Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE WITHOUT CARMINE
The mansion felt wrong without Carmine.
Too quiet.
For six months, his voice had been everywhere.
Security meetings.
Kitchen calls.
Doctors.
Lawyers.
Port managers.
My bedroom when I refused therapy.
Now his chair in the library remained empty.
I hated looking at it.
I hated missing him.
That was the part nobody explained about betrayal.
You do not stop loving the person at the moment you learn what they did.
Love becomes evidence against your own judgment.
Fay found me in the library at noon.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“Mrs. Gable sent you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Your breakfast tray is still in your room.”
“You check my trays now?”
“I work here.”
“Fair.”
She placed a sandwich on the table.
I stared.
“No plate?”
“You weaponize plates.”
“I did that twice.”
“Enough to establish precedent.”
I almost smiled.
She sat across from me.
Not working.
Not asking.
Just there.
“You should be with your mother.”
“I was.”
“How is she?”
“Angry.”
“At you?”
“At herself.”
“Claire?”
“Police custody.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
Fay looked at me.
“You’re learning.”
We sat quietly.
Then she said, “I’m quitting.”
The room stopped.
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Not today.”
I hated how quickly fear became anger.
“Why?”
She did not flinch.
“I got a job offer.”
“From who?”
“St. Catherine’s billing compliance.”
Of course.
The investigator reviewing Marian’s files had met Fay.
She understood fraud systems.
They offered her a real job.
Office.
Benefits.
Health insurance.
More money.
Everything she had wanted before desperation pushed her into my house.
“When?”
“Two weeks.”
My hands tightened.
“You applied?”
“They asked.”
“And you said yes.”
“I said I wanted forty-eight hours.”
“So not yes.”
“Not yet.”
Relief came too quickly.
I hated that too.
“What do you want?”
She smiled faintly.
“You.”
The word stopped my heart.
Then she continued.
“To not make this about what you want.”
I almost laughed.
“Cruel.”
“Necessary.”
I nodded.
“Take the job.”
She stared.
“That easy?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because if you stay only because I pay you, I will never know whether you chose anything.”
Her expression changed.
That was not the full truth.
The full truth was uglier.
I wanted her in the house.
Her coffee insults.
Her footsteps.
Her refusal to pity me.
Her hands on my legs during spasms.
Her voice reading contracts.
Her existence making rooms less dead.
But wanting someone near was not the same as having the right to keep them there.
“Take the job,” I repeated.
Fay looked down.
“What?”
“I expected you to offer more money.”
“I thought about it.”
“Of course.”
“Twice.”
She laughed.
“Thank you for not.”
“Do not praise me. It encourages virtue.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“I don’t know if I’ll take it.”
“Why?”
“My mother.”
“Insurance?”
“Covered through state program now.”
“Then?”
She looked around the library.
“I like it here.”
The sentence affected me more than it should have.
“You like cleaning my oatmeal?”
“No.”
“My charming personality?”
“Definitely not.”
“Then?”
She looked at me.
“You listen more than you did.”
That was not affection.
Not exactly.
But it mattered.
“I also like Mrs. Gable.”
“Everybody likes Mrs. Gable.”
“She terrifies me.”
“Correct.”
“And I like the kitchen staff.”
“Traitors.”
“And…”
She stopped.
I waited.
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“You say nothing badly.”
She smiled.
“Maybe I like having dinner with you when you’re not being impossible.”
There.
Small.
Dangerous.
I looked away.
“Is this where I say something terrible and ruin it?”
“Probably.”
“I am attracted to you.”
Fay closed her eyes.
“That was extremely direct.”
“I warned you.”
She looked at me.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dominic.”
“Since before I wanted to admit it.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Maybe the second night you read the port contract.”
“That is absurd.”
“You caught Santoro’s error.”
“You’re attracted to accounting.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She laughed.
Then stopped.
“This is complicated.”
“Yes.”
“You employ me.”
“Yes.”
“You are rich.”
“Yes.”
“You are dangerous.”
“Less than before.”
“That is not the reassurance you think.”
“Fair.”
“And I was desperate when I came here.”
“I know.”
She looked at me carefully.
“If anything happens between us while I work for you, I will always wonder whether I was free to say no.”
The truth hurt.
“Yes.”
“So nothing happens.”
“Yes.”
She seemed surprised by the immediate answer.
I continued.
“If you take the hospital job, does that change things?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe is cruel.”
“Necessary.”
I nodded.
“Fine.”
She smiled.
“Progress.”
That afternoon, I met with lawyers and accountants.
Carmine’s arrest created chaos.
Three port contracts were frozen.
Two captains resigned.
One bank requested immediate review of Corso-controlled credit lines.
Rossi moved in.
