Chapter 6 - THE FIRST NIGHT DOMINIC STAYED HOME ALONE WITH HIS SON
Dominic canceled our second date.
Not because of business.
Antonio had a fever.
He texted:
100.5. PEDIATRICIAN SAYS WATCH AND RECHECK IN AN HOUR.
Then three minutes later:
SHOULD I GO TO ER?
Then:
HE SNEEZED.
I called.
“Dominic.”
“He sneezed twice.”
“Children do that.”
“He’s premature.”
“His pediatrician told you what to do.”
“What if he’s wrong?”
“Then you call again.”
“I did.”
I closed my eyes.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic.”
“I’m not apologizing.”
I almost laughed.
“Send me a photo of the thermometer.”
He did.
100.4 now.
I asked:
“Is he feeding?”
“Yes.”
“Wet diapers?”
“Yes.”
“Breathing normally?”
“I think.”
“Then follow the pediatrician’s instructions.”
A pause.
“You’re not coming?”
There it was.
I could.
My shoes were beside the door.
Bag packed.
Old instinct.
Rescue.
Then I stopped.
“No.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Because you can handle this.”
His voice changed.
“I don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“But you know babies.”
“So do you now.”
Not everything.
Enough.
I continued.
“If his symptoms change, call the doctor or emergency services.”
He exhaled.
“Claire.”
“You’re his father.”
Silence.
Then:
“Okay.”
I stayed home.
It was harder than expected.
At midnight, he sent:
99.8. ASLEEP.
I smiled.
GOOD JOB.
He replied:
THAT FEELS PATRONIZING.
IT IS.
The next morning, Antonio was fine.
Dominic looked exhausted.
Proud.
Good.
That night taught both of us something.
He did not need me to become Antonio’s mother.
I did not need to be needed to matter.
Important.
I enrolled in nursing school two weeks later.
Part-time.
First clinical rotation scheduled for pediatric medicine.
I almost changed it.
Then didn’t.
On the first morning, my hands shook so badly I dropped my pen.
My instructor, Carla James, noticed.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Good answer.
I told her enough.
Not everything.
She said:
“If you need to step out, step out.”
“I don’t want special treatment.”
“That isn’t special treatment.”
“What is it?”
“Knowing your limits before a patient has to.”
I liked her.
I stayed.
The first infant I held was eight months old.
Not Leo’s age.
Still hard.
I cried in my car afterward.
Then returned the next day.
Dominic never told me he was proud unless I brought up school first.
That was deliberate.
He did not want his approval to become pressure.
I noticed.
Our dates continued.
Diner.
Lakefront walk.
Museum after closing hours—he knew a trustee, which annoyed me.
I made him attend during normal public hours next time.
He complained about crowds.
Excellent.
Caterina remained cautious with me.
Not hostile.
Observing.
One Sunday, she invited me for dinner.
I said yes.
Then regretted it immediately.
Moretti family dinner included twenty-three people.
Children running.
Old women yelling.
Pasta for fifty.
Far less sinister than expected.
Francesca sat beside me.
“Dominic says you don’t like being told what to do.”
“Does anyone?”
She laughed.
“In this family? Everyone except him.”
Dominic overheard.
“I’m sitting here.”
“That’s why I said it.”
Caterina watched.
Then asked me:
“Do you want children?”
The table went silent.
I froze.
Dominic’s face hardened.
“Ma.”
I raised a hand.
“No.”
He stopped.
Good.
I looked at Caterina.
“I don’t know.”
She seemed surprised.
Not by answer.
By directness.
“I had one.”
“I know.”
“He died.”
“Yes.”
“And I have no idea what I’ll want later.”
Caterina nodded.
“That is fair.”
Then she said:
“You love Antonio?”
My stomach tightened.
Dominic looked furious now.
I answered carefully.
“I care about him very much.”
Not mother.
Not replacement.
Good.
Caterina nodded.
“That’s enough.”
Interesting.
After dinner she asked to speak privately.
I almost laughed at the family habit.
But agreed.
She stood in the kitchen drying plates.
“I treated Lucia badly sometimes.”
That surprised me.
“Why tell me?”
“Because I don’t want to do it again.”
I listened.
“She was independent.”
Caterina smiled sadly.
“So are you.”
“She did not need my permission.”
“Neither do I.”
“I know.”
Good.
She continued.
“I thought being older meant knowing better.”
“Sometimes.”
“Not always.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Dominic loved her.”
“I know.”
“Very much.”
