Chapter 2 - THE FIRST RULE OF STAYING
The first thing I learned about Gabriel Duca’s daughters was that Emma considered the word stay a legally binding agreement.
The second thing I learned was that Ella believed any agreement could be strengthened with hot chocolate.
By the time we returned to the Duca townhouse after the City Hall hearing, both girls had apparently decided my answer meant I would be moving into their house permanently, sleeping down the hall, making pancakes every morning, and eventually learning how to braid hair better than their father.
I learned all of this while standing in the foyer with my coat still buttoned.
Emma looked up at me.
“Your room can be next to ours.”
I blinked.
“My room?”
Ella nodded.
“The blue one.”
Gabriel, who had just handed his coat to a housekeeper, became perfectly still.
I looked at him.
He looked at his daughters.
Then he looked back at me.
“This appears to have escalated.”
“Appears?”
Emma frowned.
“You asked her to stay.”
Gabriel crouched in front of his daughter.
“I asked Olivia to stay around us.”
“Yes.”
“That is different from moving into the house.”
Emma considered this distinction.
“No.”
I covered a laugh with my hand.
Gabriel noticed.
“You are not helping.”
“I’m not the person who tried negotiating with a six-year-old.”
Ella tugged my sleeve.
“The blue room has flowers.”
Of course it did.
I crouched beside them.
“Girls, listen to me.”
Their expressions immediately became serious.
“I said I would stay.”
Emma smiled.
“But that does not mean I’m moving into your house tonight.”
The smile disappeared.
Ella looked worried.
“Why?”
“Because I already have a home.”
A studio apartment that contained one bed, two chairs, four buckets of flowers, and a radiator that sounded like it was dying every night.
Still mine.
“And I have my work.”
“The flower cart,” Emma said.
“Yes.”
“And I have to decide things for myself.”
Ella frowned.
“Daddy decides lots.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
I looked straight at him.
“I noticed.”
His eyes opened again.
“Unfair.”
“Accurate.”
Emma crossed her arms.
“What if we ask nice?”
I nearly smiled.
“You already did.”
“And?”
“And I’m going to keep spending time with you.”
“How much?”
I glanced toward Gabriel.
He gave me an expression suggesting he had absolutely no idea how to answer questions like this.
So much for the terrifying mafia boss.
“Enough that you don’t need to worry about me disappearing tomorrow.”
Both girls relaxed.
The change was instant.
That hurt.
Children who had lost someone early understood disappearance differently.
I looked at Gabriel.
He had seen it too.
Later, while the girls changed out of their dresses upstairs, Gabriel led me into the library.
The room was warm and quiet, lined with books and photographs.
One picture stopped me.
A woman with dark hair sat beneath a flowering cherry tree, laughing as two toddlers climbed over her lap.
Emma and Ella.
Younger.
Maybe eighteen months.
The woman was beautiful without looking like she knew it.
Sofia Duca.
Their mother.
I walked closer.
“She was beautiful.”
Gabriel stood several feet behind me.
“Yes.”
“How long were you married?”
“Eight years.”
I looked back.
“You loved her.”
It was not a question.
His face changed anyway.
“Yes.”
There were stories about men like Gabriel.
They were supposed to love power.
Loyalty.
Revenge.
Possession.
Nobody wrote newspaper articles about the way a feared man stared at a photograph of his dead wife when he thought no one was studying him.
“How did she die?”
“Car accident.”
His answer came too quickly.
Not dishonest.
Practiced.
I remembered the file’s mention from my first evening here, but I had never heard it from him directly.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
No thank you.
No unnecessary words.
Then he looked at me.
“I need to clarify something about today.”
“The council hearing?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“My daughters calling you family does not create an obligation.”
“I know.”
“They are attached to you.”
“I noticed.”
“Fast.”
“Yes.”
“That concerns me.”
I folded my arms.
“Good.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You expected me to be offended?”
“A little.”
“Children attaching quickly after losing a parent can be complicated.”
Something in his face sharpened.
“You know that?”
“I know enough not to pretend three days turns me into their mother.”
He looked relieved.
That interested me.
“I won’t do that.”
“Good.”
“And you shouldn’t either.”
His expression changed.
“I haven’t.”
“You let Emma announce I was coming home at the Winter Festival.”
“I corrected the statement.”
“Eventually.”
He almost smiled.
I continued.
“If I stay around them, there need to be rules.”
Gabriel Duca looked genuinely startled.
“You’re giving me rules?”
“Yes.”
“This is my house.”
“Then you can reject them.”
That stopped him.
Choice.
The same thing he had given me when I ordered him to put down my flower cart.
He leaned against the desk.
“Continue.”
“One: I keep my business.”
“Obviously.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Not obviously. I’m not becoming somebody who exists because a rich man’s children like her.”
His expression hardened.
“I didn’t suggest that.”
“I know. I’m telling you anyway.”
He nodded.
“Fine.”
“Two: you don’t pay my rent.”
“I hadn’t offered.”
“You look like someone who would.”
“I’m offended.”
“Survive.”
His mouth twitched.
“Three: no pretending I’m replacing Sofia.”
That removed every trace of humor.
“Agreed.”
“Four: if the girls need professional help with grief or attachment, you get it.”
His jaw tightened.
“They have a therapist.”
“Good.”
“Weekly.”
“Better.”
