Retaliatory Justice

by Tawa M. Witko

  There is screaming as Kailee hugs Clayton and then runs up to me, hugging me and kissing me on the cheek before hugging Lynelle, who is crying. Anderson is answering questions, and then someone asks him about the FBI. This ought to be fun.

  “This case was a collaborative effort between the Federal Bureau of Investigation both in Chicago and New York as well as local law enforcement in New Orleans. I would like to take this opportunity to issue a special thank you to Officer Jackson LeBlanc of the New Orleans Police Department. His invaluable help related to the Sicignano and Mubarak families activity in the French Quarter greatly assisted our investigation. Exceptional officers of his caliber are what make our communities safer environments to live in. Next question.”

  “Valentino!” Dominique screams and wraps her arms around my neck and kissing me lightly on the lips. “Thank you so much for doing that for Jackson.”

  “He’s an incredible officer and deserved the recognition.”

  “As was your father and godfather,” she says gleefully, kissing me deeply.

  Her phone is ringing, as is Clayton’s, Kailee’s and Lynelle’s. Mine isn’t, but the important people to me are right here and all I can think is how amazing it is that I am sitting in this room with Dominique, the woman I love, with my best friend and my family. My father’s name and Joseph’s have been linked to this amazing case. I can almost see my father smiling down in heaven. We got ‘em dad, we nailed him.

  ~*~

  I glance over at Dominique, who is sleeping. We stayed at the hospital for a few hours. Long enough so that we could all see Joseph, and could tell him everything that happened. We then pulled up Anderson’s press conference and saw his face light up. It was amazing, and now I can’t stop smiling.

  “Dominique, baby, we’re here,” I say, nudging her.

  Her eyes open and she smiles, that perfect sleepy smile that makes me feel so good inside. I exit and help her out of the vehicle. She wraps her arm around my waist and I think, if possible, she would have meshed completely with me. The minute we get inside, I take her in my arms.

  “Don’t leave, Dominique, stay with me, here in Chicago,” I say stroking her cheek lightly.

  Her eyes pool with tears as she starts to nod. “My place is with you, Valentino.”

  I grab her face and kiss her… hard, harder than I have ever kissed anyone in my life. I can’t tear myself away and I know it’s partly because if I do she will probably see the tears that I feel on my cheeks and partly because I can’t bear the thought of ever being away from her, not even for a moment.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she asks and I realize that I have stopped kissing her.

  “I almost lost you today and…” I breathe in, closing my eyes and remembering something my dad told me long ago. “The thought of losing you before we had a chance to begin was debilitating.” I shake my head before lightly tracing my fingers along her face. “Dominique, I’m tired of simply existing. It’s time I start living and that can only happen with you.”

  “I love you,” she responds, kissing me.

  There is calmness with us now, that only peace of mind can achieve. Her head drops onto my shoulder as her heart beats rapidly against mine, and the happiness that washes over me is overwhelming. Dominique is my world, she’s my forever and I finally know what my dad was talking about so long ago. She takes my breath away and knows exactly what I need. She opened my heart, a heart that was full of vengeance, closed off to others by death and despair. She made me want to feel again. I love her and I’ll never let her go.

  Epilogue

  Dominique Walker

  April 7th

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Dominique, I’m at the airport. I was able to catch an earlier flight so I took it.”

  “WHAT! give me a few minutes and I’ll head over there.”

  I let the phone rest on my shoulder as I quickly throw my hair up into a bun a top my head and then start running around the apartment, trying to gather my things in a hurry. I find one shoe but not the other, ahhh, there it is. How’d it get under the recliner? I think with a shrug. Where are my keys?

  “I am going to catch a cab so stop running around.”

  “Wait, no, I told you I would get you.”

  “I know you did, but I also know you well enough to know that you want to get to the restaurant as soon as possible. I can occupy myself until it’s time to go.”

