Chapter 4
“I did.”
“You could have brought me into the investigation.”
“I should have.”
“You could have trusted your wife.”
His eyes dropped.
“Yes.”
I stood and walked to the window.
“Do you understand what you did to me?”
“I understand more now than I did then.”
“No.
You don’t.
I was alone in that mansion while you spent your nights somewhere else.
I watched you become a stranger.
I convinced myself that twelve years of love had been nothing more than a convenient arrangement for a powerful man.”
“I know.”
I turned sharply.
He corrected himself.
“I remember what I said.
I remember your face.
I remember how you sat in that car and asked whether I loved you anymore.
I have replayed that moment so many times that I can remember the exact place where the light fell across your hands.”
His voice cracked.
“You gave me the chance to tell you the truth, Claire.
I chose the cruelest lie because I thought it would make you leave quickly enough to survive.
But I also chose it because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you.”
I stared at him.
“You lost me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t come after me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Because I had promised Marcus that I wouldn’t reveal your location.
Because the people who threatened you hadn’t all been arrested.
Because I was convinced that if I came near you, they would follow me to you.
And because every time I considered telling you the truth, I imagined you looking at me the way you are looking at me now.”
His eyes were red.
“I told myself I would find you when it was safe.
I thought I could repair the damage later.”
I shook my head.
“You can’t schedule love around a security operation, Vincent.”
“I know.”
This time, I let the words stand.
He continued.
“Dominic was arrested four years ago.
The investigation ended.
Sofia and Matteo were moved under protection.
After Sofia died, I thought about contacting you again.
But I had no idea where you were, and I didn’t know whether you had built a new life.”
“You could have searched harder.”
“I did.”
“You could have asked Emma.”
“I did.
She refused to tell me anything.”
I glanced toward the counter, where Emma was helping Lily choose a cookie.
For the first time, I understood that Emma had been protecting my decision, not merely obeying Vincent’s.
“I should have told you about the pregnancy,” I said quietly.
Vincent looked up.
“I wanted you to know.
There were nights when I nearly called you.
I wrote letters I never sent.
But I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing Lily into your world.
I had no idea whether the threats were real, whether they were over, or whether you would take her from me.”
“I would never have taken her from you.”
“You don’t know that.
You were a different man then.”
He accepted the accusation without protest.
“You’re right.”
I sat down again.
“I don’t want her growing up believing she has to choose between us.”
“Neither do I.”
“And I will not allow your business, your enemies, or your security problems to become part of her childhood.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Don’t promise me anything you can’t guarantee.”
He leaned forward.
“Then I won’t promise that nothing dangerous will ever happen.
I will promise that I won’t make decisions about her safety without telling you, and I won’t use my position to override your choices as her mother.”
I studied him.
It was the first promise he had made that sounded like something a real father could actually keep.
Before I could respond, Lily returned with a cookie nearly as large as her hand.
“Mommy, Vincent says he used to fall off bicycles.”
“He did,” I said.
“Then I told him he needs training wheels.”
Vincent looked at me with an expression that almost resembled amusement.
“I believe she has a point.”
For the first time in five years, we shared a smile.
It lasted only a second.
But it was real.
Over the following month, we established a careful routine.
Vincent visited Lily twice a week, always with my permission and never without confirming the arrangements with me first.
He learned that she hated peas, loved strawberries, and insisted on sleeping with three stuffed animals arranged in a precise order.
He learned that she became quiet when adults argued and that she sometimes pretended not to be tired because she was afraid of missing something interesting.
He learned how to braid hair badly, how to put together a puzzle without forcing the pieces, and how to sit through a forty-minute cartoon without checking his phone.
Most importantly, he learned to ask before assuming.
When Lily wanted him to attend her preschool’s family afternoon, he asked me whether I was comfortable with it.
When I agreed, he arrived early and sat in the back of the classroom.
He didn’t bring bodyguards into the building.
He didn’t tell the teachers who he was.
He didn’t announce himself as the head of a powerful family.
He simply watched Lily stand beside a paper tree she had made from colored construction paper.
When she spotted him, her face lit up.
“Vincent!
Look!
I made the leaves!”
He applauded louder than anyone else.
I watched him from across the room.
For a moment, I could almost imagine the life we might have had if he had trusted me five years earlier.
Then reality returned.
Because Vincent Moretti still had a world beyond Lily’s classroom.
And that world was about to find us.
The first warning came on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
Marcus called Vincent while he was helping Lily color at my kitchen table.
I watched his expression change as he listened.
“What do you mean the files are missing?”
He stood.
“Who had access?”
A pause.
“Lock the office.
Nobody leaves until you know exactly what happened.”
He ended the call and looked at me.
May you like
“Something has come up.”
“What kind of something?”
