Chapter 3 - HE MET HIS DAUGHTER THROUGH BULLETPROOF GLASS
I woke up in a room with no windows.
For one terrifying second, I didn't know where Lila was.
Then I heard her.
A tiny grunt from the bassinet beside me.
I reached for her so quickly that pain ripped across my abdomen.
“Easy.”
Vincent was sitting in a chair near the door.
I glared at him.
“You drugged me?”
“The doctor gave you something for pain.”
“You moved me while I was asleep.”
“You were bleeding again.”
That stopped me.
I looked beneath the blanket.
“Am I okay?”
“Yes.”
“The baby?”
“Perfectly offended by the entire experience.”
I touched Lila's cheek.
She turned toward my finger.
“Where are we?”
“A private recovery suite beneath St. Catherine's Medical Center in Jersey City.”
“Beneath?”
“Long story.”
“With your family, every story requires a bunker.”
The corner of Vincent's mouth moved.
I looked at the steel door.
“Where's Nico?”
“Outside.”
My chest tightened despite everything.
“How long?”
“Four hours.”
I looked at the clock.
3:17 a.m.
Lila was barely five hours old.
“He hasn't left?”
“No.”
“Good for him.”
Vincent gave me the look of someone who knew sarcasm was easier than grief.
“He wants to see her.”
“No.”
“Ava.”
“No.”
“He hasn't asked to see you.”
That hurt.
Ridiculous.
I had banned him from my hospital room, yet some broken part of me still wanted him to ask.
Vincent continued.
“He asked whether he could see Lila through the observation glass.”
I looked down at her.
The idea of Nico seeing his daughter for the first time through glass felt cruel.
Then I remembered giving birth while he sat across from Bianca Falcone.
“Fine.”
Vincent stood.
“You're sure?”
“No.”
But I said it anyway.
Ten minutes later, a nurse wheeled Lila's bassinet into the small neonatal observation area connected to my room.
I stayed behind the interior glass.
On the other side of another reinforced panel stood Nico.
He looked nothing like the photograph.
No tailored jacket.
No expensive watch.
No controlled expression.
His white dress shirt was open at the throat.
His hair was wet from rain.
There was dried blood across one knuckle.
He looked exhausted.
Then he saw Lila.
Everything in his face disappeared.
The anger.
The calculation.
The Moretti mask.
He simply stopped.
I had spent seven years loving Nico.
I knew the almost invisible changes other people missed.
The tightening at the corner of his mouth when he was scared.
The way his left hand flexed when he wanted to touch something but didn't know whether he was allowed.
The slight lowering of his chin when emotion threatened to expose him.
He did all three.
The nurse lifted Lila.
Nico's mouth opened.
No sound came out.
He put one hand against the glass.
I hated that I cried.
I turned away.
“Don't,” Vincent said quietly behind me.
I looked at him.
“Don't what?”
“Punish yourself for loving him.”
“I don't know if I do.”
“Yes, you do.”
His certainty irritated me.
“That doesn't mean I should.”
“No.”
He looked through the glass at his nephew.
“Love and trust are not the same thing.”
Nico stayed there for less than two minutes.
Then he stepped away.
He didn't ask to come in.
He didn't send flowers.
He didn't demand forgiveness.
He sent Vincent back with one message.
Ask Ava when she'll speak to me. I'll wait until then.
At 7:00 a.m., I said yes.
Not because I had forgiven him.
Because I wanted answers.
Nico entered alone.
He stopped six feet from my bed.
His eyes went immediately to Lila.
Then to me.
“You look pale.”
I almost threw a water cup at him.
“That's what happens after childbirth.”
His jaw tightened.
“I deserved that.”
“You deserve worse.”
“Yes.”
The lack of argument robbed me of momentum.
I crossed my arms.
“What happened at Bellario's?”
Nico took the chair farthest from me.
“Bianca contacted me yesterday afternoon.”
“You told me you were meeting Dominic.”
“Yes.”
“So you lied before you even left.”
“Yes.”
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Bianca said she had evidence someone inside the family was planning to challenge my father's succession trust the moment Lila was born.”
“You knew it was a girl?”
“No.”
“Did you know about the money?”
“Yes.”
I laughed without humor.
“Everyone knew except the woman giving birth to the three-hundred-million-dollar baby.”
His face flinched.
“I should have told you.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“Years ago?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward Lila.
“What exactly did Bianca want?”
