Chapter 5 - The Lesson in Oatmeal
The VIP suite at Mercy General had been transformed by the afternoon. A massive array of toys, books, and children’s clothes had been delivered from FAO Schwarz, cluttering the white terrazzo floors with giant teddy bears and wooden train sets.
Emily sat in the middle of the large leather sofa, wearing a brand-new, oversized soft green sweater and clean white leggings. She had a silver spoon in her hand, staring with profound suspicion at a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal topped with fresh raspberries and gold-leaf honey that Dante’s personal chef had prepared.
Dante sat on the low coffee table opposite her, his expensive suit trousers creased as he watched her. He looked completely out of place among the stuffed animals, but his eyes never left the little girl’s face.
“It’s not the same,” Emily said, looking up at him with her deep green eyes.
“What’s not the same?” Dante asked.
“The oatmeal,” she said, pointing a small finger at the bowl. “Mommy’s oatmeal has lumps in it. And we don't have red berries. We have the brown sugar from the little paper bags from the diner.”
Dante felt a strange, sharp pang in the center of his chest. He reached out, taking the silver spoon from her hand. He scooped up a small portion of the oatmeal, blew on it gently, and held it out to her. “Try it, Emily. The berries are good for your muscles. They help you run fast when you need to climb over turnstiles.”
Emily studied him for a second, then leaned forward and took the bite. Her eyes widened as the sweet, rich flavor hit her tongue. “It tastes like cake!”
“That’s because it’s made by a man who went to school in Paris just to learn how to cook oats,” Dante said, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips.
Sarah watched them from the bed. She had been moved into a sitting position, the oxygen cannula still in place, but her color had returned, her cheeks showing a faint, healthy pink under the sunlight streaming through the window. “You’re spoiling her, Dante. She’s going to think life is always full of French chefs and giant bears.”
Dante stood up, walking over to the side of her bed. He took her hand, his thumb tracing the delicate lines of her wrist. “Life is going to be exactly like this for her from now on, Sarah. I’ve spent six years building an empire because I thought I had nothing else to protect. Now that I have both of you, that empire serves a purpose.”
“Dante… what about the Morettis?” Sarah asked, her voice dropping into a worried whisper as she glanced toward Emily, who was now happily devouring the raspberry oatmeal. “Leo Moretti won't let us go. He knows who Emily is now.”
“Leo Moretti is currently having a very long conversation with the federal maritime authority regarding five hundred tons of unregistered steel at the Newark dock,” Dante said quietly, his eyes dark and completely cold. “He won't be looking at you, Sarah. He won't be looking at anything but the wall of a cell for the next twenty years. I promise you.”
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Before Sarah could reply, the door to the suite opened softly. Frank walked in, his face unusually pale. He didn't look at Dante; he looked straight at Sarah.
“Boss,” Frank said, his voice tight. “We have a problem at the Long Island warehouse. Leo Moretti wasn't at his office. He took three of his men and left for the Bronx two hours ago. He didn't go to the docks, Dante. He bought the administrative logs from the hospital’s old intake computer. He knows she’s in the west wing.”
