Chapter 14 - The Winter Feast on Hanover Street
The snow fell heavier as evening descended, casting a warm, golden halo around the streetlamps of Boston’s historic North End.
Inside Hayes Restoration, the workshop had been transformed. The center workbench had been cleared of wood shavings and tools, replaced by a long wooden trestle table draped in heavy linen cloths, flickering white candles, and bottles of aged Barolo wine.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, flanked by two retired master woodworkers who had known him since the 1970s, regaling them with stories of how he had repaired the bishop’s chair at the Old North Church back in Eisenhower’s presidency.
Aaron Pike sat near the middle, actually smiling—a rare and terrifying sight—as he discussed municipal zoning law with a local city historian who had come by to celebrate the preservation of the block.
And at the far end of the table, near the frosted glass windows looking out onto the snowy street, Nora sat beside Dominic.
She wore a simple emerald-green dress that caught the amber candle flicker, the antique amber ring catching the light every time she reached for her glass.
“You realize,” Nora said softly, leaning her shoulder against Dominic’s chest as he poured more wine into her glass, “the entire neighborhood thinks you’re some kind of benevolent mob godfather now.”
“Let them think what they want,” Dominic murmured, his arm resting securely around the back of her chair. “As long as they know the block belongs to the Hayes family.”
“And to you?”
Dominic turned his head, pressing a light, lingering kiss against her temple. “To both of us.”
Across the table, Arthur raised his glass of red wine, the heavy crystal catching the candlelight as he banged his spoon gently against the rim.
“Quiet down, you lot!” the old man barked affectionately, his cloudy blue eyes sweeping across the table from the young woodworkers to Aaron Pike, and finally resting on Dominic and Nora.
The table instantly fell silent, save for the crackling of the stove and the wind howling against the newly reinforced granite foundation outside.
Arthur cleared his throat, raising his glass higher.
“To foundations,” the old man rasped, his voice steady and proud. “The kind you build with oak and granite... and the kind you don’t let anyone tear down, no matter how many suits or guns they bring to your door.”
Everyone at the table raised their glasses.
“To foundations,” they chorused in unison.
May you like
Nora looked up at Dominic. The dark, dangerous world he inhabited was still out there, lurking in the shadows of the harbor and the high-stakes boardrooms of the city. But sitting here, surrounded by warmth, wood smoke, and the man who had burned down an entire corporate syndicate just to protect her grandfather’s porch, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She was home.