Old Dominic wanted blood.
New Dominic wanted documents.
We used documents.
Tax liens.
Contract defaults.
Environmental violations.
Union grievances.
Rossi’s people had spent years assuming nobody would fight them with paperwork.
They were wrong.
By Friday, two of his shipping licenses were suspended pending review.
No bodies.
Carmine would have laughed.
Then probably admitted it worked.
I missed him again.
At six, Detective Sato arrived.
“Claire wants to speak to Fay.”
“Ask Fay.”
Sato raised one brow.
“I was going to.”
“Good.”
Fay agreed.
Not alone.
Not with me.
She chose Sato and a victim advocate.
I waited at the mansion.
That mattered.
Three months ago I would have found a way to listen.
Now I sat in the study and did not.
Fay returned after ten.
Her face was exhausted.
“How was it?”
“Bad.”
I waited.
She looked at me.
“You’re not going to ask?”
“You’ll tell me if you want.”
“That is unsettling.”
“Why?”
“You used to ask everything.”
“I know.”
She sat.
“Claire hates me less.”
“Good?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fair.”
“She gave police Marian’s letters.”
“Anything important?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Fay took a breath.
“Marian knew Carlo Corso did not order her death.”
I stared.
“Who did?”
“Hospital executive named Paul D’Amato.”
The name hit.
Former CFO of Corso Health.
Died eight years ago.
“Why?”
“He was stealing from the laundering operation too.”
“Marian found both.”
“Yes.”
“So he killed her to protect himself.”
“Police think so.”
I exhaled.
One dead man.
No revenge possible.
Maybe that was good.
Fay continued.
“Claire spent years believing your family murdered Marian.”
“Reasonably.”
“Yes.”
“She married Ethan because his father had worked for D’Amato.”
“What?”
“Ethan thought he could get records.”
“So he was not only using her.”
“No.”
“They loved each other.”
Fay looked at me.
“Yes.”
That complicated everything.
Good.
Truth should.
I asked, “Did Claire know Ethan was part of my ambush?”
“Not until after he died.”
“Then why come after me now?”
“She found Carmine.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Carmine contacted her three months after the accident.”
“Why?”
“Guilt.”
That sounded possible.
“He told her Ethan had been involved but did not tell her he sabotaged the car.”
“Then?”
“They started exchanging information.”
“About Marian?”
“Yes.”
“About my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why steal your credential?”
“Carmine asked her to.”
The room went cold.
“What?”
Fay nodded.
“He wanted to move Thomas Reed before police reached him.”
“So Carmine staged the motel kidnapping.”
“Yes.”
“He used Claire because she could move under your name.”
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
“He planned everything after Enzo?”
“Not everything. Claire acted on her own calling you.”
I closed my eyes.
Another layer.
Carmine had not only hidden betrayal.
He had manipulated Fay’s identity to manage evidence.
Exactly the kind of control I was trying to stop.
Fay watched me.
“What?”
“I want to destroy him.”
“Emotion or plan?”
“Emotion.”
“Good distinction.”
I laughed without humor.
“Do you want him dead?”
She asked it simply.
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because death would end his consequences.”
Fay nodded.
“That sounds healthier.”
“Do not use that word.”
“Why?”
“It makes me sound rehabilitated.”
“You are in physical rehabilitation.”
“Different.”
She smiled.
Then the spasm hit.
Hard.
Both legs.
My body folded.
Fay stood.
“Help?”
“Yes.”
She moved.
Hands.
Breathing.
Position.
The new medication made the spasms sharper for shorter periods.
Stone said the body might adapt.
I hated that phrase.
Fay counted.
I breathed.
Pain eased.
When it passed, she stayed kneeling.
Our faces were close.
Too close.
I noticed.
She noticed.
Neither moved.
Then she stood.
Boundary.
Good.
Painful.
Good.
“I think I’m taking the hospital job,” she said.
I looked up.
“Good.”
“You mean it?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“But you should.”
Her face softened.
“Two weeks.”
“I know.”
“I’ll still visit Mrs. Gable.”
“Traitor.”
“And maybe…”
She looked at me.
“Maybe dinner.”
My chest tightened.
“After you no longer work here.”
“Yes.”
“I will need that in writing.”
She smiled.
“Of course you will.”
May you like
Two weeks suddenly felt longer than six months.
That night, after Fay left the study, I stayed there alone longer than I intended. Carmine's empty chair remained across from me, and for once I did not order anyone to remove it. I needed the reminder that changing a system did not erase the people who had built it with me. It meant looking directly at what we had justified, what we had hidden, and what I had personally rewarded because it made my life easier. Reform sounded clean when lawyers said it. In practice, it meant admitting that some of the danger around me had survived because I had once called it loyalty.
