Chapter 8 - THE LAST PERSON WE FORGOT TO WATCH
Ethan had not been kidnapped.
That was the first good news.
The second was that Lily had followed him.
Neither fact improved Dominic’s mood.
The children were found fifteen minutes later inside Isabella’s old greenhouse at the edge of the estate grounds.
Ethan sat on the floor.
Lily sat beside him.
Between them was a photograph of Isabella before the accident.
When Dominic entered, Ethan looked up.
“Is she really my mom?”
The question broke every adult in the room.
Dominic crouched.
“Yes.”
“You said she died.”
“I believed she did.”
“You buried her.”
“Yes.”
“So who did we bury?”
Dominic swallowed.
“Someone else.”
Ethan looked angry.
More than angry.
Betrayed.
“Everybody lies.”
“No.”
“Grandpa Sal lied.”
“Yes.”
“Aunt Victoria lied about Thomas.”
“She was afraid.”
“Dr. Harris lied.”
“Yes.”
“You lied.”
Dominic’s face tightened.
“I told you what I believed was true.”
“That’s still not true.”
Children have no mercy for technical distinctions.
Ethan’s eyes filled.
“Mom was alive this whole time and nobody found her.”
Dominic sat on the greenhouse floor.
One of the most powerful men in New York, sitting among potting soil and broken flowerpots because his son would not come closer.
“I failed.”
Silence.
I looked at Dominic.
He did not soften it.
Did not say he had done his best.
Did not blame Salvatore.
“I failed to find her.”
Ethan started crying.
Dominic continued.
“But I never stopped loving her.”
“Why didn’t she come home?”
“She couldn’t.”
“Does she love me?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when she woke up properly, the first thing she asked was whether you still hated broccoli.”
Ethan’s face changed.
He hated broccoli passionately.
“She remembers?”
“Everything about you before the accident.”
Ethan wiped his face.
Then Lily pushed him.
“Go hug your dad.”
Ethan glared.
“Don’t push me.”
“You’re taking too long.”
I closed my eyes.
My daughter was going to get us all killed eventually.
Ethan stood.
Then crossed the small distance.
Dominic caught him.
Father and son held each other while Lily climbed onto my lap.
“Can we have pancakes?”
I laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
Life after the arrests did not become simple.
Salvatore and Daniel were indicted on enough charges to guarantee neither would return to the estate.
Dr. Harris accepted responsibility for replacing the EpiPens and agreed to testify.
Dominic refused to let him near Ethan again.
Victoria began rebuilding a relationship with Thomas, who received reduced charges for cooperating and because he had not known about the poisoning plan.
Matteo returned as security chief.
This time with independent oversight Dominic had once considered insulting.
And Isabella came home.
Not to the mansion.
Not immediately.
She spent months in rehabilitation.
Physical therapy.
Trauma treatment.
Memory work.
Ethan visited every day.
Dominic visited too.
I did not ask what happened between them.
Isabella was his wife.
At least legally.
That complicated something I had barely allowed myself to admit existed.
For weeks after the freight terminal, Dominic and I avoided discussing the moment when he said he could not afford to lose me.
That was fine.
I had Lily.
My work.
A household recovering from attempted murder.
Plenty to do.
Then one afternoon, Isabella asked to see me.
Alone.
I entered her rehabilitation room expecting awkwardness.
She smiled.
Scars traced the left side of her neck.
Her voice remained soft from years of medication.
“Elena.”
“Mrs. Moretti.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
I sat.
She studied me.
“You’ve raised my son.”
“No.”
“I kept his home running.”
“You raised parts of him I missed.”
My eyes burned.
“That wasn’t my place.”
“It became your place because I wasn’t there.”
She looked toward the window.
“I don’t know what my marriage to Dominic is now.”
I said nothing.
“I love him.”
My stomach tightened.
“But I don’t know if I love the man he is today.”
Fair.
“He loves you,” I said.
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“And he loves you.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
Isabella smiled faintly.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I work for him.”
“That may be the least romantic defense I’ve ever heard.”
I looked away.
“You survived four years of hell. I am not discussing—”
“Elena.”
Her voice strengthened.
“I did not survive Salvatore so the women around Dominic could continue living according to what powerful men expect.”
That silenced me.
“I’m not giving you permission.”
She smiled sadly.
“I don’t own him.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good.”
She took a breath.
“Dominic and I are going to divorce.”
My eyes widened.
“Not because of you.”
She said it immediately.
“Because the people who went into that marriage died four years ago.”
That hurt in a way I had not expected.
“We have Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll always have Ethan.”
She looked at her hands.
“But I spent four years dreaming about getting my life back.”
Her eyes lifted.
“I realized recently I don’t want the old life.”
“What do you want?”
“To study.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Psychology.”
She laughed.
“I always wanted to. My father told me Rossi women married. They didn’t work.”
For the first time, I saw the woman beneath the Moretti name.
“I want an apartment.”
“Where?”
“Brooklyn.”
I smiled.
“Dominic will hate that.”
“I know.”
“He’ll send twelve guards.”
“I negotiated two.”
I laughed.
Then Isabella became serious.
“You saved Ethan.”
“Lily did.”
“You raised Lily to trust what she saw even when every adult in the room was telling her to behave.”
That was one of the kindest things anyone had ever said to me.
“Thank you.”
Months passed.
Isabella moved to Brooklyn.
She and Dominic divorced quietly.
Not bitterly.
Ethan divided his time.
Therapy helped.
Time helped more.
I eventually resigned.
Dominic stared at the letter for almost a minute.
“No.”
I folded my arms.
“That is not how resignation works.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve worked in this house six years.”
“Why?”
Because I loved him.
Because I needed to know whether he saw me as Elena or as the woman who made his house function.
Because I did not want Lily growing up inside armed gates forever.
“Because I want something that belongs to me.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“I’m opening a household management consultancy.”
“You hate consultants.”
“I hate bad consultants.”
“Where?”
“White Plains.”
“How are you funding it?”
“My savings.”
He looked offended.
“I can invest.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
Then something happened I did not expect.
He nodded.
“All right.”
No argument.
No command.
No buying the building before I could.
Just—
“All right.”
That mattered more than money.
On my last day, Ethan hugged me so hard I could barely breathe.
“You’re not leaving me.”
“No.”
“You’re leaving Dad.”
Dominic coughed.
I glared at Ethan.
“I am leaving my job.”
Lily nodded wisely.
“Mommy says your daddy is annoying.”
“Lily!”
Dominic looked delighted.
“Does she?”
“Sometimes.”
I covered my face.
Then Dominic crouched in front of Lily.
“Will you still visit?”
She considered him.
“Do you have cake?”
His smile disappeared for half a second.
Then he laughed.
“Yes.”
“Safe cake?”
“Very safe cake.”
“Okay.”
That evening, as Lily and I drove away from the Moretti estate, I looked in the mirror.
Dominic stood beside Ethan at the gate.
For six years, that mansion had been my workplace.
Then it became a battlefield.
Then something dangerously close to home.
But I did not want to stay because danger had forced us together.
If Dominic Moretti ever chose me, I needed him to do it after I was free to leave.
May you like
And if I ever chose him, I needed to know I was walking back through those gates because I wanted to.
Not because anyone needed their beds made.
