Anthony caught him before he reached the corner.

“Let me go!”

Moretti remained beside me.

He didn't chase him.

Didn't shout.

That somehow made him more frightening.

“Bring him here.”

Anthony returned with Carver.

“I didn't start that fire!”

Moretti looked at him.

“Nobody accused you.”

“Russo told me to pressure her!”

My heart pounded.

Moretti glanced at me.

There it was.

The connection.

Carver kept talking.

“He wanted information.”

“What information?” Moretti asked.

“About you.”

“From her?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him.

“I don't know anything about James.”

“We know.”

Carver was sweating despite the cold.

“Russo thought employees could be useful. Schedules. Meetings. Who came into the restaurant.”

“I clean floors.”

“He didn't care.”

Moretti's jaw tightened.

“So you cut her hours?”

Carver shook his head.

“No. That was somebody else.”

“Who?”

“I don't know.”

James stepped closer.

Carver quickly continued.

“I swear.”

A police cruiser pulled up.

Moretti stepped away immediately.

“Anthony.”

“I'll handle it.”

Carver looked confused.

“You're letting the cops take me?”

Moretti gave him a cold look.

“You wanted something else?”

Carver said nothing.

That was the first moment I realized the stories about James Moretti might not tell the whole truth.

Or maybe they did.

Maybe a man could have darkness in his past and still choose something different tonight.

Chloe tugged my sleeve.

“Where do we sleep?”

I looked at our burned apartment.

I had no answer.

Moretti did.

“You're staying at the Harbor Hotel.”

“No.”

He turned.

“Grace.”

“I can't afford the Harbor Hotel.”

“You're not paying.”

“Then absolutely not.”

Anthony laughed quietly.

Moretti looked annoyed.

“Why is everything an argument with you?”

“Because you're trying to run my life.”

“I'm trying to find a bed for your daughter.”

That stopped me.

Chloe yawned.

Moretti lowered his voice.

“One night.”

I looked at her.

Then at him.

“One night.”

“Fine.”

At the hotel, I discovered he had reserved a suite.

I immediately marched back into the hallway.

“No.”

“What now?”

“A suite?”

“It has two bedrooms.”

“We need one.”

“Your daughter needs a bed. You need privacy.”

“You could have gotten a normal room.”

“Grace, I own the hotel.”

I stared at him.

“Of course you do.”

For the first time all night, he smiled.

The next morning was Christmas.

I woke to Chloe screaming.

“Mommy!”

I ran into the living room.

Then stopped.

There was a Christmas tree.

A real one.

And underneath it were presents.

Not hundreds.

Not ridiculous piles.

Five carefully wrapped gifts.

Chloe turned toward me.

“Santa found us!”

James stood near the doorway with two coffees.

I stared at him.

“You did this?”

He shook his head.

“Santa.”

“James.”

“Don't ruin Christmas.”

Chloe opened the first gift.

A warm winter coat.

The second was books.

The third was a doll.

The fourth was art supplies.

Then she opened the fifth.

A stuffed lion.

Smaller than Leo.

She looked at James.

“This one's yours.”

He blinked.

“What?”

“You need one too.”

She held it out.

“I already have Leo.”

James slowly took the toy.

I saw his eyes change.

He turned toward the window.

Chloe didn't notice.

I did.

Later, while Chloe drew pictures on the floor, James handed me an envelope.

I didn't open it.

“If that's money, I'm giving it back.”

“It isn't.”

I opened it.

Inside was a letter.

A job offer.

Assistant manager.

Salary.

Benefits.

Daytime hours.

I stared at him.

“I don't understand.”

“You've worked at my restaurant for eleven months. You've never missed a shift until your daughter had pneumonia. Staff reports say you regularly finish other people's closing duties.”

“You investigated me.”

“I asked questions.”

“This is because you feel sorry for me.”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because your manager admitted this morning that Russo paid him to reduce your hours.”

My blood went cold.

“He's fired.”

I looked at the salary again.

It was almost twice what I'd been making.

“I don't know how to manage a restaurant.”

“Learn.”

“What if I'm terrible?”

“Then I'll fire you.”

I stared at him.

He shrugged.

“You wanted honesty.”

Before I could answer, Anthony appeared.

“Boss.”

James turned.

Anthony held out a phone.

“It's Russo.”

James took it.

“What?”

He listened.

Then his expression darkened.

“He wants to meet.”

“Where?” I asked.

James looked at me.

“Here.”