Chapter 43 - The Ordinary Afternoon
Vince killed the engine and stepped out of the vehicle first, walking around to open the passenger door and deploy the lightweight folding ramp that Dominic had insisted on installing for urban excursions—rejecting the heavy, conspicuous motorized lifts in favor of something discreet and functional.
Dominic maneuvered his chair down the ramp with smooth, practiced efficiency, his hands gripping the rubber-coated handrims with steady strength. The autumn breeze caught his jacket as he rolled onto the concrete sidewalk of Bleecker Street, right into the middle of the bustling pedestrian traffic.
For a split second, a less-seasoned observer might have expected the crowd to part in fear of the tall, formidable man with cold dark eyes and an imposing physical presence sitting in a wheelchair. But in New York City, nobody stared for long. A man in a wheelchair was just another citizen navigating the broken pavement, dodging sidewalk café chairs, and rushing toward their morning caffeine fix. Dominic was invisible here—not because of shadows or stealth, but because he was finally blending into the ordinary fabric of human life.
"Table by the window, Boss?" Vince asked, gesturing toward a small, round cast-iron table sitting on the sidewalk beneath the green awning.
"Perfect," Dominic replied.
Vince moved ahead, easily clearing a path through two college students arguing over a paperback novel, and held the wooden chair back so Dominic could position his wheelchair comfortably against the curb-side table.
Moments later, a young waiter with an apron tied loosely around his waist and a friendly, harried expression rushed over with a pad and pen. "Morning! What can I get started for you guys? We’ve got fresh croissants right out of the oven and the dark roast is already pulling."
"Two double espressos," Dominic said smoothly, looking up at the young man with a calm, level gaze. "And one of the almond pastries, please."
"Coming right up," the waiter chirped, turning on his heel and disappearing back into the crowded, steaming interior of the café without giving a second thought to the identity, background, or history of his customers.
Dominic leaned back in his wheelchair, resting his forearms on the edge of the iron table. He looked out across the bustling street, watching the kaleidoscope of humanity flow past—couples walking hand in hand, dogs pulling eagerly on leashes, messengers weaving through traffic on bicycles, and old men playing chess on folding tables in the nearby square.
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"Quiet day, Boss," Vince observed, sitting down in the opposite chair and checking his watch with an air of complete relaxation.
"The quietest one we've had in thirty years," Dominic replied, a genuine, deep-seated smile finally breaking across his face.
