Chapter 2 - The Fourth Morning
The fourth morning began with silence.
Not screaming.
Not shattered porcelain.
Not Dominic ordering Fay from the room.
Silence.
And somehow, Fay found it more unsettling.
She entered with scrambled eggs, toast, coffee, and two aspirin.
Dominic was reading beside the window.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I haven’t decided.”
Fay put down the tray.
The sunlight revealed something different about him.
He had shaved.
Not completely.
The dark stubble remained, but the neglect was gone.
His hair had been combed.
Fay pretended not to notice.
“Eggs.”
“I see that.”
“Special request.”
“I remember.”
Fay poured his coffee.
Dominic watched her carefully.
He had spent half the night reviewing the preliminary information Carmine had found.
Fay Willis had grown up two towns away.
Her father, Michael Willis, had worked twenty-seven years at a manufacturing plant near the docks.
A plant once owned indirectly by a Corso shell company.
Then, four years earlier, Michael had become sick.
Hospitalized.
Medical debts.
Foreclosure.
Death.
Nothing strange.
Except Vincent Corso had personally authorized a payment toward Michael Willis’s treatment.
Dominic’s father never personally paid strangers’ medical bills.
Not once.
And yet there was Fay.
Standing six feet away.
Apparently unaware of everything.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked.
Dominic looked back at his coffee.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“You’re very observant for someone who walked into a mafia house without knowing who owned it.”
Fay froze.
“Mafia?”
Dominic slowly raised his eyes.
Mrs. Gable had called him powerful.
Dangerous.
She had not used that word.
Fay gave a small laugh.
“You’re joking.”
Dominic did not smile.
Her face changed.
“Oh.”
“Problem?”
Fay looked around.
At the security cameras.
The guards.
The dark suits.
Suddenly everything made sense.
“Oh.”
“You said that already.”
“I was hoping it would improve the second time.”
Dominic almost smiled.
Almost.
Fay pulled out the chair beside the table.
“So you’re actually—”
“Don’t finish the sentence.”
“Fine.”
She stood.
“I’m going to polish something far away from you while I reconsider every decision that led me here.”
“Fay.”
She turned.
Dominic’s expression had become unreadable.
“Are you afraid now?”
She considered it.
“Yes.”
Something hardened inside him.
Of course.
Then Fay continued.
“But I’m still more afraid of my landlord.”
Dominic laughed.
A real laugh.
Short.
Unexpected.
Fay stared.
So did Dominic.
It was the first time anyone in the estate had heard that sound since the accident.
By noon, Carmine knew.
By one, Mrs. Gable knew.
By two, Cook had apparently informed half the kitchen.
“You made him laugh?” Mrs. Gable whispered.
“I think I confused him.”
“No. I’ve worked for the Corso family twenty-two years. You made him laugh.”
Fay shrugged.
“I’m not putting it on my résumé.”
But Dominic had changed.
Only slightly.
He still argued.
Still hated assistance.
Still snapped whenever his body failed to cooperate.
But he stopped throwing meals.
On the sixth day, he asked Fay to open the curtains before she did it herself.
On the seventh, he allowed her to straighten the blanket across his legs without telling her to leave.
On the eighth, she caught him watching her hum while arranging books.
“What?”
“That song.”
Fay stopped.
“What about it?”
“My mother used to sing it.”
“Oh.”
Dominic stared at the fireplace.
Fay quietly returned to work.
She did not ask about his mother.
He noticed.
That was one of the strangest things about her.
She respected silence.
Most people around Dominic either wanted information or feared obtaining it.
Fay simply allowed spaces to exist.
That afternoon, a physical therapist arrived.
Dr. Elena Markham had worked with Dominic since his accident.
She carried a tablet and the determined expression of someone accustomed to losing arguments with him.
“You canceled three sessions.”
“I was busy.”
“You spent all week in this room.”
“I was busy doing that.”
Elena noticed Fay changing the bed linens.
“You must be the miracle worker.”
Fay looked up.
“Sorry?”
“The one who survived.”
Dominic rolled his eyes.
“Everyone is very dramatic.”
Elena laughed.
“You threw a lamp at your previous therapist.”
“I missed.”
“You aimed poorly.”
Fay lowered her face to hide a smile.
Dominic noticed.
“You find that amusing?”
“No.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m smiling at the sheets.”
“Apparently they’re hilarious.”
Elena studied them.
“Maybe she should stay.”
“For what?”
“The session.”
“No.”
Fay continued making the bed.
Elena looked at Dominic.
“You’ve been avoiding transfer work.”
“I don’t need it.”
“You do if you ever plan to improve independence.”
Dominic’s expression closed.
There it was.
The subject nobody could discuss.
Recovery.
Hope.
Both had become insults.
Elena sighed.
“We’re only practicing moving from chair to bed.”
“No.”
“You’ve done it before.”
“And fell.”
“With two therapists supporting you.”
“In front of six people.”
“There are two of us now.”
Dominic’s eyes moved toward Fay.
“No.”
Fay folded the blanket.
Elena lowered her voice.
“You had involuntary movement in the right leg this week.”
Dominic looked sharply at Fay.
“You told her?”
“She asked why there was additional medication on your chart.”
“You had no right.”
“I’m your caretaker.”
“Maid.”
“Whatever makes you feel better.”
Elena watched, fascinated.
Nobody spoke to Dominic like that.
“I want to test whether there’s any controlled response,” Elena said.
“No.”
Fay approached.
“Why?”
Dominic’s head snapped toward her.
“Stay out of it.”
“You’re scared.”
The room became still.
