Chapter 7 - Safe Harbor in Montauk
By two o'clock in the morning, the rain had stopped, replaced by a thick Atlantic fog that rolled across the waves.
We docked at a private inlet in Montauk, nestled deep within a nature preserve where no commercial boats were allowed. Tucked into the pines was a single-story cedar home with a wrap-around porch and a private pier—my ultimate fallback sanctuary.
I carried a sleeping Nora up the wooden steps, while Grace walked beside me holding Olivia and Sophie, who were leaning tiredly against her shoulders.
The interior of the house was warm, smelling of pine wood and sea salt. I turned on the low floor lamps, led them into the main bedroom, and laid all three girls onto the king-sized bed under a massive down comforter.
Within minutes, the exhaustion of the night caught up with them. Their breathing slowed into the deep, peaceful rhythm of true safety.
I stood by the doorway, watching them sleep. For fourteen months, their faces had been pinched with terror even in their dreams. Tonight, their features were smooth, calm, and resting.
Grace stepped out into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door closed until it was only a crack open.
She looked exhausted. Her brown hair had fallen out of its tie, framing her soft face, and her grey sweater was damp from the rain.
"They're finally sleeping," Grace whispered, rubbing her eyes.
"Come into the kitchen," I said softly. "I'll make some tea."
She followed me into the wood-paneled kitchen. I put a kettle on the gas stove and pulled out two mug cups.
"You never told me you grew up in Maine," I remarked, leaning against the counter, watching her sit down at the small oak table.
"My father was a lobsterman," Grace smiled faintly, looking at her hands. "We didn't have much money, but we had the water. When my sister died of leukemia, my family fell apart. I came to New York five years ago to start over, took nursing courses, and ended up working as a private domestic assistant."
"You aren't just an assistant, Grace," I said, stepping over and setting a hot mug of tea in front of her. "You did more for my family in two months than twenty expensive doctors did in a year."
Grace looked up, her grey eyes reflecting the warm amber light of the kitchen lamp.
"They didn't need doctors, Dominic," she said gently. "They just needed someone to listen to them without demanding answers. They needed to know it was okay to be broken."
I sat down across from her, feeling the heavy armor I’d worn for twenty years slowly peeling away.
"I thought I was protecting them by staying silent," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought if I didn't talk about Isabelle, if I kept the business away from them, they’d forget the horror. I was a coward."
"You weren't a coward," Grace reached across the table, her small, warm hand sliding over mine. "You were grieving, Dominic. You were carrying the weight of a whole world on your shoulders while trying to keep three little hearts beating."
Her touch sent a shockwave of warmth straight to my core. I turned my hand over, intertwining my fingers with hers.
Suddenly, the satellite phone on the counter buzzed loudly, breaking the quiet spell.
I answered it immediately. "Dominic."
"Boss," Luca's voice came through, clear and iron-hard. "The estate is secure. Victor's Brooklyn crew is completely neutralized. Victor is in our custody at the docks."
I took a deep breath. "Is he talking?"
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"He sang like a bird the second he woke up," Luca reported. "He gave us every name, Dominic. The Brooklyn bosses, the corrupt cops in Garden City, the whole network that set up Isabelle. They’re exposed."
"Keep him locked down," I ordered. "I'm coming back to the city at dawn to finish this."
