Chapter 5 - The Price of pancakes
The kitchen of the small apartment on Elm Street did not have marble counters or an epoxy floor; it had yellowed linoleum that smelled of old pine soap and a single window that looked out over a small courtyard where two children were playing with a red ball.
Dileia stood before the small four-burner gas stove, a blue apron tied over her gray scrub pants, her hand rhythmically flipping a thick, golden pancake in a cast-iron skillet.
Lily sat at the small formica table, her dark curls bouncing as she chewed a piece of bacon, her small shoes kicking the chair legs in a happy, erratic beat. "Aunt Dileia? The man with the big car... the one who brought the pastries... he said you're the boss of the whole hospital now."
Dileia smiled, her gray eyes softening as she slid the pancake onto Lily’s plate. "Not the whole hospital, sweetie. Just the part that makes sure the doctors don't forget their manners."
The buzzer on the front door let out a sharp, double ring.
Lily jumped up, but Dileia placed a hand on her shoulder. "Stay there, Lily. Eat your breakfast."
She walked to the door, her hand instinctively dropping to her apron pocket where her shears were still nestled. She pulled the heavy wooden door back, revealing Julian Vance standing in the narrow, dingy hallway. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white silk shirt open at the throat, the dark line of his shoulder bandage visible through the thin fabric.
He carried a single, heavy manila folder under his arm.
"You're late for your shift, Director," Julian said, his mouth curving into that slow, dangerous smirk as he looked at her flour-dusted cheek.
"I don't have a shift until Monday, Mr. Vance," Dileia said, leaning against the doorframe, her posture completely relaxed for the first time in three weeks. "And currently, I’m in the middle of a private compliance review with my niece."
Julian looked past her shoulder at Lily, who was currently staring at him with her mouth full of pancake. The King of Hadley, the man who controlled half the illegal cargo on the eastern seaboard, let out a slow, quiet sigh that sounded almost like relief.
"The board signed the papers at ten-thirty, Dileia," he said, sliding the manila folder into her hand. "The Mercy Hospital cardiac wing has been renamed the Hartwell Care Center. Your license was reinstated by the state board forty minutes ago with a full apology from the commissioner."
Dileia looked down at the documents, her fingers tracing the heavy gold seal of the state medical board. A single, hot tear escaped her eye, dripping onto the clean parchment before she could stop it.
"Why are you doing this, Julian?" she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked up into his winter-sea eyes. "You paid the fifty thousand. You don't owe me the city."
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Julian stepped into the narrow hallway, his massive hand reaching out to catch her chin, his thumb smoothing the tear away with a tenderness that made her breath lock in her throat.
"I told you in the alley, Dileia," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise that filled the small space between them until the yellow linoleum vanished completely. "I’ll pay any price for an eye that doesn't close. And currently... I don't intend to let anyone else look after my heart."
