Chapter 1 - Six Weeks to Live
Dominic Moretti had spent most of his adult life making other men afraid.
Fear had been useful. It opened locked doors. It ended arguments before voices were raised. It kept enemies on the opposite side of a room and friends careful about becoming enemies.
But on a gray Tuesday morning in Midtown Manhattan, fear finally found him.
Not in an alley.
Not behind the barrel of a gun.
Not in the face of a rival.
It came from Dr. Enrico Falcone, the physician Dominic had trusted since he was young.
The specialist stood beside a wall of medical images and chose his words carefully.
The illness had spread farther than expected. Treatment options were limited. Without an aggressive experimental program, Dominic might have only weeks.
Six, perhaps fewer.
Dominic was thirty-eight years old.
He owned legitimate companies that appeared in financial newspapers and other businesses whose names were never spoken outside locked rooms. He lived behind gates. Men twice his age lowered their voices when he entered.
Yet the only thing he thought about after hearing the prognosis was a rainy highway three years earlier.
Isabella.
His wife.
And Matteo, their six-year-old son.
A curve on the West Side Highway had taken both of them from him.
Since then Dominic had continued breathing because his body had not received instructions to stop. He attended meetings. Signed contracts. Punished betrayal. Expanded businesses. Slept in a mansion containing twenty-two rooms and occupied almost none of them.
Now someone had finally placed an expiration date on the emptiness.
When Dominic stepped from the tower, Marco Bellini was waiting beside the black sedan.
Marco had been his driver, protector, and closest confidant for nearly fifteen years.
"Home?" Marco asked.
Dominic looked down the avenue.
"No."
Marco studied him.
"Where, then?"
"I'm walking."
Dominic walked for almost two hours.
The neighborhood changed around him.
Glass towers disappeared behind aging brick buildings. Luxury stores became discount markets. Sidewalks cracked. Cars became older. Children played beside buildings whose paint had surrendered years ago.
Dominic couldn't explain why he kept walking.
Then he saw her.
A little girl sat on a concrete step beside a narrow street.
Seven, perhaps eight.
Bare feet darkened with dust.
A faded teal shirt hung loosely from her small shoulders. Her beige skirt was frayed almost to threads near the hem. Dark hair had been pulled into a careless ponytail, though strands covered part of her face.
She was watching her hands.
Not playing.
Not begging.
Just sitting there as though waiting for the city to forget she existed.
Dominic stopped.
Children had become difficult for him after Matteo.
He avoided playgrounds.
Birthday parties.
Toy stores.
Even television advertisements featuring little boys had occasionally caused him to leave a room.
But something about this girl kept his feet planted.
Perhaps it was the silence.
Matteo had never been silent.
Dominic approached slowly.
The girl noticed his polished shoes first.
Her eyes traveled upward.
Brown eyes.
Too serious.
Too tired.
Dominic crouched so they were almost level.
"What's your name?"
She hesitated.
"Valentina."
"How old are you?"
"Seven."
The same age Matteo would nearly have been now.
Dominic swallowed.
"Where's your mother?"
The girl shook her head.
"Your father?"
Another shake.
"Do you have family?"
"No."
Dominic glanced along the street.
"Who takes care of you?"
Valentina's gaze remained steady.
"I have no one."
Three ordinary words.
But something inside Dominic shifted.
He understood them better than she could possibly know.
He had money.
Power.
Employees.
Drivers.
Guards.
A mansion.
But when night came and every meeting ended, he had no one either.
Two people standing on opposite ends of everything society measured—and somehow occupying the same empty place.
Dominic slowly extended his hand.
Valentina stared at it.
"Are you hungry?"
She didn't answer.
"Cold?"
Another silence.
Dominic removed his suit jacket and placed it carefully around her shoulders.
It nearly swallowed her.
She looked down at the expensive fabric.
"I'll get it dirty."
For the first time in three years, Dominic almost smiled.
"It's survived worse."
Valentina looked suspicious.
"Why are you helping me?"
The question struck harder than it should have.
Because he was dying?
Because she reminded him of Matteo?
Because perhaps a person who had done too much wrong was suddenly desperate to do one thing right?
Dominic didn't know.
So he gave her the only truth he had.
"Because nobody should have no one."
Valentina stared at him for a long moment.
Cars moved behind them. Somewhere upstairs, a woman yelled through an open window. Music played from a nearby store.
Dominic forgot all of it.
Six weeks.
Maybe less.
He had spent three years behaving as though his life had already ended.
Suddenly six weeks felt strangely precious.
Dominic lowered his voice.
"What if you came with me?"
Valentina stiffened.
"Where?"
"My home."
She immediately shook her head.
Dominic understood.
A stranger asking a homeless seven-year-old girl to enter a car was not kindness simply because he believed his intentions were good.
He took out his phone and called Marco.
"Bring Rosa."
Marco paused.
"Rosa?"
"Yes."
Forty minutes later, Rosa Kandi arrived.
She had worked for Dominic's family for decades and had the remarkable ability to make heavily armed men straighten their collars when she walked past.
Rosa approached Valentina slowly, carrying soup, bread, and a pair of children's slippers purchased along the way.
She sat beside the girl.
They spoke quietly.
Dominic remained several yards away.
Eventually Valentina ate.
Then Rosa helped her put on the slippers.
Dominic watched the little girl stand.
Something irrational entered his mind.
He walked over.
"Valentina."
She looked up.
"I need to ask you something strange."
"How strange?"
A tiny spark of personality.
Dominic almost smiled again.
"Very strange."
She waited.
Dominic glanced at Rosa, then returned his eyes to the child.
"Would you like to be my daughter?"
Valentina blinked.
Dominic continued before courage disappeared.
"Just for one week."
Her eyebrows tightened.
"Why one week?"
Dominic couldn't tell her.
Not yet.
So he said, "Because sometimes one week can be important."
Valentina looked toward Rosa.
Then toward the black car.
Finally back at Dominic.
"Would I have to call you Dad?"
"No."
"Would I have my own bed?"
"Yes."
"Food every day?"
"As much as you want."
She considered this with devastating seriousness.
"And after seven days?"
Dominic's heart tightened.
"We'll figure that out when we get there."
Valentina looked at his open hand.
Then slowly placed hers inside it.
"Okay."
One word.
Dominic Moretti had negotiated deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
Nothing had ever frightened him as much as that tiny hand closing around his fingers.
They drove toward the estate as sunset filled the windows.
Valentina stared outside, amazed by everything.
Rosa occasionally glanced toward Dominic.
Neither adult spoke.
When the gates opened, Valentina's mouth parted.
The mansion rose beyond the trees, enormous and pale beneath evening lights.
"That's a house?"
Dominic nodded.
"Unfortunately."
She looked at him.
"Why unfortunately?"
"It's too big."
"For how many people?"
Dominic paused.
"Until today? One."
Valentina squeezed his hand once.
Neither of them understood yet that a dying man's impulsive promise had just disturbed secrets buried for three years.
And from an upstairs window, Dominic's younger brother Aleandro watched the little girl step from the car.
His smile disappeared the moment he saw her face.
Because unlike Dominic—
Aleandro Moretti had seen Valentina before.
May you like
And he knew exactly who her mother had been.
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