“Five?”
I looked at him.
“You ask before deciding things that affect me.”
Silence.
He stared.
“That one is going to be difficult for you.”
“I can tell.”
“Still.”
“Agreed.”
A strange tension settled between us.
Not romantic exactly.
But not nothing.
Then a small voice came from the doorway.
“Can we have a rule?”
Emma.
She and Ella stood there in pajamas.
Gabriel sighed.
“You were listening.”
“A little.”
“Meaning all of it.”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“What’s your rule?”
Emma thought.
“Olivia has to eat dinner with us sometimes.”
Ella added:
“And flowers by Mommy.”
I looked toward Sofia’s photograph.
“You put flowers there?”
Ella nodded.
“Mommy liked white ones.”
Gabriel looked uncomfortable.
Emma said:
“Daddy forgets.”
“I don’t forget.”
“You do.”
He stared at her.
She stared back.
I understood exactly who ran the house.
“I can bring flowers,” I said.
Ella smiled.
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
That became our agreement.
Not legal.
Not permanent.
But real.
I ate dinner with them.
Emma told me about a girl at school who cheated at spelling.
Ella explained that peas were “suspicious.”
Gabriel tried to convince both of them vegetables were not optional.
They ignored him.
For nearly an hour, he looked less like the man newspapers feared and more like a tired father negotiating with tiny dictators.
After dinner, the girls showed me their room.
Two beds.
Books everywhere.
Drawings taped to the walls.
A framed photograph of Sofia beside the night-light.
Ella showed me a picture she had drawn.
Four people holding hands.
Gabriel.
Emma.
Ella.
And a woman with yellow hair.
“That’s Mommy?”
I asked.
Ella nodded.
Sofia had dark hair.
Children’s art was not forensic evidence.
I smiled.
Then noticed something in the corner.
A black car.
A tall building.
A red shape beside it.
“What’s that?”
Ella looked.
“Mommy’s car.”
Gabriel, standing behind me, went still.
Emma leaned closer.
“That’s the night Mommy was mad.”
I turned.
“What night?”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
“Emma.”
She looked at him.
“You said we can talk about Mommy.”
“Yes.”
His voice softened immediately.
“You can.”
Emma pointed at the red figure.
“Mr. Richard.”
I frowned.
“Richard?”
Ella answered:
“The man today.”
My stomach tightened.
Councilman Richard Hale.
I looked at Gabriel.
His face had lost color.
“What does she mean?”
He crouched beside his daughters.
“Sweetheart, was Mr. Hale with Mommy?”
Emma nodded.
“At the building.”
“When?”
“The day before she went to heaven.”
The room became silent.
Gabriel’s breathing changed.
“Are you sure?”
Ella frowned.
“You said don’t say heaven?”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
“Right.”
Their therapist had probably taught them more precise language.
“Before Mommy died.”
Emma nodded.
“Mommy was yelling.”
Gabriel stared.
“At Richard Hale?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Emma pointed at the drawing.
“By the car.”
I watched Gabriel’s face transform.
Not rage yet.
Something worse.
Recognition of a fact that did not fit what he had believed for four years.
He stood slowly.
“Girls, stay with Olivia.”
He walked out.
I followed him into the hall.
“Gabriel.”
He kept moving.
“Gabriel.”
He stopped near the stairs.
“Hale told me he hadn’t seen Sofia for three weeks before the accident.”
My pulse shifted.
“Maybe the girls are remembering wrong.”
“Yes.”
But his voice said he did not believe that.
“What was Sofia doing before she died?”
His jaw tightened.
“Reviewing foundation spending tied to the waterfront redevelopment project.”
The same project Hale had challenged today.
Cold moved through me.
“Did police know?”
“They knew what she worked on.”
“Did anyone investigate Hale?”
“It was a traffic accident.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Gabriel turned.
“No.”
For the first time, I saw fury inside him without performance.
Controlled.
Deep.
Personal.
“I want to ask the girls more.”
“No.”
I stopped.
He looked at me.
“Not tonight.”
“They may remember—”
“They are six.”
“That information could matter.”
“So could how you ask.”
He stared.
I stepped closer.
“You cannot turn their bedtime into an interrogation because you’re scared.”
His eyes hardened.
“I am not scared.”
“You absolutely are.”
Silence.
Then, quietly:
“Yes.”
That surprised both of us.
I softened.
“Call their therapist.”
He nodded after a moment.
“Tomorrow.”
“Good.”
A buzzer sounded downstairs.
One of Gabriel’s security men appeared at the end of the hall.
“Boss.”
Gabriel turned.
“What?”
“Someone’s at the front gate asking for Ms. Brooks.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
The guard looked at me.
“Daniel Brooks.”
Every muscle in my body went cold.
Gabriel’s expression changed.
My ex-husband had spent months disappearing from the wreckage he left behind.
Now, less than a week after I met Gabriel Duca, Daniel had suddenly appeared outside one of the most heavily protected homes in Manhattan.
“Send him away,” Gabriel said.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“My rule.”
That stopped him.
Ask before deciding.
I swallowed.
“What does Daniel want?”
The guard answered:
“He says it’s about Sofia Duca.”
Gabriel went completely still.
May you like
Then the guard added:
“He says if Mr. Duca discovers what Sofia gave him four years ago, somebody is going to kill him before morning.”
Related Stories
