Chapter 5 - SHOW ME THE HABITS
Rosa expected Dante to give her a speech.
He did not.
That was habit number one.
He ordered coffee.
Black.
Still.
Rosa ordered tea because caffeine after seven made her regret being alive.
The diner waitress recognized him.
Of course.
She also recognized Rosa.
Of course.
Neither said anything.
Then Dante took out a folded sheet of paper.
Rosa stared.
“What is that?”
“My answer.”
She almost groaned.
“I said show me habits. Not submit homework.”
“I know.”
He pushed the paper across the table anyway.
It had five lines.
No unscheduled contact.
No information requests about Rosa through staff or security.
No gifts without asking.
No business decisions involving Rosa’s workplace.
No using personal concern to bypass legal or professional process.
Rosa looked at him.
“You wrote rules.”
“You like rules.”
“I like boundaries.”
“Apparently I need subtitles.”
She almost smiled.
Then:
“Who enforces them?”
Dante thought.
“Me.”
Wrong.
Rosa waited.
He corrected.
“You.”
Also wrong.
She raised eyebrow.
He sighed.
“The systems around me should.”
Better.
He explained.
His chief of staff had been instructed that nobody in Dante’s office was permitted to obtain Rosa’s schedule, address changes, family information, or employment records unless she directly consented or there was a specific documented emergency.
His security company had updated its principal-associate policy after outside counsel reviewed it.
Routine background checks on romantic partners?
No.
Threat-specific assessments required documented basis.
No family-member expansion without need.
Data retention limits.
Better.
Rosa looked at him.
“Why did you have a policy that allowed that?”
“Because people around me confuse proximity with risk.”
“And because I let them.”
Then the building.
Her old apartment building.
Dante had divested.
But Rosa asked:
“Did you change anything before selling it?”
He nodded.
“Tenant files were moved to independent management. We stopped principal-level access.”
“Why?”
“Because I should never have been able to look up your lease because I was angry.”
Rosa went still.
“Did you?”
Five years ago.
Dante looked at the table.
“Yes.”
Truth.
“When?”
“The week you left.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What did you look at?”
“Payment history. Lease end date. Emergency contact.”
Too much.
“Why?”
“I wanted to know whether you were planning to move.”
Rosa stared.
“I was.”
“I know.”
“You had no right.”
“No.”
No defense.
“Did you use it?”
“No.”
“You already used it by looking.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
That mattered.
Then Rosa asked:
“What else?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Your work schedule once.”
She went cold.
“At Bellamy’s?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Restaurant payroll system.”
Her father’s old café had been sold into a group where Dante had indirect business connections?
Wait.
Too tangled.
Dante clarified.
“The café used scheduling software owned by a vendor one of my companies serviced. A manager sent me a screenshot.”
Gross.
Rosa closed her eyes.
“This is why I left.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He did not touch her.
Then:
“I reported that access during an internal privacy review two years ago.”
Rosa looked up.
“Why was there a review?”
His expression changed.
“Because I learned one of my executives was using employee data to follow a woman he was dating.”
Not Rosa.
Different case.
“I fired him.”
Rosa said nothing.
Dante continued.
“Then counsel asked whether my own practices were different in principle.”
“And?”
“They weren’t.”
That was a habit.
Not just apology.
Review.
Policy.
Restriction.
Then Rosa said:
“Show me something that cost you.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“Cost?”
“Rules are easy when they protect you from embarrassment.”
“What changed that you actually hated?”
He sat back.
Then:
“I no longer approve security intelligence directly.”
“An independent risk officer does.”
“Do you hate that?”
“Yes.”
“I no longer receive household or partner-related information by default.”
“Yes.”
“Do you hate that?”
“Yes.”
She smiled despite herself.
“What else?”
“My board created a conflict committee that can exclude me from matters where personal relationships interfere.”
South Pier.
“That cost you?”
“I wanted the deal.”
“Why?”
“It was profitable.”
Honest.
“And I thought I could fix Hargrove’s mess after acquisition.”
Classic powerful-man logic.
“Could you?”
“Maybe.”
Rosa stared.
He corrected.
“Not without deciding I knew what tenants needed better than they did.”
Better.
Then the diner waitress brought food.
They had not ordered food.
She smiled.
“Kitchen sent fries.”
Rosa looked toward kitchen.
Someone waved.
The whole city knew.
Wonderful.
Dante reached for wallet.
Rosa stopped him.
“If you tip five hundred dollars, I’m leaving.”
He looked offended.
“I was going to tip twenty.”
“That’s normal.”
“I know.”
They ate fries.
Then Rosa asked:
“What are you not telling me?”
Dante stopped chewing.
She knew him.
Even after five years.
His face became still.
“Moretti Hospitality is under internal review.”
Her chest tightened.
“For what?”
“Vendor payments.”
That sounded boring.
Boring was often dangerous.
