Chapter 6 - Clean Hands and Warm Milk
The morning after Isabella was taken away, the house felt different.
The cold, sterile tension that had hung over the halls for eighteen months seemed to evaporate with the river fog. The pale Venetian curtains were still in the parlor, but Grace had opened the heavy oak shutters, letting the cold November sunlight flood across the polished floors.
Dominic sat at the massive mahogany table in the kitchen.
He didn't sit in the dining room anymore. He sat on a low wooden bench near the stove, a cup of strong black coffee in his hand, watching Grace move between the counter and the pantry.
Grace was quiet today. She had heard the commotion at midnight; she had seen Bruno carrying the silk-clad woman out to the black SUV in the alleyway.
"Mr. Falcone," Grace said softly, setting a plate of toasted rye bread near his coffee. "Sal told me what happened. About... about the child."
Dominic took a sip of his coffee. "She touched Norah's arm, Grace. She raised her hand to her."
Grace’s hands trembled slightly as she wiped down the immaculate marble counter. She stopped, staring at her reflection in the stainless-steel toaster. "I should have been awake. I was so tired... I didn't hear her get up."
"You work sixteen hours a day, Grace," Dominic said, his voice deep and firm. "You don't need to apologize for being human. The house watched her."
"The chime," Grace whispered, looking toward the hallway door. "I never asked... where did that chime come from, Mr. Falcone? Michael always said you bought it at an antique market in Florence."
Dominic looked down at his dark coffee. "It belonged to my sister," he said softly—a detail he had never shared with anyone in Brooklyn. "She died when she was four years old. Pneumonia in a tenement house in Lower Manhattan because my father couldn't pay the doctor. The bell was on her cradle. When I built this house, I put it in the drawer. I didn't have a reason to hang it until your daughter came here."
Grace turned to look at him. For the first time in three years, the professional distance between the housekeeper and the mob boss melted away, leaving only two people who knew what it meant to carry dead loved ones in their chest.
"She likes you, you know," Grace said softly, a tiny smile touching her lips. "Norah. She thinks you're the monster that keeps the other monsters away."
Dominic allowed a small, dry smile to touch his mouth. "That's the most accurate description of my job anyone has ever given."
Just then, the kitchen door swung open.
Norah came marching in, dragging Bo by his single ear. She was fully dressed today—yellow boots, blue denim overalls, and her red wool socks pulled up to her knees. She marched straight up to Dominic’s bench, stopped, and rested her tin cup on his knee.
"Mr. Dom," she demanded, her voice full of three-year-old authority.
"Yes, Norah?"
"The hammer lady is gone."
"She is."
"Did the moon take her?"
Dominic looked at Sal, who had just stepped into the kitchen carrying the morning newspapers. Sal coughed into his hand to hide a sudden snort of laughter.
"Something like that," Dominic told her serious face. "The moon took her very far away."
"Good," Norah said firmly. She reached into her overall pocket and pulled out something crushed and sticky. She placed it carefully into Dominic’s large, scarred palm.
It was a foil-wrapped chocolate coin—the same one he had left on the potato sack weeks ago. She had saved it.
"For you," she said. "Because you found Bo."
May you like
Dominic stared at the tiny piece of crushed chocolate in his palm. He held it as if it were worth more than the eighty-five million dollars Isabella had tried to take from his safe.
"Thank you, Norah," he said softly. "This is very good trade."