  “Dad, are you sure, because I don’t like this at all?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. There’s my cab. I’ll call you when I get to the hotel.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too.”

  He hangs up and I sigh. I glance around the room, taking a seat on the sofa. I wish my dad would have agreed to stay with us. We have plenty of room. Valentino and I moved here about four months ago. After everything that happened with Enrico and Marshall and well, all of them, I never returned to New Orleans, except to get my things. We stayed at Valentino’s apartment for the first four months or so. It was a really nice place but definitely a bachelor pad and the kitchen was minuscule, which simply wouldn’t work for me. I needed a kitchen I could cook in! We ending up finding a nice three-bedroom condo with a monstrous kitchen and a nice size living room with a small office to the side which has worked perfectly for both of us.

  Leaving New Orleans was oddly easier than I imagined it would be. Le Creole closed after the owners were killed and the silent partners disappeared. From my understanding, Mubarak slipped out of the warehouse along with Mkhai. It took the FBI three days to figure out that the man in the morgue that they thought was Mubarak wasn’t. It was Kalefe, who gave his life for Mubarak. Valentino said he assumed that Mubarak was back in Egypt, but no one has spotted him so far. I’m not concerned. If anything, Mubarak thinks I’m protected by the pendant, and I helped him, so I know he won’t hurt me. I’m still not sure why Phillipe gave the pendant to me in the first place, but I guess, in a way, it did protect me from the bad guys.

  Adams, well, he is serving time in the Leavenworth federal penitentiary in Kansas. Apparently, it was for his own safety as he was getting beat down on a regular basis in Marion. I think he thought throwing the Sicignano’s name around would protect him, but it had the opposite effect. Without Carmine and Enrico, the family wasn’t much. In fact, everyone who had ever had a grudge with the Sicignano seemed to be taking it out on Adams. I warned him that they couldn’t protect him.

  After everything was said and done, Michelle was the only one that Valentino felt bad about. He talked about her often. What she and Tony went through. He always felt that he somehow let her down. She never came back, at least not yet. The last Valentino heard, she was living somewhere in Montana. Well, that was the implication of the postcard he had received four months ago. It had simply been a picture of an eagle soaring in the sky with the words Montana scrawled across the mountains beneath it. I wish she would return to Chicago though, everyone wants her here, Jeff especially.

  The rest of the team well, we see them quite often. In fact, they have weekly poker games in Joseph’s man cave, just like Valentino’s father used to do. Zach, Jeff, and Clayton all joined Valentino to form an elite investigative unit in the agency. They are called in to consult with many other ATF units across the country. They are a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure. My phone rings, drawing me out of my thoughts.

  “Dominique, I think Jackson and I might be a tad late. They have him working on something right now.”

  “It’s okay. Get there as soon as you can.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I better go. Love you,” he says, hanging up.

  I laugh and hang up. He and Jackson stayed in New Orleans for two months before moving to Chicago. After everything that happened, Jackson made the decision to join the ATF, which Santiago and I fully supported, so he entered their training academy and is now working in the Chicago field office. He isn’t on Valentino’s team, but it is something he is striving for. At fir
st, he was worried that being openly gay would hinder his advancement, but it hasn’t. Anderson loves him already, as do the other agents. I told him it wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, Valentino’s team has already asked him to come to their weekly card games. His first one is in a few days. To say he’s excited, is an understatement. My sweet Santiago has found his niche in Chicago as well, having become the personal fashion consultant for several well-to-do women, thanks to Lynelle and Kailee’s recommendation. Let me just say this right now, never, and I mean NEVER, interfere with the three of them when they are on a shopping spree. I went with them once and quickly learned my lesson. I shake my head at the memory.

  “Come on, girl, you better get ready,” I tell myself.

  ~*~

  “Chef Dominique,” my sous chef calls out to me.

  “Yes, Chef Gilbert,” I say, slipping on my coat.

  “I believe everything is in order for tonight.”