Elena looked at Fay as if she had just stepped onto thin ice.
Dominic’s face changed.
“Careful.”
Fay swallowed.
But she continued.
“You’re scared of trying because failing will feel worse than not trying.”
His eyes went cold.
“You know nothing about what it feels like.”
“No.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
“But I know what giving up looks like.”
Dominic looked away.
Fay continued more softly.
“My dad stopped opening his mail after we lost the house. He stopped answering calls. Stopped trying to find work.”
Dominic’s attention returned to her.
“He was ashamed,” Fay said. “And every time someone tried to help, he got angry because anger felt better than admitting he was scared.”
The words struck deeper than she intended.
Dominic said nothing.
Then he placed both hands on the wheelchair rims.
“What exactly are we testing?”
Elena concealed her surprise.
“Transfer first.”
Fifteen minutes later, Dominic was sweating.
His arms shook.
Fay stood on his right side.
Elena on his left.
“Lean forward,” Elena instructed.
“I know.”
“Then do it.”
Dominic gripped the support bar.
He hated this.
Hated the weakness.
The exposed dependence.
Fay sensed his breathing change.
“Don’t look at the floor,” she said quietly.
He glanced at her.
“Why?”
“Look at me.”
Dominic stared at her.
Fay’s brown eyes were steady.
No pity.
He pushed.
His upper body rose.
His legs remained largely useless beneath him, but for one second there was pressure.
Then another.
Elena froze.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“Your right quadriceps.”
He lowered himself again.
“What about it?”
“It activated.”
The room went silent.
“No.”
“It did.”
“No.”
Elena crouched beside him.
“Do it again.”
Dominic’s face had gone pale.
They tried.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Dominic’s frustration rose.
“I told you.”
“Once more.”
“No.”
“Dominic—”
“I said no!”
He shoved the transfer bar away.
Fay stepped back.
The session ended.
Elena left disappointed but hopeful.
Dominic refused dinner.
At ten that night, Fay was preparing to leave when she passed his door.
Light showed beneath it.
She hesitated.
Then knocked.
“Come in.”
That alone surprised her.
Dominic sat by the window.
“Can’t sleep?” Fay asked.
“I didn’t invite conversation.”
“Goodnight, then.”
She turned.
“Wait.”
Fay looked back.
Dominic’s hand rested on his right thigh.
“Did you feel it?” he asked.
“What?”
“Earlier.”
Fay understood.
“When you stood?”
“Yes.”
“I felt tension.”
His voice dropped.
“In the leg?”
“Yes.”
Dominic looked away.
For six months, every doctor had warned him not to expect miracles.
Nerves healed slowly.
Sometimes not at all.
Hope had become dangerous.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Elena already knows.”
“I mean the staff.”
“Why?”
“Because if nothing happens…”
He did not finish.
Fay understood anyway.
People would watch.
Wait.
Expect.
And every failure would become public.
“I won’t.”
Dominic nodded.
Fay started to leave.
“Fay?”
“Yes?”
“Why did your father work at Corso Manufacturing?”
Her entire body went still.
Slowly she turned.
“How do you know where my father worked?”
Dominic realized his mistake.
Too late.
Fay’s eyes narrowed.
“You looked into me.”
“It was necessary.”
“For what?”
“Security.”
“You read my file. Now you investigated my father?”
Dominic said nothing.
Fay stepped closer.
“What are you looking for?”
He considered lying.
Then remembered she always seemed to know.
“My father knew yours.”
Fay stopped breathing.
“What?”
Dominic opened the desk drawer.
He removed the photocopied bill.
“Four years ago, your father had medical expenses.”
Her face lost color.
“Where did you get that?”
“My records.”
She took the paper.
At the bottom was Vincent Corso’s authorization.
Fay read it twice.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.”
“My father never mentioned your family.”
“Mine never mentioned yours.”
Fay lowered herself into the chair.
“He said someone from the company helped with one hospital payment. We thought it was an employee assistance fund.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Why would your father pay it?”
Dominic looked at her.
“That is what I intend to find out.”
The next morning, Carmine entered Dominic’s study carrying a sealed storage envelope.
“You wanted everything connected to Michael Willis.”
Dominic nodded.
“There’s more.”
Carmine closed the door.
“Michael wasn’t only a factory employee.”
Dominic frowned.
“What was he?”
Carmine placed an old photograph on the desk.
Dominic stared.
His father, Vincent Corso, stood beside a much younger Michael Willis.
Between them was a third man Dominic recognized instantly.
Salvatore DeLuca.
Dominic’s former business partner.
The same man Dominic believed had arranged the car crash that put him in a wheelchair.
On the back of the photograph was a date.
Four years earlier.
And one handwritten sentence:
Michael has the ledger. If anything happens, protect his daughter.
Dominic’s blood ran cold.
Carmine leaned forward.
“Boss, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Somebody accessed Fay’s background file two weeks before she applied for this job.”
“Who?”
Carmine hesitated.
“DeLuca.”
Dominic looked toward the hallway.
Toward the room where Fay was working.
The maid who believed she had come to the Corso estate because she needed rent money.
The woman whose father had apparently possessed something important enough to connect two mafia families.
The woman Dominic’s enemy had been watching before she ever stepped through his gates.
Fay had not come to the Corso estate by accident.
But the terrifying possibility was that she had not been sent there to spy on Dominic.
She had been led there because someone believed she possessed something.
Something her father had died protecting.
And Dominic suddenly knew exactly what Salvatore DeLuca would do once he realized Fay had survived beyond three days.
May you like
He would come looking for her.
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