Gabe flew in for his annual Christmas bash, which took their minds off the elephant in the room. Since his son was his only living relative, Donatti finally put him into the system, gave him all the keys to the locks and the code numbers to his vault. Gabe was reluctant, but Donatti insisted. After his son left, Donatti didn’t have much time to mope because the New Year’s all-night rave needed to be planned. And there were also slews of new girls to hire on.

Since Donatti hadn’t been with a woman except his late wife in the last five months, he forgot how exciting it was to have sex with different people. Some were good, some not so much, but the novelty was uplifting and pushed him back into a routine. He was no longer a “I/we/you” or even an “I/we.” He was just an “I,” and he enjoyed getting his kingdom back. The sole monarch. No one else to please, no one else to consider, just him and whatever he wanted.

January came and went, usually a slow time for business as everyone was winding down from the festivities of December. February was cold and cruel, but business began to resurge as word went out for his post–Valentine’s Day party. While the actual date was reserved for the wives and girlfriends, the postdate was reserved for the real fun. After that came the St. Pat’s gastropub extravaganza. Then it was quiet until after Easter. He took advantage of the lull to do what he needed to do but dreaded doing.

He hadn’t slept in his bed since she died. But he was ready to take his room back, to rid himself of the last painful reminders and move on.

First on the list was getting rid of the gym equipment he had bought for her. He took it into the hallway and told the movers to take it to the gym used by his workers. Next, he took a big empty box and filled it with the decorative pillows and blankets she had purchased to soften the room. After he was done with that, he went to the vault and took out all his drawings and sketches of her. Dry-eyed, he sorted through them one by one. The ones that she had posed for when she was sixteen, clothed and naked, hunched over and protected. The ones he had done when he had tied her to his bed. Staring at them, he reached for the recent ones that he had sketched around six months ago. With his finger, he traced the outline of her body and then her face.