Chapter 1 - THE QUESTION THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
“Mom, can you buy me that red dress?” my little girl asked, knowing I barely had enough money for groceries, but the feared Chicago mafia boss standing behind us heard every word—and when he saw my daughter’s face, he suddenly went pale and asked me a question I had spent six years praying no one would ever ask
“Mom, can you buy me that dress?”
My seven-year-old daughter asked the question loudly enough for half of Michigan Avenue to hear it.
I wished the pavement would open and swallow me.
Not because Lily had done anything wrong.
Because the dress in the window cost more than our rent.
It hung beneath warm golden lights inside a children’s boutique where the mannequins wore clothes meant for families who did not check their bank balance before ordering dessert. The dress was deep red, with a velvet bodice, a soft tulle skirt, and tiny pearl-colored beads scattered across the sleeves.
Lily pressed both palms to the glass.
“That one,” she whispered. “For the winter concert.”
I tightened the zipper on her secondhand coat.
The December wind coming off Lake Michigan had turned the tip of her nose pink.
“Sweetheart, your blue dress is beautiful.”
“The one from last year?”
“Yes.”
“It’s short now.”
“We can fix it.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
That was motherhood in five words.
I’ll figure something out.
I had been figuring things out since Lily was eleven months old and her father died before he ever got to hear her say Daddy.
Figuring out rent.
Figuring out daycare.
Figuring out how to stretch chicken soup across three dinners.
Figuring out how to smile while my daughter watched other children arrive at school in polished SUVs wearing boots that cost more than my weekly grocery budget.
Lily stared at the red dress again.
“I don’t need it,” she said.
That hurt worse.
She had learned too young how to make her wants smaller.
“I know.”
“You could buy Grandma’s medicine instead.”
I crouched in front of her.
“My money problems are not your problems.”
“But Grandma needs the medicine.”
“Grandma will get her medicine.”
“And the electric bill?”
I stared at her.
She gave me a guilty little smile.
“You left it on the table.”
Seven years old.
She knew what a final notice looked like.
I swallowed.
“Lily.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t need a princess dress.”
“You are not supposed to be this understanding.”
She shrugged.
“Maybe I’m mature.”
“You still put ketchup on scrambled eggs.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then a deep male voice behind me said, “She’s right. It doesn’t.”
Every muscle in my body locked.
Some voices belong to strangers.
Some belong to people you know.
And some belong to nightmares you have spent years trying not to remember.
I turned slowly.
Dominic Moretti stood six feet away.
Black wool coat.
Charcoal suit.
No tie.
Dark hair touched with silver at the temples though he could not have been older than thirty-eight.
Two men stood farther back near a black sedan, pretending not to watch us.
Chicago newspapers called Dominic Moretti a businessman.
Federal investigators had called him many other things.
None of them had ever managed to prove enough.
In my employer’s house, nobody called him anything except Mr. Moretti.
I cleaned his mansion four days a week.
I washed crystal glasses that cost more than my car.
I changed sheets in bedrooms no one slept in.
I dusted photographs of dead relatives whose eyes seemed to follow me through the halls.
For fourteen months, I had worked beneath his roof.
For fourteen months, I had avoided being alone in the same room with him.
For fourteen months, I had prayed he would never look closely enough to recognize me.
Apparently, God had chosen that afternoon to stop cooperating.
“Mr. Moretti.”
His eyes moved from me to Lily.
Then to the dress.
Then back to me.
“You’re off today.”
“Yes.”
“You have a daughter.”
My heart beat once, hard.
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“I didn’t think my personal life was relevant to my work.”
Most employers would have been offended.
Dominic only studied me.
Lily tugged my sleeve.
“Mom, is that your boss?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Dominic.
“You have a very big house.”
One of the men near the car coughed into his fist.
Dominic’s expression almost changed.
Almost.
“I’ve been told.”
“My mom says one person doesn’t need that many bathrooms.”
“Lily.”
“What? You did.”
Dominic looked at me.
I wanted to die.
Instead, he said, “Your mother is probably right.”
Lily nodded approvingly.
Then she looked back at the red dress.
Dominic followed her gaze.
“For the winter concert?”
Lily’s face brightened.
“I sing.”
May you like
“Do you?”
(I know you're all very curious about the next part, so if you want to read more, please leave a "GRIPPING" comment below!) 👇
