Chapter 8 - SIX MONTHS WITHOUT A MAID
Six months passed before I asked Elena to dinner.
Not six days.
Not six weeks.
Six months.
By then, she had finished the first level of her bookkeeping certification and worked three days a week for a nonprofit housing cooperative that had no connection to the Duca family.
I knew because she told my mother.
My mother told everyone.
Privacy had limits around Isabella Duca.
Mia attended a preschool ten minutes from their apartment.
No permanent security detail.
The threat assessments had dropped after Victor and Cole remained detained pending trial and Vivien entered a cooperation agreement.
Elena kept a monitored panic app and secure transportation option for late evenings.
Her choice.
I did not know her exact apartment number for the first two months.
I knew the building only after Mia drew it for me in crayon and my mother accidentally said the street name.
I did not send anyone to verify.
That was harder than it should have been.
Rocco called it character development.
I told him to retire.
He refused.
Vivien pleaded guilty to conspiracy to obstruct the foundation investigation, witness coercion, and financial offenses tied to the trust distributions.
Her cooperation reduced the eventual sentencing exposure.
That was not my decision.
Good.
She admitted threatening Elena and using surveillance of Mia to make the threat credible.
She also admitted submitting the forged Isabella certification.
Judge Cole contested charges.
Victor fought everything until Peter Malloy and two accountants testified.
Then negotiations began.
No one disappeared.
No warehouse justice.
My father would have called it weakness.
Maybe.
Or maybe power that cannot tolerate law is only fear with men around it.
I had time to think about things like that because Elena was no longer in my house and Mia no longer interrupted meetings to ask whether wolves lived in Michigan.
I missed the interruptions.
Isabella missed them more.
Every Sunday, Elena brought Mia to see her.
I made sure I was not always there.
That was deliberate.
The first month, I found reasons to be home all four Sundays.
Then I caught myself.
I was turning their visit to my mother into access to them.
So I left.
The fifth Sunday, I went to a boxing gym and hated every minute.
Progress.
Eventually Elena began inviting me sometimes.
Text:
MIA WANTS TO SHOW YOU HER DINOSAUR PROJECT.
3 PM IF YOU’RE FREE.
I went.
Stayed forty minutes.
Left before dinner.
Another:
ISABELLA WANTS BOTH OF US AT THE FOUNDATION RESTITUTION MEETING.
CAN YOU COME EARLY?
I did.
Professional.
Then:
MIA INSISTS FOX NEEDS A BIRTHDAY.
SATURDAY 2.
THIS IS YOUR FAULT SOMEHOW.
I stared at the message for a full minute.
Then replied:
HOW OLD IS FOX?
Elena:
SHE SAYS 5.
DO NOT BRING AN EXPENSIVE GIFT.
I brought a paper crown.
Mia approved.
That afternoon, I saw Elena’s apartment for the first time.
Third floor.
Bright.
Small.
Plants in windows.
A yellow sofa.
Her own photographs.
No staff room beige.
No Duca furniture except one blue lamp Isabella had given her after asking first.
The distinction was visible.
I liked it.
Too much.
At four, Mia went to build something in her room.
Elena stood in the kitchen.
Coffee.
I helped carry plates.
She looked at me.
“You can sit.”
“I can carry a plate.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“You look nervous.”
I almost dropped one.
“I am not nervous.”
She smiled.
“Grown men cross streets.”
“Exactly.”
“And three-year-olds lead you into conspiracies.”
“She is four now.”
“Terrifying.”
Yes.
We sat.
No staff.
No mother.
No security within earshot.
Elena looked different outside the mansion.
Not physically.
Positionally.
That mattered.
“How is class?”
“Hard.”
“You like it?”
“Yes.”
“Work?”
“I like not knowing everyone’s breakfast preference.”
I laughed.
Then:
“Do you miss the house?”
“People.”
“Not work.”
“No.”
“Mother.”
“Yes.”
“Mia misses the stairs.”
“Of course.”
Silence.
Then Elena said:
“How are you?”
It was an ordinary question.
I almost gave an ordinary answer.
“Better.”
She waited.
Fine.
“Embarrassed.”
“That is specific.”
“I almost married Vivien.”
“Yes.”
“I usually know when someone is lying to me.”
Elena looked at her cup.
“No.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You know when men are lying to you.”
That stopped me.
“Explain.”
“You understand people who are afraid of you. People who want money. People who want power.”
She looked at me.
“You are worse with people you want to trust.”
That was unpleasantly accurate.
“Why?”
“You stop checking because checking feels disloyal.”
I leaned back.
“Were you always this rude?”
“Yes.”
“Mother encouraged you.”
“Definitely.”