  “Wonderful! Let’s get all the prep done that we can. I want no surprises.”

  “Yes, Chef,” he says with a nod.

  We walk into the kitchen and I smile. Here we go again. It feels so good to be in the kitchen again. After moving here, I realized that I needed to be an executive chef again. Running a kitchen comes naturally for me. The problem was there were no open executive chef positions available. I was down for the first two or three months. So much so that Valentino started worrying that it was about me wanting to be back in New Orleans. He actually looked into transferring to that field office but I put the kibosh on that real quick. His home is here and my home is with him. I explained to him why I was feeling like I was and he suggested that maybe I should start my own restaurant. I dismissed it at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. So, we went about finding investors, and that’s where Lynelle came in. Every time I remember that day, I smile. I had provided a meal for several of her country club acquaintances, and before the day was out, I had all my startup capital for my new restaurant that I wanted to call Claire’s.

  I had asked Lynelle if she thought the name would be okay and she had tearfully told me that Valentino would love it. She was right. He did love it. When I told him, he had stood and walked away from me. I panicked a little and started stuttering that it was just a thought, that I wasn’t tied to the name. But when he had turned, I could see that his eyes were wet and that there were tears on his cheeks. He had told me that he was honored that I wanted the restaurant named after her. That night, we laid together until the early morning talking about his family, especially Claire and how special she was to him. It was one of those nights that I will cherish forever.

  We started construction on Claire’s three months ago. I had very specific ideas in mind. Since it was going to be a Creole-style restaurant, I wanted the interior and exterior to represent the French Quarter. I literally wanted a little slice of New Orleans in Chicago. We used Mardi Gras color schemes throughout and I made sure that I had a little section reserved in the front of the restaurant where a New Orleans Jazz trio could play. As far as the chefs, I was able to steal one of my line chefs, Chef Gilbert, from Le Creole as he had family in Chicago and was willing to relocate. I made him my sous chef, and, I must confess, having him on board has been a Godsend. He knows exactly how I like to run a kitchen and is familiar with my recipes. I kept most of the specials I created for Le Creole and made them regular items on the menu at Claire’s, and then created my own line of specials, thirty different recipes. I smile, it helps having several months to prepare.

  “Chef Walker, the news crew is here,” I hear the hostess say.

  I grin at Chef Gilbert. “Showtime.”

  He smiles brightly. “Showtime.”

  I slip my coat off and walk out into the main dining room where I am greeted by Valentino. He gives me one of his million dollar smiles, the ones that actually stop traffic and make people convulse on the spot. He reaches his hand out to me, which I grab instantly, and he walks us over to the local news crew.

  “Chef Walker,” the reporter reaches out her hand.

  “You can call me, Dominique,” I say nervously as I shake her hand.

  “Very well,” she motions to the front of the restaurant. “Get shots of everything,” she says to her cameraman before looking at me. “This will be short and sweet, Dominique.”

  I nod and breathe in deeply.

  “With a line down the street, Chef Dominique Walker, well known in these parts as one of the people who helped bring down the notorious Sicignano family, will be opening the doors to her newest adventure, one we hope will be less life threatening,” she begins. “Chef Walker, can you tell us a little about your restaurant?”

  “My goal with Claire’s is to bring the French Quarter to the Windy City. Our menu will consist of authentic Louisiana cuisine made by the finest chefs in the city.” I motion towards the design. “The restaurant itself is modeled after the restaurants in the French Quarter right down to the jazz trio that will play nightly.”

  “And the name, Claire’s, where did that come from?”

  “This restaurant is named after a very special little girl. Claire had a spirit and a joy for life that is the essence of the great city of New Orleans and what it stands for. I am honored that I can pay tribute to her memory in this way.”

  I glance at Valentino, who is looking down, trying to contain his emotions. He has talked so much about her in the past several months, sharing stories of their adventures. He used to get sad every time her name was brought up but now, he seems content and happy to talk about her and how special she was to him.

