Chapter 18
Nico saw Dominic again when Mila was seven.
Not at the estate.
That mattered.
A former Ferrante accountant died after a long illness.
Dominic attended the funeral.
So did Nico.
They noticed each other before the service.
Neither moved closer.
Thirty-one years of habit told Dominic where to stand.
Two years of separation told him not to assume.
He chose a seat three rows behind Nico.
Afterward people gathered outside the church.
Nico spoke with the widow.
Then turned.
Dominic was leaving.
“Nico.”
One word.
Polite.
Almost formal.
Nico nodded.
“Dominic.”
That could have been all.
Then Nico asked:
“Coffee?”
Dominic stopped.
No smile.
Good.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
They went to a small café.
No bodyguards at the table.
No files.
No family council.
For several minutes neither man knew how to begin.
That was new.
Dominic finally said:
“You look older.”
Nico stared.
“You too.”
Excellent progress.
Then silence again.
Nico asked:
“Why did you keep Richard’s letter?”
Dominic looked down.
There it was.
Not the fund.
Not Gavin.
The letter.
“Because if you read it, you might forgive him.”
Nico’s face changed.
Dominic continued.
“And if you forgave him, I would have to explain why I let him use the hidden accounts.”
So he hid it.
Not for Marjorie.
Not for Gavin.
For himself.
“Yes.”
Nico looked through the café window.
“You let her hate me for twelve years.”
“Yes.”
“You watched Gavin marry my daughter knowing that hate existed.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dominic took time.
“Because every year I waited made the truth more expensive.”
Good answer.
Terrible answer.
Nico nodded slowly.
Then:
“You were right about the families.”
Dominic looked up.
“The original families.”
“Yes.”
Widows.
Children.
Men Nico had punished whose families had not committed their mistakes.
Dominic said nothing.
Nico continued.
“My system was wrong.”
Another pause.
“That does not make yours right.”
“No.”
There it was.
Both.
Dominic had expected anger.
Maybe even violence years earlier.
What he had not expected was separation.
Nico could admit the problem without giving Dominic back the solution.
They drank coffee.
Talked twenty-seven minutes.
No reconciliation.
At the door Dominic asked:
“Do you want me to call?”
Nico almost answered automatically.
Instead:
“No.”
Dominic nodded.
Then Nico added:
“I may call you.”
Different.
“Okay.”
Three months passed.
Nico called.
Not about business.
A mutual friend’s wife was ill.
They spoke six minutes.
Then another call four months later.
Eleven minutes.
The old friendship did not return.
Something smaller began.
Sienna noticed.
“You’re talking to Dominic.”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you trust him?”
Nico looked annoyed.
“You ask that every time.”
“Because you used to treat time as evidence.”
Fair.
Thirty-one years had once been Nico’s strongest argument for trusting Dominic.
Now he understood duration proved only duration.
“No.”
Then:
“Not with authority.”
Sienna looked at him.
That distinction mattered.
“Personally?”
Nico thought.
“Some.”
Better.
Dominic never returned to the estate office.
Never touched the support fund.
May you like
Never advised on contracts.
The friendship, if it survived, would not come with a key.
