Chapter 4 - Dominic Gave Up His Criminal Empire to Become the Father Luca Needed—But Emma Refused to Become His Reward for ChangingMichael Russo was sentenced to life in federal prison.
Nathan received thirty-four years.
Marcus Dale received nineteen.
The corruption investigation eventually produced twenty-three convictions.
Dominic was not exempt.
That surprised everyone except me.
He pleaded guilty to conspiracy, bribery, and financial crimes connected to the organization he had controlled.
His cooperation mattered.
So did the fact that he voluntarily dismantled several criminal operations before charges were filed.
But cooperation did not erase responsibility.
The judge sentenced him to thirty months.
Luca was seven.
Dominic told him himself.
We sat in the family room.
No bodyguards.
No attorneys.
No euphemisms.
“I did things that were against the law,” Dominic said.
Luca held his wolf.
“Bad things?”
“Yes.”
“Like Uncle Michael?”
“Some things were different.”
Dominic paused.
“But I don't want to tell you I'm better just because someone else was worse.”
I looked at him.
That sentence told me how much he had changed.
Luca asked:
“Are you leaving?”
“For a while.”
His face crumpled.
Dominic immediately moved forward.
Then stopped.
“Can I hug you?”
Luca nodded.
Dominic held him.
“I'll come back.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Luca looked at me.
“Emma stay?”
My chest tightened.
Dominic did not answer for me.
Good.
I crouched.
“I'll be here.”
Dominic looked at me.
I added:
“Because I choose to be.”
His eyes filled.
Two months later, Dominic surrendered.
He served twenty-six months.
I did not become Luca's legal guardian.
That role went to Isabella, with me remaining his nanny and later family-support coordinator.
Dominic had suggested guardianship once.
I refused.
“You don't need to legally attach me to your son to keep me in your life.”
He understood.
During those twenty-six months, I finished my degree.
My mother responded to a new treatment.
She improved enough to move into a smaller apartment near me.
Luca returned to school.
He talked more.
He had difficult days.
He had good ones.
He remained in therapy.
So did Dominic.
Every Sunday, Luca spoke with his father.
Sometimes for an hour.
Sometimes three minutes.
Dominic accepted both.
I visited Dominic four times.
Only four.
Not weekly.
Not as a girlfriend.
We had never kissed.
On my final visit before his release, he sat across the table.
“You cut your hair.”
“Six months ago.”
“I noticed.”
“You said nothing.”
“I was told comments about women's appearance are dangerous.”
I laughed.
“Who told you?”
“My therapist.”
“I like him.”
“I don't.”
“That's probably why he's effective.”
Dominic smiled.
Then:
“Are you dating?”
I stared.
He immediately raised a hand.
“None of my business.”
“No.”
His face changed.
“I'm not.”
“Why?”
“I didn't find anyone I wanted.”
Silence.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“When I get out, I'm going to ask you to dinner.”
“You sound confident.”
“You can say no.”
“What if I do?”
“I'll ask again in six months.”
I laughed.
“That's not how respecting no works.”
He smiled.
“Then I won't.”
“Better.”
“What if you say maybe?”
“Maybe means maybe.”
He nodded.
“Luca taught me that.”
When Dominic came home, there were no cameras.
No press.
No giant party.
Luca waited in the driveway.
Dominic stepped from the car.
For a second, neither moved.
Then Luca ran.
Dominic caught him.
I cried.
Carlo cried.
He denied it.
Isabella openly sobbed and threatened anyone who mentioned it.
Dominic had changed physically.
Lean.
Gray at the temples.
Quieter.
He no longer controlled the criminal organization.
It barely existed.
The legitimate companies had been placed under independent compliance oversight.
A significant portion of recovered profits went into restitution funds.
Dominic remained wealthy.
But less wealthy.
He claimed this was traumatic.
I told him he'd survive.
Three weeks later, he asked me to dinner.
“No.”
His face fell.
“Why?”
