Chapter 4 - The Midnight Confession
Before Dominic could process the absurdity of a rubber duck sitting on his medical equipment, a soft, frantic gasp echoed from the doorway.
“Maya!”
Elena stood in the frame of the study door, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her apron. She had clearly run all the way up the three flights of stairs without stopping. Her hair was half-unpinned, and her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.
She looked from Dominic—sitting behind his dark desk with the shadow of a gun still lingering in the air of the room—down to her daughter standing beside the wheelchair.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Moretti,” Elena stammered, her voice shaking with a terror that had nothing to do with the estate rules and everything to do with the legends surrounding the man who owned it. “She slipped past the pantry door when the delivery boy brought the flour sacks. I turned around for two seconds—just two seconds—”
She hurried across the Persian rug, dropped to her knees beside Maya, and scooped the little girl into her arms as if snatching her from the edge of an active volcano.
“We are leaving,” Elena whispered, her head bowed so low her forehead nearly touched the carpet. “Please, signor. Don't fire me. Don't... we’ll pack our things tonight. I’ll take her away from the property before the morning.”
Dominic watched them.
The mother trembling, clutching her child against her chest with a desperate, protective ferocity that he hadn't seen since his own mother died in a Chicago hospital room thirty years ago.
And the child, completely unbothered, reaching out over her mother’s shoulder to wave a cheerful goodbye at the yellow duck resting on the footrest.
“Breathe, Mrs. Silva,” Dominic said.
His voice was quiet, but it had the unmistakable authority that commanded silence in any room he occupied.
Elena froze. She didn't look up. “Signor?”
“You left the pantry door unlocked,” Dominic continued, his eyes fixed on the small yellow toy resting near his feet. “That is a security violation.”
Elena’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, signor.”
“The delivery boy is careless. He props the heavy iron door open with a brick instead of using the magnetic latch.”
“I will fix it. I’ll make sure—"
“You won't have to,” Dominic interrupted. “I’ll have maintenance install an automatic hydraulic closer on Monday morning.”
Elena slowly raised her head. Her dark eyes met his across the mahogany desk. There was no anger in his face now. Only an exhausted, heavy stillness that made him look ten years older than his thirty-four years.
“You’re not firing us?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the radiator.
“Are you a good cook?” Dominic asked.
“Yes, signor.”
“Can you make something that doesn't involve mushrooms or parmesan?”
A faint, trembling flicker of a smile touched the corner of Elena’s mouth. “I can make chicken soup with garlic and lime. Like my grandmother made in Michoacán when someone had a bad fever.”
“Bring it,” Dominic said.
“To the study?”
“To the desk.”
Elena nodded once, tightly, and carried Maya out of the room, closing the heavy oak door softly behind them.
Dominic sat alone in the dark for a long time.
May you like
He reached down, picked up the yellow rubber duck by its neck, and placed it next to the platinum engagement ring inside the cream jeweler’s box.
Then he closed the lid.
