Chapter 9 - HIS MOTHER CAME TO ASK ME FOR THE IMPOSSIBLE

Z

Three days after Vincent was shot, his mother came to see me.

Isabella Moretti never visited anyone.

People went to her.

That was the first warning.

The second was that she arrived alone.

No driver.

No assistant.

No pearls.

No carefully structured expression.

She looked exhausted.

Madison answered the door.

Then immediately turned toward me.

“Your favorite person is here.”

Isabella entered the living room.

Her gaze moved to my stomach.

At nine weeks, I barely showed.

But she knew.

Everyone who mattered now knew.

“Claire.”

“Isabella.”

Madison remained beside me.

Isabella glanced at her.

“May we speak privately?”

“No,” Madison said.

I almost smiled.

“Madison.”

“What?”

“It’s okay.”

“It usually isn’t when someone says that.”

Eventually, she went into the kitchen.

Not far.

Isabella sat across from me.

For three years, this woman had made it very clear she considered me too ordinary for Vincent.

My father had been a teacher.

My mother owned a small bookstore.

I didn’t come from a dynasty.

I didn’t understand formal family expectations.

I once served store-bought pie at Thanksgiving.

Isabella spoke of it for two years.

Now she looked at me with something unfamiliar.

Shame.

“I owe you an apology.”

I actually looked behind me.

“Did someone else come in?”

Her mouth tightened.

“I deserve that.”

“Yes.”

She folded her hands.

“I believed Vincent needed a wife who understood his responsibilities.”

“You mean someone from your world.”

“Yes.”

“And Sophia?”

“I preferred Sophia.”

“Of course.”

“She knew the rules.”

I stared at her.

“That might be the saddest reason to approve of someone.”

Isabella looked away.

“My mother-in-law disagreed with me.”

“Emilia usually did.”

“She loved you.”

My chest tightened.

“I loved her too.”

“She told me Vincent loved you.”

I stopped breathing.

“When?”

“Two years ago.”

I laughed bitterly.

“That would have been useful information for Vincent.”

“I told her that.”

Isabella’s eyes became distant.

“She said, ‘Vincent has spent thirty-seven years confusing love with responsibility. Give him time.’”

I looked toward the window.

Time.

We had wasted so much of it.

Isabella continued.

“When Sophia returned, I encouraged Vincent to speak with her.”

I turned back sharply.

“You what?”

“I believed he needed closure.”

“You helped her.”

“I didn’t know Angelo was paying her.”

“But you knew she wanted him.”

“Yes.”

My anger rose.

“You watched your son’s marriage fall apart because you thought his old girlfriend had better manners?”

Isabella flinched.

Good.

Then she said, “I came because Angelo contacted me.”

The anger disappeared.

“When?”

“This morning.”

“What does he want?”

“You.”

Of course.

“He says if the family delivers you to him, he will stop.”

I stared at her.

“And you came here to ask me to surrender?”

“No.”

Her answer surprised me.

“I came to tell you that several members of the family want to.”

Silence filled the room.

“Who?”

“Vincent’s cousins. Two senior captains. Men who believe one life is cheaper than war.”

My hand went to my stomach.

“Two lives.”

Isabella’s eyes followed the movement.

Her face changed.

“Yes.”

She whispered it.

Then suddenly she looked old.

“I failed you.”

I said nothing.

“I treated you as temporary.”

She swallowed.

“And now there is a child.”

“Would my value suddenly increase if there weren’t?”

She closed her eyes.

“No.”

For once, she understood the trap.

“I am trying to say I was wrong.”

It was not graceful.

It was not enough.

But it was real.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Isabella looked relieved.

“Don’t mistake acceptance of an apology for forgiveness.”

Relief vanished.

“Understood.”

She stood.

At the door, she stopped.

“Vincent is stepping down.”

My heartbeat changed.

“What?”

“He called a meeting.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Stepping down from what?”

“Everything.”

I stared at her.

“Why?”

Isabella almost smiled.

“You know why.”

I did.

But I didn’t want to believe it.

Vincent had spent his entire adult life protecting the Moretti organization.

It was identity.

Legacy.

Prison.

Power.

He had been born into it.

And now he was walking away?

Madison appeared from the kitchen the second the door closed.

“What happened?”

“Vincent is stepping down.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“From being terrifying?”

“I don’t think there’s paperwork for that.”

My phone rang.

Vincent.

I answered.

“You’re leaving the organization?”

Silence.

Then, “My mother called you.”

“She visited.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For which part?”

“All of it.”

I closed my eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because this isn’t a gesture.”

“What is it?”

“The first thing I should have done years ago.”

His voice was quiet.

“I can’t promise our child safety while running a world built on danger.”

My throat tightened.

“Vincent…”

“I’m not asking you to come back.”

That mattered.

More than he knew.

“I’m not doing this to win you.”

I sat down.

“Then why?”

“For myself.”

He paused.

“And because when our son or daughter asks what I did when I finally had a choice, I want an answer I can live with.”

Tears burned my eyes.

Before I could respond, another voice came through his phone.

Someone shouting.

Then a crash.

“Vincent?”

The line went silent.

“Vincent?”

Gunfire erupted.

My blood froze.

Then a man I didn’t recognize picked up the phone.

“Claire Bennett?”

“Yes.”

He laughed.

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