“Because I want to ask you.”
He blinked.
“Ask me what?”
“Dinner.”
He stared.
“Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Seven?”
“Yes.”
“I'll pick you up.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I have a car.”
“Right.”
“Growth.”
“I hate that word.”
Our first date was at a small Italian restaurant.
Dominic tried to reserve the entire place.
I threatened to cancel.
He behaved.
Mostly.
For the first time, I learned things about him that had nothing to do with violence.
He loved old jazz.
Hated olives.
Had wanted to become an architect before his father died and family obligations swallowed his life.
He could draw beautifully.
He was terrible at bowling.
I discovered that later.
Three months passed before he kissed me.
He asked.
“Can I?”
I said:
“Yes.”
It was gentle.
Nothing like the man I had imagined Dominic Russo would be.
When we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.
“I have wanted to do that for three years.”
“Liar.”
“Two years and eleven months.”
“Better.”
Then life gave us one final test.
My mother became ill again.
Not lupus.
Cancer.
Early stage.
Treatable.
I was terrified.
Dominic immediately offered specialists.
Money.
Flights.
Everything.
I snapped.
“I don't need you to buy my mother's survival.”
He went quiet.
I regretted the cruelty instantly.
“Dominic—”
“No.”
He nodded.
“You're right.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were afraid.”
“Yes.”
“So was I.”
He sat beside me.
“What do you need?”
That question.
Not what can I buy?
What do you need?
“Come with me tomorrow.”
“To the appointment?”
“Yes.”
“That's all?”
“Yes.”
He came.
Sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair.
Held my hand.
Said almost nothing.
My mother liked him immediately.
Which irritated me.
“You're the one she slapped?” Mom asked.
Dominic sighed.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why does everyone say that?”
“Because apparently you needed it.”
He looked at me.
“Your daughter has explained.”
Mom smiled.
“She usually does.”
Treatment worked.
Six months later, Mom was in remission.
That summer, Luca turned ten.
At his birthday, he pulled me aside.
“Are you going to marry Dad?”
I nearly dropped the cake.
“Why?”
“He looks at rings.”
“What?”
“On computer.”
“Luca.”
“What?”
“Privacy.”
“He doesn't know incognito mode.”
I laughed until I cried.
Then I became serious.
“Would you want that?”
Luca thought.
“I want you to stay.”
“That isn't the same question.”
“I know.”
He was quiet.
Then:
“I don't want you to marry him because of me.”
My heart broke.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I called you Mommy.”
I crouched.
“Luca.”
He looked at me.
“You never made me stay.”
“No.”
“You never made me love you.”
“No.”
“You don't owe me being my mom.”
I hugged him.
“You're smarter than both of us.”
“Dad says that.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“I am not marrying anyone because you need a mother.”
He nodded.
“If I ever marry your father, it'll be because I love the annoying man.”
“Okay.”
“Extremely annoying.”
Luca smiled.
“Okay.”
Dominic did buy a ring.
Then he waited.
A year.
He wanted to be certain.
So did I.
On the fourth anniversary of the night I slapped him, we stood in the upstairs corridor.
The broken music box had been restored.
Not perfectly.
A thin silver seam showed where the glass had cracked.
Luca had insisted on keeping it that way.
Dominic held it.
“I used to hate this.”
“The box?”
“The crack.”
“Why?”
“It reminded me of the worst thing I did to him.”
I looked at the silver seam.
“And now?”
“It reminds me that repaired doesn't mean erased.”
He looked at me.
“I don't want to erase who I was.”
“Good.”
“I want to remember why I can't become him again.”
He reached into his pocket.
I immediately groaned.
“No.”
His face fell.
“I haven't asked.”
“You're doing it here?”
“Yes.”
“Dominic.”
“I had a speech.”
“Of course you did.”
“Can I finish?”
I smiled.
“Blue card.”
He laughed.
May you like
Then knelt.
And the most feared man in Chicago asked instead of commanded.
