Chapter 18
Emily
The second Lucia and Romeo leave the room to tend to their son, I lean towards Dominic and whisper, “I can’t afford new furniture.”
My confession makes my face heat. I’m ashamed of the situation I now find myself in, for more reasons than one.
I can’t afford much of anything until I get paid next week. We were behind on rent, something Mick was supposed to handle, and it ended up being on me to try to catch up. The alternative was eviction, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.
When I first moved back here with him, he didn’t want me to pay my way, but I insisted. I thought contributing meant we were building something together, that we were equals.
We eventually agreed that I’d buy the groceries and help with the utilities, but somewhere along the way, I ended up covering just about everything. Whenever I questioned it, he’d twist it around and make me feel like there was something wrong with me, like it was my fault.
He could’ve gone out and got a real job instead of relying on his criminal activities. He also could’ve cleaned up his act and stopped using. I regularly took on extra shifts to make ends meet.
Dominic’s jaw ticks, like he can read the storm brewing behind my eyes. “I never asked you to pay for the furniture, Emily,” he growls.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper. “Why are you helping someone you barely know?”
He doesn’t reply straight away. His eyes drop to the table for a beat, but when his sharp gaze returns to me, his reply comes out quiet, “Because I couldn’t save my mother.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “I couldn’t help her, but I can sure as fuck help you.”
My breath catches as I try to make sense of what he’s saying. He couldn’t save his mother. What does that even mean?
He leans back slightly in his seat, assessing me, like he’s waiting for me to push back, but when I don’t, he continues, “You’re not going to argue with me about this, Em. Not when I finally have a chance to do something right. To fix something that’s been weighing on me for years.”
“I’m not your problem, Dom.”
“You are now,” he says, the finality in his voice leaves no room to argue.
“Emmy, you coming to my place?” Peach asks as we pull into the driveway of a neat brick home.
This kid, I swear, is the cutest. She’s been calling me that ever since she asked me my name.
I’m still not sure if she’s given me a nickname or if that’s how she pronounces Emily.
I’ve met her twice before now, at the store when she was a baby and the one time Dominic brought her to La Riviera, but it’s only natural she wouldn’t remember me.
I turn slightly, glancing over my shoulder to where she sits in the back seat. “I am, is that okay?” I answer, although I’m still in two minds about being here.
She nods eagerly as her big brown eyes widen even further. “You wanna see my room?”
“I’d love to.”
I turn back around, push my sunglasses on top of my head, and blink a few times as I stare out the front windscreen at the house—which will apparently be my home for the foreseeable future—taking it all in.
How did I even get here?
It’s not as grand as Lucia and Romeo’s place, but I’m surprised by how normal it looks. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
It’s well-maintained, with a neatly mowed lawn and a stone path leading to a navy blue front door that looks freshly painted.
This is the nice part of town, not far from where I grew up. It’s the kind of neighbourhood where people wave to each other, and kids ride their bikes safely on the road after school. Definitely a far cry from the area I lived in with Mick.
Our neighbours were a little on the rough side, like him.
Some people in our street took care of their homes, but many didn’t.
Overgrown lawns, broken windows, holes punched in the siding, discarded furniture, and rubbish piling up along the kerb were common occurrences.
Some of them would yell at Mick or call the cops when he revved his bike too loudly or tore down the street like a maniac.
He never cared about their complaints; it only seemed to fuel his behaviour.
My eyes flicker from the house to Dominic as a strange mix of comfort and unease settles in the pit of my stomach. He and this place feel familiar and foreign all at once. Like I’m stepping into a life I used to imagine for myself before everything got messy.
On our way home, we stopped at the store to get some supplies.
Dominic went straight for the frozen dinners, but when I told him I knew how to cook, he actually seemed surprised.
So instead of stocking up on premade meals, he started loading the shopping trolley up with a variety of meats and vegetables.
Before he placed anything in, he asked, “Can you cook this?” as he held up different cuts of meat. When we got to the fresh produce section, his first question was, “Do you know how to make mashed potatoes?” I nodded, and a slight smile curved his lips.
He almost seemed excited about eating freshly cooked food. It was enough to crack a tiny piece of my armour that I’d recently erected around my heart.
I occasionally cooked with my mother growing up, and when things are slow at the restaurant, Massimo teaches me things. I’m nowhere near his expertise in the kitchen, but I do okay.
It felt both weird and comforting walking around the store with them both. To anyone looking in from the outside, it probably seemed like we were a family. I pushed the cart while Peach sat in the seat up front, swinging her little feet back and forth, watching a cartoon on Dominic’s phone.
Dominic wandered beside me, drifting through each aisle like everything was new to him. He was like a small child discovering things for the first time—wide-eyed, earnest, and eager to put things into the trolley that he never dared to until now.
