.
Then Emma whispered:
“Are you going to hurt Anthony?”
Dominic went still.
He knew what answer the old Dominic would give.
Something vague.
Something frightening.
Something about consequences.
But his daughter was asking because violence was now part of what made her afraid she had destroyed the family.
“No.”
Emma lifted her head.
“No?”
“I’m going to stop him.”
“Same thing?”
Dominic almost smiled.
“No.”
She studied him.
“Promise?”
Dominic thought carefully.
“I promise I will not turn your birthday into something you have to be afraid to remember.”
Emma nodded.
That was good enough.
Dominic carried her back toward the house.
Halfway across the lawn, his phone rang.
Vincent.
Dominic answered.
“Yeah.”
“Kane moved the meeting.”
“Where?”
Vincent named an old Italian social club in Brooklyn.
Dominic knew it.
His father had once held meetings there.
“Seven tonight.”
Dominic looked at Emma.
“What does he think happens at seven?”
“That men choose.”
“Between us?”
“Yes.”
Dominic was quiet.
Vincent added:
“You coming?”
Dominic looked at his daughter.
Emma was watching him.
He had promised to be back for her birthday.
He had broken too many promises already.
“Yes.”
Then he corrected himself.
“But first I’m having dinner with my daughter.”
Vincent went silent.
“Dominic.”
“The meeting is at seven.”
“Yes.”
“We eat at five.”
“You’re serious.”
“I have never been more serious.”
He ended the call.
Emma looked at him.
“Who was that?”
“Uncle Vincent.”
“He’s not my uncle.”
“He’ll be devastated.”
Emma smiled.
Then:
“Can we have pizza?”
Dominic looked toward the mansion where a chef was probably preparing something that required three sauces and unnecessary parsley.
“Yes.”
“From Tony’s?”
“Yes.”
“Garlic knots?”
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re saying yes to everything because you feel guilty.”
Dominic stared.
Nine years old.
Terrifying.
“Possibly.”
Emma smiled.
“Can I get a pony?”
“No.”
“Okay. Just checking.”
For the first time since Dominic came home, he laughed.
And at five o’clock that evening, while Anthony Kane gathered men in Brooklyn to challenge one of the most feared names in New York—
Dominic Moretti sat at his kitchen table eating pepperoni pizza with his daughter.
Because Kane thought power was measured by how many men answered when you called.
May you like
Dominic was beginning to understand that sometimes power was deciding which call could wait.
---