  “That’s a wonderful story, Chef Walker. What would you recommend to these people waiting to get in?” she asks, motioning to the line that is getting longer.

  Geez, we don’t even open for another thirty minutes. I wave at everyone. “Whatever you choose will be like nothing you have tasted before. Prepare for your taste buds to erupt!” I say with a chuckle and hear Valentino snicker behind me as well.

  “What’s on tap for tonight, Chef Walker?”

  “Tonight’s special is barbecued shrimp with a baked grit cake, along with jerk spiced lamb loin served with pickled pork braised collard greens, New Orleans rum glazed yams, and watermelon pickle, pecans, and mango pickapeppa sauce. For dessert, I am serving a dark chocolate caramel torte made with a dark chocolate glaze served with vanilla ice cream and butterscotch sauce.”

  She turns to the camera and smiles. “YUM! You heard that, everyone. If you’re in the neighborhood, come on down to Claire’s, you might have to wait, but from the sound of it, it will be worth it. This is Amelia Brown, for WMAQ, reporting live from downtown Chicago where the place to be is Claire’s.”

  The cameraman stops recording and rests his camera. Amelia shakes my hand. “Thank you, Dominique. That was perfect.”

  “Thank you,” I say before turning to Valentino and hugging him tightly.

  Soon, two limousines pull up to the front of the restaurant. Santiago, Jackson and my dad get out of the first one, followed by Lynelle, Joseph, Kailee, and Clayton in the second one.

  “You must be, Valentino,” dad says, looking Valentino up and down. He has that whole angry black man thing down to a science.

  “Yes, sir,” Valentino says, reaching out his hand. Dad looks down at it before shaking it firmly.

  Dad jerks his hand slightly. “You treat my girl right, you hear me.”

  “Dad,” I fume.

  Valentino has a serious expression on his face. “She is everything to me. Rest assured, she will be treated as a queen.”

  Dad smiles and let’s go of his hand. “Very good.” He then glances at me and winks.

  “These are my Godparents, Joseph and Lynelle Thompson,” Valentino introduces. “And my best friend, Kailee Thompson, with her fiancé, Clayton Hoffman.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” dad says.

  “I hear this is where the party’s at,” Jeff states loudly as he approaches us.

 
; I laugh and give him a hug and notice Zach standing with a pretty girl by his side. “Hey, Zach.”

  “Hey, Dominique, this is Abigail,” he introduces.

  “Nice to meet you, this is Valentino,” I say as Valentino turns around.

  Both Valentino and Abigail look shocked and flustered. He reluctantly reaches out his hand to her. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” she says, looking anywhere but at him.

  We all visit for a short amount of time, and then I direct them inside to one of my two VIP sections. After everyone is seated and has their drinks, I start to step away and Valentino quickly follows, stopping me in the hall. He has this panicked look on his face as he runs his hands through his hair repeatedly, opening his mouth and closing it several times.

  “You slept with Abigail, didn’t you?” I ask, putting him out of his misery.

  “No, but...” he blows out a breath. “She was working part time at the federal building, she came on to me, but we didn’t actually do anything,” he pauses and I give him that look that all women have that says spit it out. He runs his hands through his hair again and whispers. “It was the night I was called out to Enrico’s, so I just sort of ditched her. I didn’t see her after that. Dominique, I… I… what do I do, are you upset?”

  I laugh. “Valentino, stop it. Why would I be upset?” Before he can answer, I place my finger over his lips. “But don’t you dare tell Zach. He looks so freaking happy right now and she looked just as embarrassed as you do right now.”

  He grabs me and holds me like, I don’t know, like maybe I was going to leave him or something. Why would I do that? I can’t fault him for who he was before we even met. The girl looks smitten with Zach anyways.

  “Valentino, I love you, now stop stalling and go talk to my dad,” I say squeezing his rear.

  He chuckles into my neck and then kisses me sweetly. “I love you.”