Chapter 2 - My name reaches the lobby
Recognition moved through the Bellweather faster than a fire alarm.
The concierge recognized me first.
Then the assistant front-office manager.
Then one of the banquet captains.
Someone whispered:
“Rocco Romano.”
Dominic heard it.
His face changed.
Not guilt.
Calculation.
He sat on the floor holding his cheek.
“Mr. Romano.”
Too late for the title.
My security director, Vincent Cole, reached us.
Two other men stayed back.
No weapons drawn.
No performance.
Vincent looked at Dominic.
Then me.
“What happened?”
“I hit him.”
Vincent blinked.
Most powerful men train employees to edit reality around them.
I was trying not to.
“He pushed my chair against my will.”
Dominic scrambled upright.
“I thought he was soliciting guests.”
Maeve squeezed my hand.
I looked down.
“Where’s your family?”
She pointed toward the reception desk.
A woman stood there arguing quietly with an employee.
Thirty-something.
Tired.
Hospital wristband on one arm.
She saw Maeve beside me and hurried over.
“Maeve!”
“I’m okay.”
The woman looked at me.
Then Dominic.
“What happened?”
Dominic said:
“Your daughter was giving money to—”
I interrupted.
“She was being kind.”
The woman’s expression changed when she recognized me.
Everyone in Chicago knew the Romano name.
Not everyone liked it.
“Mr. Romano.”
“Rocco is fine.”
She did not use it.
“My name is Rebecca Lane. I’m Maeve’s mother.”
“Why are you at the desk?”
Her eyes filled with frustration.
“Our room was canceled.”
Dominic stepped in.
“That is an eligibility issue.”
Rebecca stared at him.
“You said the Sofia program was full.”
That name hit me.
Sofia.
My sister.
Dead at eleven.
The program bearing her name was supposed to guarantee rooms for families dealing with serious medical treatment.
I looked at Dominic.
“Full?”
He swallowed.
“We have a pharmaceutical convention.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Vincent leaned toward me.
“Rocco, sit.”
My leg was shaking.
I hated that he noticed.
Maeve noticed too.
“You need chair.”
Children remain loyal to facts.
I sat.
Then I looked at Dominic.
“Do not leave.”
My general counsel, Miriam Russo, arrived from an upstairs meeting almost immediately.
She heard the sentence.
Then looked at me.
“No.”
I stared.
Dominic stared too.
Miriam said:
“You may ask him to remain available. You do not order a private citizen detained.”
There.
First correction.
In front of staff.
Guests.
Everyone.
I exhaled.
“Dominic, I am asking you to stay because hotel management will need your account. You may leave if your attorney advises it.”
Miriam nodded.
Better.
Then she looked at my hand.
“You hit him?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful.”
May you like
I did not think she meant wonderful.
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