Chapter 13 - The Night Danny Left His Fortress
The threat changed nothing.
That was what I told everyone.
Security doubled anyway.
For three nights, I barely slept.
Emma noticed.
Naturally.
At four in the morning, she found me in the library staring at surveillance monitors.
"You look insane."
"Thank you."
"I mean clinically."
"Go to bed."
"You first."
"I'm working."
"You're watching an empty driveway."
"Suspicious driveway."
Emma walked behind my chair and unplugged the monitor.
I stared at the dark screen.
"You really enjoy risking your employment."
"I don't technically work for you anymore."
She was right.
After Victor's arrest, Emma had quit the estate cleaning job.
She still spent more nights at the estate than anywhere else.
But now it was by choice.
"Plug it back in."
"No."
"Emma."
"Danny."
We stared.
She won.
Again.
"What do you want?"
"Breakfast."
"It's four in the morning."
"Exactly."
Thirty minutes later, we were in the kitchen making pancakes.
Or, more accurately, Emma made pancakes while I ruined several.
"You can't cook."
"I employ chefs."
"That's why you can't cook."
"Cause and effect unclear."
She laughed.
I watched her.
She looked healthier.
Still tired sometimes.
But human tired.
Not collapsing tired.
Her mother's care was stable.
Debt restructuring had removed the immediate pressure.
Emma refused to let me pay everything, but Luke secretly arranged financial counseling through the company.
She knew.
She pretended not to.
At five, snow started.
Emma looked toward the window.
"Let's go out."
"Outside?"
"Yes, Danny. That's generally where snow is."
"No."
"Why?"
"Security."
"Back patio."
"Cold."
"Blanket."
"No."
She put down the spatula.
"You haven't left the estate except for emergencies and therapy trips."
"I went to Milwaukee."
"To interrogate a former mob associate."
"Tourism is subjective."
Emma laughed.
Then grew serious.
"Come outside."
I hated how simple she made impossible things sound.
Ten minutes later, we sat beneath the covered terrace.
Snow fell across the lawn.
Quiet.
No traffic.
No business.
No meetings.
Emma tucked a blanket over my legs.
I didn't object.
Progress.
"You miss walking?" she asked.
"Every day."
"What's the first thing you want to do if you can?"
I thought.
For two years I'd imagined dramatic answers.
Walk into a boardroom.
Stand across from an enemy.
Drive again.
Now none felt right.
"Walk without anyone watching."
Emma smiled.
"That's your dream?"
"Apparently."
"I thought you'd say climb Everest."
"I hate camping."
"Fair."
"And you?"
"What?"
"If your mother woke up tomorrow completely herself, what would you do?"
Emma looked toward the snow.
"Cornell."
"University?"
"She wanted to see it."
"Why?"
"I got accepted."
I stared.
"What?"
"Years ago."
"You never went?"
She shook her head.
"Mom started getting sick."
"And your father?"
"Gone by then."
"What did you want to study?"
"Architecture."
That surprised me.
"You wanted to design buildings?"
"I still do."
"Then why don't you?"
She laughed softly.
"I'm twenty-six."
"Ancient."
"And I need money."
"Loans exist."
"That's rich coming from you."
"Pun intended?"
"Maybe."
I looked at the estate.
The stone terraces.
Columns.
Windows.
"Go back."
She stared.
"What?"
"School."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because life isn't a movie."
"No."
I looked directly at her.
"But life changes when you make decisions."
She smiled.
"Someone's been listening to therapy."
"Don't tell Grant."
Her expression became serious again.
"Maybe someday."
I knew better than to push.
Before sunrise, Luke called.
The anonymous threat had been traced indirectly to an old Moretti associate named Carlo Renzi.
Carlo controlled several operations Victor had protected.
My decision to shut them down cost him millions.
"What does he want?" I asked.
"What they always want," Luke replied. "Leverage."
"Meeting?"
"He requested one."
"Where?"
"Downtown."
I looked at Emma.
"No."
She frowned.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"Maybe."
I told Luke to arrange the meeting at one of our legitimate hotels.
Public.
Secure.
No warehouses.
No churches.
No drama.
At six that evening, Carlo arrived.
Sixty.
Expensive coat.
Smile with no warmth.
"Danny."
"Carlo."
His eyes dropped toward my wheelchair.
People still did that.
Less than before.
"You're changing things."
"Yes."
"Things that affect me."
"Also yes."
"You owe me."
"No."
"Your father made agreements."
"My father also wanted out."
Carlo's expression cooled.
"Antonio became weak."
I nearly laughed.
Same word Victor used.
Weak.
Apparently refusing endless violence was the greatest sin men like them could imagine.
"The agreements are over."
"You can't simply decide that."
"I just did."
Carlo leaned closer.
"You think because Victor is facing charges you're free?"
"I think because I'm an adult I can choose what businesses I operate."
His eyes narrowed.
"You'll regret embarrassing old friends."
"I've survived worse."
I expected threats.
Instead Carlo smiled.
"We'll see."
Then he left.
Nothing happened.
One day.
Two.
A week.
Then ten days.
The threat faded.
Maybe Carlo was smarter than Victor.
Maybe he understood I wasn't bluffing.
Life slowly entered unfamiliar territory.
Normality.
I went to therapy.
Emma visited her mother.
Luke ran restructuring meetings.
Grant tortured me with exercises.
Then one afternoon, I took my first actual step.
One step.
Braces.
Parallel bars.
Both hands gripping metal.
Grant behind me.
Emma in front.
"Right foot," Grant said.
I concentrated.
Nothing.
Again.
A tremor.
Again.
My foot moved.
Barely three inches.
I stared.
Emma covered her mouth.
"Don't cry."
"I'm not."
"You're terrible at lying."
"Shut up and do it again."
I laughed.
Left foot.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
Movement.
One small step.
I moved forward.
Only a few inches.
But I moved.
My own body.
My own command.
When I reached the end of the bars, I was shaking.
Grant helped me sit.
Emma crouched in front.
"You did it."
"Two steps."
"Two."
Her eyes were bright.
I touched her cheek.
"Want to know something?"
"What?"
"That was better than taking Chicago."
Emma smiled.
"Good."
"Why?"
"Chicago sounds exhausting."
"It was."
She kissed me.
Behind us, Grant cleared his throat loudly.
"Still a medical facility."
"You're fired," I said.
"Tomorrow at eleven."
That night, for the first time since the shooting, I asked Emma to stay.
Not because I was in pain.
Not because she collapsed accidentally.
Because I wanted her there.
We lay beneath the white duvet fully aware of each other.
Her head rested against my shoulder.
No fear.
No secrets.
At least, that was what I thought.
Then Emma whispered:
"Danny, there's something I haven't told you."
I turned toward her.
"What?"
She looked nervous.
"My mother remembered another name."
My body tightened.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"Whose?"
Emma hesitated.
"Luke's."
The room went silent.
May you like
And suddenly the man I'd trusted more than anyone in my life became another question I didn't want to ask.
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