Chapter 9 - THE MAN I DECIDED TO BECOME
The war ended faster than it began.
Without Vincent, the Colombo captains fractured.
Three negotiated peace.
Two fled.
The rest accepted new boundaries.
Anthony DeSantis went to federal custody.
Niko Bellini accepted a reduced sentence after cooperating.
Salvatore faced the Moretti council again.
This time nobody defended him.
He was stripped of rank.
More importantly, he was expelled from the family organization.
Old-school captains called it humiliation worse than death.
I intentionally let him live.
Salvatore stared at me after the vote.
“You’ve become weak.”
I smiled.
“No.”
“What would your father say?”
“I stopped caring.”
That was freedom.
Carlo refused his father’s properties.
Instead, he remained inside the organization under Marco.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Trust would be earned.
Not inherited.
Then came the hardest conversation.
Elena sat across from me in the mansion library.
Sofia slept upstairs.
We had returned home after extensive security changes.
I placed a folder on the table.
“What?”
“Money.”
She frowned.
“Dangerous start.”
I smiled faintly.
“Trust fund for Sofia.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
“I am.”
“Enough for education, housing, everything.”
“She doesn’t need millions.”
“She nearly got killed because of me.”
“That doesn’t mean you buy away your guilt.”
“I’m not.”
She stared.
I sighed.
“Maybe a little.”
“Dominic.”
“I want her protected.”
“She needs you.”
I looked at her.
“Not your money.”
I remembered the first morning.
The piano.
Maybe the piano gets lonely.
I leaned back.
“What happens now?”
Elena looked confused.
“With us.”
“You tell me.”
“I’m terrible at this.”
“Yes.”
“Helpful.”
She smiled.
I continued:
“I know how to negotiate territory.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I know how to threaten people.”
“Also noticed.”
“I do not know how to date.”
“You could begin with dinner.”
“We eat dinner every night.”
“Not with six armed men nearby.”
“Five?”
“Dominic.”
“Fine.”
So I took her to dinner.
A normal restaurant.
Public.
No private room.
Marco’s security stayed two tables away.
Elena caught them immediately.
“You said no armed men.”
“I said not nearby.”
“They are twenty feet away.”
“That’s not nearby.”
She laughed.
For two hours, I learned things I should have asked months earlier.
Favorite food.
Chicken piccata.
Favorite movie.
Roman Holiday.
Favorite place.
Her grandmother’s kitchen in Queens.
Biggest dream.
“To own a little house.”
I stared.
“That’s it?”
“No mansion?”
“No.”
“Pool?”
“Maybe kiddie pool.”
I smiled.
“What about you?”
She asked.
I considered.
Nobody had asked me that in years.
“My dream?”
“Yes.”
I thought about money.
Power.
Territory.
None of it sounded like a dream anymore.
Then I pictured Sofia waiting in the foyer.
Big houses shouldn’t say hello with nobody in them.
“You and Sofia there when I come home.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“That’s dangerously romantic.”
“I’m improving.”
“You are.”
Months passed.
I reduced my involvement in street operations.
Marco took control of security.
Carlo handled legitimate holdings.
I expanded the businesses that could eventually replace the criminal ones.
Some captains hated it.
They adapted.
Or left.
I stopped carrying a gun inside the house.
That mattered to Elena.
I started playing the piano again.
Badly.
Sofia loved it.
One night, she climbed beside me on the bench.
“Again.”
“I’ve played it six times.”
“Again.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“Piano lonely.”
I stared at her.
“You created a monster.”
Elena laughed from the doorway.
The song had been my mother’s favorite.
Sofia played random notes beside me.
Terrible.
Perfect.
Then one afternoon she returned from nursery with a drawing.
Three figures.
Elena.
Sofia.
Me.
I pointed.
“Who’s that?”
“You.”
“Why am I so tall?”
“You big.”
“Accurate.”
She pointed at Elena.
“Mama.”
Then herself.
“Me.”
Then she added something above us.
A roof.
“House.”
My chest tightened.
“Family house.”
I looked at Elena.
She was crying.
That evening I took out the ring I had bought weeks earlier.
Then put it away.
Not yet.
I remembered her laughing at the hospital.
Normal people date.
Fine.
We would date.
I would learn patience.
Unfortunately, Sofia had none.
At breakfast the next morning she said:
“Dommy marry Mama?”
Elena choked on coffee.
I stared at the child.
“What?”
“You kiss.”
Elena covered her face.
“Sofia.”
“You sleep close.”
“Sofia!”
I looked at Elena.
“Technically—”
“Do not help.”
Sofia continued eating strawberries.
“Wedding cake.”
Of course.
That was her motivation.
I laughed.
Elena glared.
“This is your fault.”
“How?”
“You give her everything.”
“I do not.”
“You bought her a pony.”
“She asked politely.”
“She’s three!”
“She said please.”
Elena laughed despite herself.
I reached across the table.
“Not yet.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“Marriage.”
Her expression softened.
“But someday?”
I asked.
She squeezed my hand.
May you like
“Maybe.”
For a man who had controlled entire neighborhoods, maybe became the most beautiful word in the world.