“I know.”
“You don’t mind hearing that?”
I considered.
“No.”
Good answer.
“She should not disappear because I’m here.”
Caterina’s eyes filled.
Then:
“Thank you.”
That conversation changed our relationship.
Not instantly.
But enough.
Months passed.
Antonio gained weight.
His reflux improved.
He laughed.
First at Caterina.
Then Dominic.
Then me.
Dominic took offense that he was second.
I enjoyed it.
At six months, Antonio sat with support.
At seven, crawled backward and became furious.
At eight, called everything “Da.”
Dominic claimed victory.
I explained it was normal babbling.
He ignored science.
Meanwhile, the Moretti organization changed.
Quietly at first.
Dominic sold two gambling operations.
Closed a protection arrangement tied to several restaurants.
Replaced cash-only business with legal contracts where possible.
I asked why.
He said:
“Lucia wanted it.”
I frowned.
“That can’t be the whole reason.”
He thought.
“No.”
Then:
“I want Antonio to inherit something I can explain to him.”
Better.
“Can you explain everything you’ve done?”
His face darkened.
“No.”
Honest.
“Do you plan to?”
“When he’s old enough?”
“Yes.”
“As much as I can.”
Good.
I asked:
“Have you killed people?”
The question stopped everything.
We were sitting in his kitchen.
Antonio asleep.
Rain outside.
Dominic looked at me for a long time.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
That was worse.
“Directly?”
“Some.”
I looked away.
There it was.
The part romance could not soften.
He did not reach for me.
Did not explain.
Good.
Finally:
“If that ends this, I understand.”
I looked at him.
“Do you regret it?”
“Some.”
Not all.
Honest again.
That scared me more than a rehearsed redemption speech.
“What about the ones you don’t regret?”
“People who would have killed my family.”
I stared.
“I know that doesn’t make it lawful.”
“No.”
“Or right by your standards.”
“No.”
Silence.
I said:
“I need time.”
He nodded.
No argument.
For three weeks, I did not see him outside Antonio visits.
Then I reduced those too.
I needed separation.
To know whether affection for a baby had pulled me into accepting a man I would otherwise fear.
Dominic respected it.
Mostly.
He sent no flowers.
No gifts.
One text every few days:
ANTONIO STOOD FOR THREE SECONDS AND FELL INTO LAUNDRY BASKET.
Or:
HE ATE PAPER. WHY?
That made me laugh.
But I did not confuse humor with moral resolution.
Then something happened that changed my view.
Dominic testified.
Not publicly at first.
To a federal task force investigating old Moretti operations connected to his father.
He gave information.
Names.
Financial records.
Illegal businesses.
His attorney negotiated exposure.
Some cases were too old.
Others not.
Dominic did not emerge clean.
He paid enormous forfeitures.
Closed companies.
Entered a cooperation agreement related to financial offenses for which he accepted responsibility.
No magical immunity.
No hero treatment.
The news hit Chicago hard.
“Moretti Turns.”
“Crime Boss Goes Legit.”
“Family Empire Fractures.”
I hated the headlines.
Reality was messier.
Dominic did not become good because he loved me.
He had a son.
A dead wife’s words.
A brother? In this version no brother. Avoid. He had family consequences.
And he decided the inheritance had to stop somewhere.
One night he called.
“Can I see you?”
I said yes.
He came to my apartment.
No bodyguards inside.
He stood near the door.
“I don’t expect this to change your answer.”
“What answer?”
“About me.”
I waited.
He continued.
“I told investigators everything my lawyer said I safely could.”
“That sounds lawyerly.”
“It is.”
“Why?”
He looked down.
“Because when Antonio was sick, everyone lied because they were afraid.”
I listened.
“My entire life is built on that.”
His voice tightened.
“I don’t want his to be.”
There.
The thread.
Not romantic redemption.
Parental responsibility.
“I may still lose businesses.”
“Yes.”
“People hate me.”
“Probably.”
“I might face charges if new evidence emerges.”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly.
“You’re very comforting.”
“I’m a nursing student, not a priest.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“Do you still need time?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
He turned toward the door.
I stopped him.
“Dominic.”
He looked back.
I walked closer.
Then kissed him.
Briefly.
His entire face changed.
“That is confusing.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
I continued:
“I still need time.”
“Understood.”
“And one kiss is not absolution.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He almost laughed.
“Understood.”
Better.
He left.
For once, nobody in my life needed me to decide everything immediately.
May you like
That felt like freedom.
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