Chapter 6 - When the Whole City Learned His Name
By sunrise, every news station in Las Vegas had the story.
By noon, national networks had it.
COSTANTINI EMPIRE LINKED TO HARBOR POINT COVER-UP
Dominic could have hidden.
Instead, he walked into a press conference.
I watched from a television in the employee break room.
Reporters shouted questions.
“Did your father order Vincent Hale’s death?”
“Did Costantini companies profit from illegal shipments?”
“Are you under investigation?”
Dominic stepped to the microphone.
“My attorneys advised me to make no statement.”
The reporters shouted louder.
He waited.
“Fortunately,” he continued, “I don’t pay them to make decisions for me.”
Even I smiled.
“The evidence recovered last night has been provided voluntarily to investigators. My company will cooperate fully. If money was made through illegal activity, that money will not remain ours.”
A reporter shouted, “Are you admitting guilt?”
“No.”
“Then what are you admitting?”
Dominic looked directly into the cameras.
“That powerful families survive too often by expecting ordinary people to pay for their secrets.”
My throat tightened.
“And that ends with me.”
The room exploded with questions.
Dominic walked away.
---
Three weeks later, the fraudulent loans in my name were formally frozen.
Two months later, they were removed.
Mason accepted a plea agreement involving identity fraud and theft.
Tiffany testified against Daniel Cross.
Vincent Hale’s name was cleared publicly.
Dominic sold two companies implicated in his father’s operation and redirected the disputed proceeds into a compensation fund.
Costantini Hospitality survived.
Smaller.
Cleaner.
And Dominic hated every newspaper profile that called him a reformer.
“You look angry,” I told him one evening.
We were sitting in a quiet restaurant after my shift.
“They used a photograph from 2019.”
“You look good.”
“I look tired.”
“You always look slightly dangerous and tired.”
He stared at me.
“Is that your type?”
“Apparently.”
He reached across the table.
Then stopped.
Even after three months, he always stopped before touching me unexpectedly.
I placed my hand in his.
His fingers closed around mine.
My wrist had healed.
The bruise was gone.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I know.”
“That’s creepy.”
“I own the restaurant.”
“That doesn’t make it less creepy.”
His mouth curved.
I had learned Dominic’s smiles were rare.
I had also learned how to cause them.
But life with him was not a fairy tale.
I refused his offer to pay off my debts.
I refused the apartment he tried to give me.
I refused to quit working simply because people now photographed me occasionally.
He complained about all three decisions.
Then respected all three.
That mattered.
One evening, he asked:
“Why are you still working at Echelon?”
“Because I like my job.”
“You complain about customers constantly.”
“I enjoy complaining.”
“I can give you another job.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“Still no.”
“Events coordinator.”
I paused.
He noticed.
“You’ve been helping management fix half their VIP disasters anyway.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They ask me.”
“I’m asking.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Did you invent this position?”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
“Not entirely.”
I laughed.
“Interview me properly.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“If I qualify, interview me like everyone else.”
“I know you qualify.”
“That isn’t the point.”
His expression softened.
“I know.”
And he did it.
Two weeks later, three executives interviewed me.
One of them rejected my first proposal.
Dominic did not intervene.
I got the job anyway.
---
Six months after the night at the roulette table, Echelon hosted a charity gala supporting financial-abuse survivors.
I stood beside the ballroom entrance in a black evening dress instead of a waitress uniform.
Dominic approached in a tuxedo.
The tattoo along his neck disappeared beneath his collar except for one dark edge.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“You look suspiciously respectable.”
“Don’t spread that rumor.”
A photographer called his name.
Dominic ignored him.
Then a familiar voice came from behind me.
“Claire.”
I turned.
Mason.
He looked different.
Not dramatically.
Just smaller somehow.
No expensive jacket.
No smug entourage.
He was attending with his attorney as part of a restitution agreement.
Dominic stepped beside me but didn’t speak.
Mason looked at him.
Then at me.
“I heard you got promoted.”
“I did.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
He swallowed.
“I owe you an apology without expecting anything back.”
Dominic remained silent.
Mason continued.
“I treated you like your fear proved I was powerful.”
My chest tightened.
“I know.”
“And when you finally left, I tried to punish you for it.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I studied him.
“I hope you become someone who never does that to another person.”
Mason nodded.
“That’s fair.”
Then he walked away.
Dominic watched him disappear.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
I smiled.
“For the first time, completely.”
He offered his hand.
I took it.
Then he looked toward the roulette room.
“The table’s still there.”
“What table?”
“The one where you assaulted my sleeve.”
I laughed.
“I was desperate.”
“You were reckless.”
“I was terrified.”
His teasing disappeared.
“I know.”
We reached the roulette table.
Same chandelier.
Same polished wood.
Same spinning wheel.
But nothing felt the same.
Dominic looked at me.
“Do you remember exactly what you said?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Absolutely not.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“Please?”
I laughed.
Then leaned toward him.
“Act like you love me, please.”
His expression softened.
This time he didn’t need to pretend.
“I have a problem with that.”
“What problem?”
“I stopped acting months ago.”
And suddenly I understood why he had brought me back here.
He reached into his pocket.
My heart stopped.
“Dominic.”
He took out a small black box.
“Don’t panic.”
“That sentence has never helped anyone.”
“I’m not proposing.”
I exhaled.
Then frowned.
“Why do you have a ring box?”
He opened it.
Inside was a key.
“To my house.”
I stared at him.
“Dominic—”
“Not ownership. Not obligation. Not a demand.”
His voice lowered.
“An invitation.”
My eyes burned.
“You rehearsed that.”
“For four days.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Never use that word again.”
I smiled.
“And if I say no?”
“You keep your apartment, your job, your independence, and me.”
“And if I say yes?”
His thumb brushed my fingers.
“You keep all of those things too.”
I took the key.
“Yes.”
For perhaps the first time in Dominic Costantini’s adult life, the mafia boss looked genuinely nervous.
May you like
I kissed him before anyone could photograph it.
---
