Part 3: Echoes in the Hallway
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Long Island sky in streaks of bruised purple and fiery orange. Inside the mansion, the evening routine had resumed, but the atmosphere was fundamentally altered. Dominic remained in his study for hours, reviewing operational reports, tracking cargo shipments, and dealing with syndicate affairs, but his mind refused to leave the kitchen down the hall.
At 7:30 PM, a soft knock rattled the study door.
"Come in," Dominic said without looking up from his laptop.
The door creaked open, and Mrs. Gable, the elderly head cook who had been with the family for decades, stepped inside carrying a silver tray with a steaming mug of black coffee and a plate of simple toasted sandwiches.
"You missed dinner, sir," Mrs. Gable said gently, setting the tray down on the edge of the mahogany desk.
Dominic rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion settling deep into his bones. "I wasn't hungry, Mrs. Gable."
"You need to eat something," she insisted, lingering by the desk instead of turning away. She folded her hands over her apron. "And while we're on the subject, Mr. Russo, I need to say something that isn't really my place."
Dominic looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Since when has that stopped you?"
A faint, knowing smile touched the old woman's lips. "Never. Sir, I've watched you build this empire. I watched you bring Miss Isabella home, and God rest her soul, I watched this house turn into a tomb when she left us. For fourteen months, those three little girls have been drifting like ghosts in a graveyard."
Dominic’s jaw tightened. "Get to the point, Mrs. Gable."
"The point is Elena," Mrs. Gable said firmly. "I vetted her application myself when you were too busy with your business meetings. She lost her own family years ago—a husband and a little girl in a car accident upstate. She knows what grief looks like from the inside out. She didn't come here looking for a high-society job or spying for your rivals. She came here because she needed a place where she could feel useful again, and somehow, she found your girls."
Dominic processed the information silently. "Why didn't her background check show any of this?"
"Because she didn't list it as a trauma-recovery resume; she listed it as honest work. She's worked in boarding schools and private estates for a decade," Mrs. Gable explained. "She doesn't treat your daughters like fragile glass, Mr. Russo. She treats them like children who are allowed to laugh again."
Dominic looked down at the cold coffee he had ignored earlier. "I threatened to fire her today."
Mrs. Gable sighed, shaking her head. "A classic Dominic Russo move. When you don't know how to fix a problem, you threaten it. But let me tell you something, sir—if you fire her, or if you drive her away with your suspicion, you will lose those girls forever. They just found their way back to the surface. Don't push them back under."
With that, the older woman turned and walked out, leaving Dominic alone with his thoughts.
He stood up, unable to sit still any longer. He walked out of the study and padded silently down the hallway toward the second-floor bedrooms. The mansion was quiet, save for the low hum of the HVAC system.
He stopped outside Mia's bedroom door. The door was cracked open an inch.
Inside, a soft yellow nightlight cast a warm glow across the room. Elena was sitting on the edge of the mattress, reading a battered copy of The Velveteen Rabbit. Lucia and Valentina were tucked into sleeping bags on the floor right beside the bed, refusing to leave Mia's side.
"And so," Elena read, her voice soothing and rhythmic, "little by little, you are real. That's why it doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept."
Mia, half-asleep, clutched a small stuffed rabbit to her chest. "Are we real yet, Miss Elena?"
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"Oh, sweetheart," Elena whispered, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from the little girl's forehead. "You're more real than anyone else in this world."
Dominic stood in the dark hallway, hidden by the shadows, feeling a tear slip silently down his cheek—the first one he had shed since Isabella’s funeral.