And I can’t lie, it felt good knowing I was the one who gave him that.
What surprised me most wasn’t the way he shifted while we shopped, but the way I did. There was something warm in it, something steadying. As if some quiet part of me had been waiting for this, waiting to feel needed without feeling trapped.
There’s no denying a part of me wants to take care of them. I never offered other customers leftovers unless they asked, but with him, it was a given.
Maybe it started the first time I saw him in the store with Peach. Something about the two of them stuck with me. There was a quiet need that called to my nurturing side.
Dominic switches off the ignition, removes his seat belt, and exits the car, so I do the same. Once I’m out, I just stand there with my fingers knotted together in front of me, unsure of what to do next.
I watch him get Peach out, and when he places her on the ground, I round the front of the vehicle.
“Take these,” he says, tossing me the keys. “Peach can take you inside and show you her room while I unload the car.”
“Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it,” he grumbles, dismissing me as he turns and moves around to the rear of the vehicle, popping the tailgate.
Something in my chest squeezes tight when Peach reaches for my hand and says, “Come, Emmy.”
I let her lead me down the path and up the front stairs. I try a few different keys in the lock before I find the right one.
It feels strange entering Dominic’s place, but I don’t have much time to ponder that thought as Peach steps inside, tugging on my hand. “Come.”
As I’m gently pulled through the front room, my eyes scan the space.
It’s neat, but I’m left a little stunned at the lack of furnishings.
There’s a leather recliner by the far wall, and an adorable matching mini pink one sitting beside it.
A coffee table, a wicker basket overflowing with toys, and a large flat-screen television hanging on the far wall.
And that’s pretty much it.
The room feels lived-in but stripped back, as if someone moved in and never quite figured out what a home was supposed to look like. Or maybe they’d been too busy trying to hold everything together to worry about matching cushions and décor.
The walls are a crisp white and surprisingly clean, especially with a toddler living here. But they’re bare. No paintings or family photos.
It feels a little sad, like the place is still waiting for a story that hasn’t been told yet.
Peach doesn’t seem to notice any of that.
She tugs my hand with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where she’s going.
Her tiny fingers are warm against mine, already pulling me towards the hallway as if she’s certain I’ll follow.
And I do, still thinking about the simplicity of the space behind us.
I’m wondering what the rest of the house will reveal, and what it says about the life Dominic’s been trying to build for himself and this sweet little girl.
“My room,” she chirps when we come to a stop beside an open door.
I peek my head around the corner, and I’m in no way left feeling underwhelmed. In fact, a smile curves my lips as I take it all in.
The room is comfortable and impossibly sweet, wrapped in soft-pink walls with white furnishings that brighten the space.
It has a little dresser with dainty knobs, a bookshelf filled with picture books, and a matching cot tucked neatly against the far wall, with frilly bedding that has ruffles bordering the edges.
A parade of stuffed toys sits lined up along the end, each one clearly loved. In the corner, a white rocking chair completes the scene, and I can’t help but imagine Dominic sitting there, gently rocking a littler Peach when she was a baby, humming softly while she drifted off to sleep.
The sight is so raw and nothing like I expected that tears sting the back of my eyes.
Seeing the stark difference between the man people fear and the one who opened his home and his heart to this little girl when she had nobody is worlds apart.
The ruthless, untouchable mobster alongside someone capable of such quiet tenderness, someone who steps into her life and makes it safer, warmer, better.
I admire him so much for what he’s done for her, and I already know I’m going to have to guard my heart because this man is making his way under my skin without even trying.
Peach drops my hand and runs into her room, heading straight for the bookshelf. She moves a couple aside until she finds the one she wants, turning towards me and holding it out. “Read,” she says.
I take it out of her hand and glance at the worn cover. Sir Braveheart and the Little Princess. I can tell this book has been read a lot.
“You want me to read it to you?”
She nods as she points to the rocking chair in the corner.
I step further into the room and make my way towards the chair, taking a seat. As soon as I do, I’m surprised when Peach doesn’t hesitate to climb onto my lap.
I open the little book and begin to read. As soon as I start speaking, she snuggles closer into me, and my heart melts. She doesn’t even know me, but she’s so trusting, and that’s a testament to her uncle.
The story is about a brave knight who rescues a lonely little princess from a dark, empty castle and carries her to a cosy home full of warmth, toys, and safety.
I pause for a moment, looking down at Peach’s tiny face, and I can’t help but think how much this story mirrors her reality.
Dominic didn’t have to take her in and make her feel loved when the world had turned its back on her, yet he did.
The knight in the story is just make-believe, but Dominic isn’t … he’s real.