Chương 6
“What did he say then?”
Leo stared at the floor.
“He said everything was handled.”
I did not speak.
Because I knew what that meant.
A child hearing an adult promise control when the world was falling apart.
A child learning that calm voices did not always mean things were okay.
“Are you scared?” I asked.
He shrugged.
Again.
That small movement.
That practiced answer.
“I don’t know.”
“You can say yes.”
He looked at me.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
He thought about it.
Then he nodded.
“Yes.”
It was only one word.
But it felt important.
I reached over and fixed the crooked strap on his backpack.
“You know something?”
“What?”
“Your dad is scared too.”
Leo looked surprised.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t get scared.”
“He does.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He looked unconvinced.
“Adults are better at hiding it.”
Leo was quiet.
Then he whispered, “I thought he was scared of me.”
The sentence broke something inside me.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because whenever I do something wrong, he looks angry.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“And when he looks at me, he looks sad.”
There were some things children understood better than adults.
Not because they knew more.
Because they had fewer reasons to lie to themselves.
That afternoon, Dominic came home before dinner.
He went straight upstairs.
I watched from the kitchen doorway.
For the first time, I noticed something.
He did not go upstairs like a powerful man checking on his property.
He went upstairs like a father who was afraid his son would no longer open the door for him.
A few minutes later, I heard voices.
Not yelling.
Not arguing.
Talking.
I stayed where I was.
Some conversations belonged only to the people having them.
Then I heard Leo ask something.
A question so quiet I almost missed it.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to leave too?”
The house seemed to stop.
I stood completely still.
Then Dominic answered.
“No.”
A pause.
“No, Leo.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I’m not leaving.”
And for the first time since I met Dominic Moretti, I heard him make a promise that was not about business.
Not about power.
Not about control.
Just about staying.
The following days were strange.
Not dangerous.
Not peaceful either.
Just strange.
It felt like everyone in the house was learning how to live with a new reality.
The security remained.
The quiet conversations remained.
The locked doors remained.
But something else had appeared.
Trust.
Small.
Fragile.
Almost invisible.
It started with breakfast.
That was how I knew things had changed.
Before, Dominic never ate with Leo.
He was always gone before breakfast or too busy answering calls.
The table had always been a place where Leo sat alone while adults moved around him.
That morning, Dominic sat across from his son with a cup of coffee.
No phone.
No laptop.
No interruption.
Leo looked suspicious.
Children notice unusual things faster than adults.
“Are you sick?”
Dominic looked up.
“What?”
“Because you’re sitting here.”
I nearly laughed.
Dominic stared at him.
Then he looked down at his coffee.
“That is your concern?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t do this.”
There was no accusation in Leo’s voice.
Just honesty.
The kind only children could deliver without realizing how much it hurt.
Dominic was quiet.
Then he said, “Maybe I should.”
Leo thought about that.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No emotional speech.
No dramatic forgiveness.
Just a six-year-old accepting a simple answer.
I watched from the kitchen while pretending to organize plates.
Some moments were too important to interrupt.
Lily entered a few minutes later wearing pajamas under her coat.
I had told her three times to change.
She had ignored me three times.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
She looked down.
“Because I like it.”
“That is not a reason.”
“It is my reason.”
Leo smiled.
Dominic noticed.
And this time, he did not look away.
The change was small.
But it was there.
He wanted to see his son happy.
Not just safe.
That was something different.
Later that morning, I found Frank near the back entrance.
He was checking something on his phone.
“Is everything okay?”
He looked up.
“Depends.”
Everyone around Dominic seemed to like that word.
I sighed.
“You all need better answers.”
Frank smiled slightly.
“Probably.”
It was the first time I had seen him smile without Lily forcing it.
“Do you know who left the envelope?”
His expression changed.
“I shouldn’t talk about it.”
“That means you know something.”
“That means I know enough to know I shouldn’t talk about it.”
I crossed my arms.
“You’re all very frustrating.”
“That is probably why we work here.”
I looked at him.
“Does Dominic trust you?”
Frank considered the question.
“More than most people.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew him before he became Dominic Moretti.”
The answer caught my attention.
“What was he like?”
Frank looked toward the yard.
The snow from earlier in the week had started melting, leaving patches of gray grass.
“He was quieter.”
“He seems quiet now.”
“No.”
Frank shook his head.
“Now he’s controlled.”
I waited.
“Before, he was just quiet.”
“What changed?”
Frank looked at me.
“Loss.”
I did not ask more.
Some answers carried enough weight without details.
That afternoon, Lily and Leo were in the living room drawing.
I sat nearby folding laundry.
It was ordinary.
Almost painfully ordinary.
And maybe that was why it felt important.
Leo was drawing a house.
Lily was drawing something with many colors and no clear shape.
“What is yours?”
Leo asked.
“A family.”
I looked over.
“It’s a family?”
“Yes.”
She pointed at the shapes.
“This is me.”
A small circle.
“This is Mommy.”
A larger circle.
“This is Leo.”
Another circle.
Then she added a fourth.
“Who is that?”
She looked at me like I had asked a ridiculous question.
“Daddy Moretti.”
Leo stopped drawing.
Lily continued coloring.
“He needs a place.”
The room became quiet.
May you like
Leo looked down.
I wondered if he understood what she meant.
