Chapter 9 - The Kitchen Table
Ten minutes later, the study door opened again.
This time, there was no knock.
Maya waddled into the room wearing her pink unicorn pajamas, carrying the yellow rubber duck by its neck. Behind her came Elena, holding a fresh plate of warm, cinnamon-spiced peasant bread wrapped in a white cloth.
“Is the lady gone?” Maya asked, looking around the room with the frank curiosity of a three-year-old.
Dominic looked up, the cold, distant expression melting from his face, replaced by a soft, weary warmth that nobody outside this room had ever seen.
“Yes, sweet girl,” Dominic said, patting the leather arm of his chair. “She went home.”
Maya walked over, climbed onto the footstool attached to his chair with surprising agility, and placed the yellow rubber duck right back onto the knee of his wool trousers.
“He missed you,” Maya announced.
Dominic picked up the duck, gave it a gentle squeeze, and heard a high, squeaky quack echo through the quiet study.
Elena set the plate of warm bread on the desk, her hands lingering for a second near the edge before she stepped back.
“You didn't finish your soup, signor,” Elena noted quietly.
“I was interrupted.”
“Shall I bring a fresh bowl?”
Dominic looked at the bread, then at Elena, and finally down at Maya, who was now attempting to balance a wooden chess pawn on top of her head.
“No,” Dominic said, leaning back in the leather chair and feeling the steady, rhythmic ticking of the radiator in his chest. “Bring three plates. And tell Chef Vincenzo that from now on, the kitchen is going to start serving dinner upstairs.”
Elena smiled—a small, genuine, beautiful smile that reached all the way to her dark eyes.
May you like
“Yes, signor,” she said softly. “Right away.”
As she turned to leave the room, the October rain outside finally stopped, leaving the Long Island night quiet, clear, and ready for whatever came next.
