Chapter 7 - THE MORNING AFTER
By sunrise, the blizzard had passed, leaving Lake Forest buried under three feet of pristine, blinding white snow.
The police would never be called. In the Moretti world, internal disputes were settled according to ancient, unwritten codes. By dawn, Vincent Hale and his surviving mercenaries were loaded into the back of a black unmarked van bound for an undisclosed facility in the Nevada desert, where they would spend the rest of their lives breaking rocks and regretting the day they crossed the Moretti name.
Inside the grand study, the cleaning crew had already replaced the broken glass and hauled away the shattered furniture.
Dominic sat behind his massive mahogany desk, though the atmosphere in the room had fundamentally changed. The cold, forbidding fortress of a man seemed to have thawed at the edges.
A light knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Dominic said.
The door opened, and Evelyn entered. She was wearing her usual gray housekeeper’s uniform, her auburn hair neatly pinned back, her posture calm and composed. She was holding a small silver tray bearing a cup of black coffee and a fresh, warm cinnamon scone she had baked herself just an hour ago.
She set the tray down on the corner of the desk.
“How is Mateo?” Dominic asked, his eyes following her every movement.
“He’s resting,” Evelyn said, standing with her hands folded neatly in front of her apron. “Dr. Thorne came by an hour ago from the clinic. She examined his spine and his progress. She said it’s nothing short of a medical miracle—though she admitted physical therapy is going to be a long, brutal road before he walks unassisted.”
“He’ll have the best therapists in the world,” Dominic said firmly. “Money is no object.”
Evelyn nodded, turning toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your paperwork, Mr. Moretti. I have the north wing to finish cleaning.”
“Wait, Ms. Parker.”
Evelyn stopped, turning her head back to look at him. “Yes, sir?”
Dominic stood up from his desk. He walked around the polished mahogany surface until he was standing just a few feet away from her. The morning sun, streaming through the newly repaired balcony doors, caught the sharp line of his jaw and the dark, intense fire in his gray eyes.
“You lied on your résumé,” Dominic said, though there was no anger in his voice now—only a strange, quiet curiosity. “You said you worked at St. Catherine’s as a general aide.”
“I did,” Evelyn replied steadily. “For two years.”
“And before that?”
Evelyn looked down at her cheap shoes for a fraction of a second before meeting his gaze. “Before that, I was a senior rehabilitation specialist at the Chicago Neurological Institute. I lost my license because I falsified medical records to help my father get experimental therapy after his stroke.”
She didn't sound ashamed. She sounded like a woman who had made her peace with her sins. “So, technically, I’m a disgraced medical professional hiding out as a domestic worker in a mob boss’s mansion. You can call the police if you like.”
Dominic stared at her for a long, silent moment.
Then, slowly, a faint, genuine smile touched the corners of his lips—the first real smile Evelyn had ever seen on his face.
“A disgraced medical professional who figured out what a team of millionaire neurologists missed for two years,” Dominic corrected softly. “I think my standards for honesty are a bit more flexible than the state medical board’s.”
He took another step closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
“I don't need a housekeeper, Evelyn,” he murmured, using her first name again, his voice dropping into that deep, hypnotic register that made her breath hitch. “And I certainly don't need an administrative assistant.”
“Then what do you need?” she whispered, her heart beginning to hammer against her ribs.
“I need someone who isn't afraid of the dark,” Dominic said, reaching out to gently touch a loose strand of auburn hair, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that defied every rumor told about him in the streets of Chicago. “I need someone who can stand beside me in a house full of wolves and remind me that I still have a soul.”
Evelyn looked up into his dark, searching eyes, seeing past the mafia don, past the scars and the blood and the iron gates, seeing the lonely, exhausted man who had carried the weight of an empire on his shoulders for far too long.
“That sounds like a very dangerous job, Mr. Moretti,” she whispered.
May you like
“The pay is terrible,” Dominic replied, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. “But the housing is secure. And the coffee is fresh.”
Evelyn let out a soft, breathy laugh, placing her hand gently over his large, calloused hand against her cheek. “Well... when you put it that way, I suppose I can accept the position.”
