Chapter 9 – THE DINNER INVITATION

Summer faded into a crisp, beautiful autumn.

The settlement money from the pharmaceutical company came through. It was more money than I could comprehend. I set up an irrevocable trust for my father’s care, ensuring he would never want for anything, ever again.

I bought a small, beautiful house on the lake.

I didn’t quit my job. I loved being a nurse. But I stopped working private agency contracts. Instead, I took a position at a free pediatric clinic in the city, working with children who couldn’t afford care.

Life was quiet. Peaceful.

Until a black town car pulled into my driveway on a Friday evening in October.

I was on the porch, wrapped in a sweater, drinking tea. Gabriel stepped out of the driver’s side. He was wearing his usual dark suit, but he actually looked relaxed.

He opened the back door.

Vincent stepped out.

He walked up the steps to my porch. He looked around at the quiet suburban street, the falling leaves, the warm light spilling from my living room windows.

“No guards?” I asked, smiling over the rim of my mug.

“Just Gabriel,” Vincent said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m trying to transition into legitimate real estate. Turns out, zoning boards get nervous when you bring armed men to meetings.”

I laughed. It felt good to laugh with him.

“How is Leo?” I asked.

“He’s thriving,” Vincent said, his eyes softening at the mention of his son. “He started a new school. He joined a soccer team. I’m the assistant coach.”

I nearly choked on my tea. “Vincent Moretti, mob boss, is a soccer coach?”

“I just bring the orange slices,” Vincent smirked. “And occasionally glare at the referee if he makes a bad call.”

A comfortable silence fell between us. The autumn wind rustled the trees.

“I came to ask you something,” Vincent said, his tone turning serious.

My heart did a strange little flutter. “What is it?”

Vincent pulled a small, crisp white envelope from his jacket. It wasn’t thick like a check. It looked like an invitation.

“Isabella is coming home from rehab next weekend. My mother is hosting a welcome-home dinner at the estate. Just family.”

He held the envelope out to me.

“We want you to come.”

I looked at the envelope, then at him. “Vincent, I’m not family.”

Vincent stepped closer. The space between us suddenly felt very small.

“You saved my son, Hannah. You saved my life. In my world, that makes you blood. But…” He hesitated, the powerful man suddenly looking uncertain. “If you want nothing to do with us, with my world, I understand. I will walk down these steps, get in that car, and you will never see me again.”

I looked at the envelope. I thought about the terrifying night in the chapel. I thought about the little boy in the blue coat. And I thought about the man standing in front of me, a man who had walked through hell to protect the people he loved.

I reached out and took the envelope.

“What time is dinner?” I asked.

Vincent smiled. A real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

“Gabriel will pick you up at seven.”

Share