“What kind?”
“Licensing consultants. Security subcontractors. Expediting fees.”
“Legal?”
“Some.”
Bad answer.
Rosa sat back.
Dante continued.
“An audit triggered by South Pier diligence found payments from three nightlife subsidiaries to a consulting firm called Northline Municipal Services.”
“What did Northline do?”
“Supposedly permitting, inspections, and neighborhood relations.”
“Supposedly?”
“Documentation is weak.”
“And one former employee says Northline pressured competitors and tenants by threatening liquor-license complaints and inspections.”
Rosa went cold.
More power disguised as process.
“Did you know?”
Dante looked at her.
“I knew Northline was aggressive.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
“Did you know they threatened people?”
Pause.
“I knew they used pressure.”
Old language.
Rosa’s face changed.
Dante saw.
He did not soften it.
“I did not ask enough about what pressure meant because results were useful.”
Bad.
Both.
“Is it criminal?”
“Counsel is reviewing.”
“Police?”
“Not yet.”
Rosa stared.
Then:
“Are you going to self-report if it is?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
She looked at him.
“Why?”
He almost laughed.
“Because otherwise every rule I showed you is theater.”
That answer landed.
Then he said:
“I did not tell you tonight so you would help me through it.”
“I told you because you asked what costs me.”
“And this may.”
Rosa looked down at the paper of five rules.
“Do not make me your confession booth.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not tell reporters I inspired you.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not plead guilty to something because you think it proves love.”
His face almost offended.
“That would be insane.”
“Rich men have done stupider things.”
Fair.
Then:
“If you committed something, deal with it because you did it.”
“Yes.”
Rosa folded the paper.
Put it in her purse.
Dante noticed.
Said nothing.
Then she said:
“Coffee again next week.”
His eyes lifted.
Not forgiveness.
Not reunion.
Another coffee.
He nodded.
“Where you choose.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“It’s becoming irritating.”
He smiled.
The next week, internal counsel found more.
Northline Municipal Services had paid a city licensing intermediary who later pled guilty in another corruption case.
The payments did not automatically prove Dante bribed anyone.
But they created exposure.
Then emails.
One Moretti regional manager wrote:
Northline can make the nuisance complaints disappear if we renew.
Another:
Competitor on Halsted is getting too comfortable. Have Northline remind them how inspections work.
Bad.
Then a reply from Dante three years earlier:
Keep it clean. I don’t want stupid threats attached to us.
Helpful?
Maybe.
Then another six months later:
If Northline gets results, stop sending me process.
Worse.
That sentence mattered.
Rosa read it in news months later.
At the time, Dante read it in a conference room with lawyers.
He remembered writing it.
He had been tired.
Angry.
A new nightclub license delayed.
He wanted results.
He had chosen not to know method.
The review expanded.
Outside counsel.
Forensic accountants.
Employee interviews.
Dante recused from evidence decisions.
Then Northline’s owner, Martin Creel, received a preservation letter.
He called Dante directly.
Bad.
Dante answered.
Worse.
Creel said:
“We kept your hands clean for years.”
Dante’s blood went cold.
Then:
“You owe me.”
Old Dante would have called men.
New Dante recorded notes after call, notified counsel, preserved phone logs, and stopped contact.
He did not threaten Creel.
That cost him emotionally more than any policy.
Because Martin Creel knew things.
True things.
Exaggerated things.
Maybe invented things.
Dante had to let investigators separate them.
No private correction.
No fear.
No control.
That was habit number six.
Rosa did not know yet.
She was busy firing no one.
A server named Kayla—the same one Rosa had wrongly disciplined—made another mistake.
She comped a seventy-dollar bottle without approval after a guest complained.
Policy violation.
Clear.
Rosa documented it.
Kayla said:
“Last time you apologized.”
Rosa looked at her.
“Yes.”
“So this time?”
“This time you still broke comp policy.”
Protection from unfair discipline was not immunity from standards.
Kayla frowned.
Then nodded.
Rosa gave coaching, not suspension, because first comp violation.
Proportionate.
Management was not becoming endlessly lenient.
It was becoming accurate.
Then Dante’s audit became federal.
A subpoena arrived.
Moretti Hospitality.
Northline.
Licensing records.
Vendor payments.
The news broke before Rosa’s next coffee.
She saw Dante’s face on television.
Reporter:
“Mr. Moretti, did your companies pay for city officials to harass competitors?”
Dante stopped.
“No comment on evidence.”
Then:
“My companies are preserving records and cooperating with lawful requests.”
Careful.
Not absolution.
Rosa turned off TV.
Her phone buzzed.
Dante:
Coffee is probably inappropriate this week. I’ll leave that decision to you.
Rosa stared.
Then typed:
Agreed.
No coffee.
Not punishment.
Separation.
May you like
His legal crisis did not automatically become their intimacy.
That habit mattered too.