I smiled.
Then serious.
“Did you know?”
“Vivien?”
“That I did not check.”
Elena thought.
“She knew how to make you feel trusted.”
There.
Not fool.
Human.
“She also knew what you wanted.”
“What?”
“A wife who did not care about the Mafia title.”
I stared.
Elena continued.
“So she acted like she didn’t.”
“Do you care?”
The question came too fast.
Her eyes met mine.
Silence.
I wanted to take it back.
Not because answer frightened me.
Because it was not neutral.
I said:
“You do not have to answer.”
“Good.”
She smiled faintly.
Then:
“Yes.”
I looked.
“I care that you are who you are.”
Not title.
Not indifference.
“It affects everything around you. Pretending it doesn’t would be stupid.”
Good.
“And?”
“I care that Mia likes you.”
My chest tightened.
“That scares me.”
I went still.
“Why?”
“Because children attach.”
“Yes.”
“And powerful adults leave impressions even when they leave rooms.”
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
“If you ever decide you are lonely and we become your temporary family, Mia pays too.”
There.
The line I needed before I asked anything.
“I would not.”
Elena raised eyebrow.
“You do not know.”
Fair.
“No.”
I took breath.
“I don’t.”
Good.
“Then we do not experiment with her.”
“No.”
Silence.
I could have left.
Probably should.
Instead I said:
“I would like to take you to dinner.”
Elena went still.
No surprise?
Some.
“Without Mia.”
“Yes.”
“As what?”
“Dinner.”
She almost laughed.
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
Good.
“I am not asking you to become anything.”
“I know.”
“Public place.”
“That part is unnecessary.”
“No.”
I wanted no ambiguity.
“Public place. Your choice. Your transportation. No security at table.”
She watched me.
“Why now?”
“Because you do not work for my family.”
“Six months.”
“Yes.”
“Because your mother told you to wait?”
“No.”
“She did.”
“Yes.”
Elena smiled.
“Honest.”
“I waited because she was right.”
That mattered.
“And because I needed to know whether I wanted you or wanted the feeling of Mia trusting me after Vivien betrayed me.”
Elena’s face changed.
Good.
Ugly truth.
“What did you decide?”
“That those feelings are separate.”
I took breath.
“I love Mia in the way adults love children they are lucky to know.”
Her eyes softened.
“And you?”
I stopped.
“Different.”
Silence.
She looked down.
Then:
“Dinner.”
My chest loosened.
“Dinner.”
“Not Duca restaurant.”
“Fine.”
“Not a place you own indirectly.”
“That eliminates Chicago.”
She laughed.
A real one.
“Try harder.”
I did.
She chose a small Ethiopian restaurant on the North Side owned by nobody I knew.
I arrived alone.
Rocco followed three blocks behind because he refused to let me become stupid in the name of romance.
I told Elena.
She said:
“Fine. As long as he does not order injera.”
Dinner lasted two hours.
We discussed Gabriel.
Not only his death.
His terrible singing.
The way he alphabetized spices.
The fact he had believed every appliance manual should be saved.
I told her about my father.
Not as a Don.
As the man who taught me chess and refused to admit when I beat him at fifteen.
We discussed Vivien only once.
Elena said:
“I do not want to build anything around hating her.”
“Neither do I.”
Good.
At the end, I paid because I asked.
Elena let me.
Then said:
“Next time I pay.”
My heart did something embarrassing.
“Next time.”
She smiled.
Outside, cold air.
No hand touching.
No kiss.
She called her own car.
Before getting in, she said:
“Lorenzo.”
“Yes?”
“Do not make Mia part of this yet.”
“Agreed.”
“She knows we had dinner.”
“Of course.”
“She asked if it was a date.”
“What did you say?”
“I said adults sometimes eat food and ask questions.”
I laughed.
“What did she say?”
“That sounds like a date.”
Smart child.
Elena smiled.
Then:
“I am not ready to tell her she is right.”
“Okay.”
She got in the car.
I watched it leave.
Then Rocco pulled up.
He looked at me through the window.
“Well?”
“Drive.”
“You smiled.”
“Rocco.”
“Terrifying.”
I got in.
Six months earlier, I had planned to marry a woman who loved what my trust could unlock.
Tonight, I had eaten lentils with a woman who had once cleaned my mother’s room and now owed me nothing.
That difference was not a romantic obstacle.
It was the only reason I allowed myself to want a second dinner.
The next morning, Elena sent one message:
MIA SAYS FOX APPROVES OF YOU.
I stared at it longer than necessary.
Then replied:
I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR HIS DECISION.
Her answer came immediately.
HER.
May you like
I smiled.
Another correction accepted.
