Chapter 5 - The Seat at the Table
The apartment was small, spotless, and filled with the scent of lavender and children's books.
Vincent carried Sophie up the three flights of stairs, laying her down gently in her small twin bed beneath a blanket covered in cartoon stars. He carefully tucked Mr. Buttons under her arm, making sure the crooked ear was resting comfortably against her pillow.
When he walked out into the kitchen, Hannah was pouring two mugs of hot dark roast.
They sat across from each other at a small wooden kitchen table that had seen better days.
“Sal Castiglione won’t bother this building again,” Vincent said, taking a sip of coffee. “By eight o'clock tomorrow morning, my legal trust will hold the deed to this entire property. The rents will be stabilized, the repairs will be completed, and the tenants will receive ownership certificates.”
Hannah shook her head, tears shining in the corners of her eyes. “You don’t have to do that for us.”
“I’m not doing it for charity,” Vincent said, looking directly across the table into her eyes. “I’m doing it because your daughter had dinner with me tonight, and I don’t let anyone threaten people who sit at my table.”
Hannah gave a soft, exhausted laugh, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
“She really liked you, you know,” Hannah said softly. “Sophie usually hides behind my legs when she meets men. But she held your hand the whole way through that hospital lobby.”
“She told me I was a grumpy bear,” Vincent smiled faintly.
“She’s very observant,” Hannah teased gently.
For the first time in thirty-nine years, Vincent Mercer felt the cold, heavy weight of his world lift from his shoulders.
There were no contracts on the table. No guns drawn. No territory to defend.
Just a warm kitchen, the sound of rain against the window, and a woman who looked at him not as a kingpin to be feared, but as a man worthy of sitting in her home.
Vincent reached across the small table and gently touched the back of her hand.
“Hannah?”
She looked up. “Yes?”
“Tomorrow night is Saturday,” Vincent said, his voice steady and deliberate. “I would like to take you to dinner. Properly. At a table where no one has to deliver notes.”
Hannah smiled—a radiant, beautiful smile that lit up the entire room.
“Only if Sophie can come for dessert,” she replied.
Vincent chuckled, shaking his head.
May you like
“Sophie has a permanent reservation.”
And from that rainy Friday night forward, the most feared man in New York never walked out on a promise again.
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