Chapter 10 - Sunday Morning at Beluchi’s
One year later.
The November rain was tapping a gentle, rhythmic patter against the beveled crystal doors of Beluchi’s.
Inside, the chandeliers dripped warm amber light over the white linen tables. The room smelled of roasting garlic, expensive Chianti, and rain-washed wool.
At the curved corner booth of midnight-blue leather, the scene was almost identical to that fateful evening twelve months before.
Lily, now six years old, was sitting upright, wearing a velvet emerald-green dress and patent leather shoes that swung cheerfully back and forth, missing the carpet by six inches. Her upper lip was impeccably clean this time, though Mr. Buttons—sporting a neat, permanent surgical scar across his felt belly—sat beside the water goblet like a distinguished guest of honor.
Across from her sat Dominic.
He wore an unbuttoned navy overcoat over a light gray cashmere sweater, no tie, looking relaxed, healthy, and completely at peace. The Audemars Piguet on his wrist caught the low light, but his eyes were fixed entirely on the girl sitting across from him.
“And then,” Lily was saying, gesturing with a breadstick, “Tommy said that girls can't build rocket ships because rocket ships need math. And I told him that my Daddy was the best math man in New York, and my other Daddy has five ships with big engines, so Tommy can go eat a crayon.”
Dominic took a slow sip of his espresso—piping hot this time—and nodded with deep, aristocratic gravity.
“A completely measured and appropriate response,” he said.
“I know,” Lily sighed, taking a bite of her breadstick.
The brass-framed crystal doors swung open.
I walked into the restaurant, shaking out my umbrella, handing it to the maître d’ with a warm smile.
I wasn't in scrub pants. I wasn't running against the rain with panic tearing at my lungs. I wore a tailored black coat over a soft burgundy knit dress, my hair pinned up with silver combs, carrying a small leather clutch.
As I approached the booth, Dominic rose.
Every single eye in the dining room followed him. People still recognized him—they always would. He was Dominic Moretti, the man who had walked out of the underworld and into the broad daylight of legitimate shipping and civic philanthropies without dropping his head an inch.
But when his eyes found mine, the terrifying aura vanished entirely.
The lines around his mouth softened, his gaze filling with that deep, steady, unconditional warmth that had become the anchor of my life.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice a low, teasing murmur as he stepped out of the booth to pull my coat from my shoulders.
“Trauma bay had a bus rollover,” I replied, stepping into his space, resting my hands against the cashmere of his chest. “Some things never change.”
“Did you cancel on me?”
“Never again,” I whispered.
He leaned down and kissed me—not the frantic, desperate kiss of a war zone, but a slow, sweet, lingering promise that tasted of espresso and rain.
“Mommy, gross,” Lily announced loudly. “The waiters are looking.”
Dominic smiled against my lips, pulled out the chair beside Lily for me, and took his seat across from us.
The waiter arrived immediately, setting down a tall glass of sparkling water with lemon for me, a fresh basket of warm focaccia, and a small velvet box that rested inconspicuously beside Dominic’s coffee saucer.
My heart jumped a beat.
I looked at the box, then looked up at Dominic.
His dark eyes held mine, completely steady, completely clear, free of shadows.
“Julian’s debt is settled,” Dominic said softly, his hand reaching across the linen to cover mine. “The city is quiet. And I have spent twelve months listening to you sing badly in the shower, watching you hide chocolate behind the frozen vegetables, and loving every second of it.”
Lily leaned forward, resting her chin on both hands, her eyes wide as saucers. “Open the box, Mommy. I helped him pick it out. It has three little stones like snowballs!”
With trembling fingers, I reached for the box.
May you like
Outside, the rain continued to fall over the concrete canyons of Manhattan, washing away the old blood, the old grief, and the long, bitter winter that had held us captive for so many years.
Inside the booth at Beluchi’s, there was only warmth, the laughter of a child, and the man who had turned a blind date into an eternity.