“She claimed she had the name of the person compromising the trust.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
“So it was a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And the photograph?”
“Also a trap.”
I looked at him.
“Did you kiss her?”
“No.”
“Did she kiss you?”
“No.”
“Did you touch her?”
“She grabbed my face. I grabbed her wrist.”
I remembered the picture.
It fit.
I hated that it fit.
“Why?”
“She told me the trust would never activate.”
“What does that mean?”
Nico leaned forward.
“She said, ‘Your child won't survive long enough to inherit anything.’”
Ice slid down my spine.
Nico saw it.
“I thought she was threatening you. I reached for my gun. She grabbed my face and told me to smile because someone was taking pictures.”
“And you stayed?”
“For forty-three seconds.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
His expression changed.
I continued.
“You knew I was thirty-nine weeks pregnant. You knew there was a threat involving our child. Instead of coming home and telling me, you walked into that restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought I could control it.”
There it was.
Nico's oldest sin.
Not cruelty.
Not even arrogance exactly.
The absolute belief that anything dangerous became manageable if he was the one holding it.
“I thought if I knew who was behind it before you went into labor, I could make the problem disappear without frightening you.”
I stared.
“You kept me ignorant because you thought ignorance was protection.”
“Yes.”
“And where were you when I went into labor?”
His face went still.
“Bellario's.”
“Where were you when I screamed for you?”
His eyes dropped.
“Bellario's.”
“Where were you when I asked a nurse if the baby was supposed to be blue?”
His jaw tightened.
I hadn't planned to tell him that.
But once the words started, I couldn't stop.
“Where were you when they told me I was hemorrhaging more than expected? Where were you when I thought something was wrong because she wasn't crying? Where were you when she finally opened her eyes?”
Nico didn't move.
“Bellario's.”
The word came out almost inaudibly.
I wiped my face.
“So no, I don't care that you didn't kiss Bianca.”
He looked up.
“That picture didn't break us.”
My voice cracked.
“You did that before it arrived.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Lila began fussing.
I reached for her.
My arms trembled with exhaustion.
Nico stood automatically.
I froze.
So did he.
“Can I help?”
The question sounded strange coming from him.
Nico didn't ask permission often.
I wanted to say no.
Instead I looked at Lila.
“Wash your hands.”
He moved immediately.
When he returned, I placed our daughter into his arms.
Nico Moretti had held guns more comfortably.
He stared down at Lila as if somebody had handed him the moon and failed to explain gravity.
“Support her head,” I said.
He adjusted instantly.
“Like this?”
“Yes.”
Lila opened her eyes.
Nico stopped breathing.
“Hi.”
One word.
His voice broke on it.
I looked away.
He touched one finger to her fist.
She gripped it.
A tear dropped onto his shirt.
Nico stared at it as though offended.
I almost smiled.
Then the steel door opened.
Vincent stepped inside.
His expression erased the softness from the room.
“We found Carlo.”
Nico carefully handed Lila back to me.
“Alive?”
“No.”
“Who killed him?”
“Same caliber used in two Falcone hits last year.”
Nico's eyes hardened.
“Bianca.”
“Maybe.”
Vincent looked at me.
“There is something else.”
I held Lila closer.
“What?”
“We checked the access logs from Hoboken.”
Nico went still.
Vincent continued.
“Someone entered your apartment thirty-seven minutes after Ava left for the hospital.”
“Who?” Nico asked.
Vincent looked directly at him.
“Matteo.”
I knew Matteo Greco.
Head of Nico's personal security.
The man who had driven me to the hospital.
The man who had carried my overnight bag upstairs.
The man who had kissed my cheek and told me Nico would be there soon.
Nico's face became unreadable.
“What did he take?”
“We don't know.”
I looked toward the small diaper bag Vincent's men had recovered from my apartment.
Something clicked.
“Wait.”
Both men looked at me.
“The nursery.”
“What about it?”
“There was an envelope in Lila's dresser.”
Nico frowned.
“What envelope?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
The room went silent.
Nico stared at me.
“My father died five years before I met you.”
“Not your father.”
I shook my head.
“Your grandfather.”
Vincent stood very still.
“Vittorio?”
“He gave it to my mother twenty years ago. She gave it to me when I got pregnant.”
Nico's expression changed completely.
“What did it say?”
“I don't know.”
“You never opened it?”
“She told me not to unless a Moretti child was born.”
Vincent swore.
“Where is it?”
“In the nursery dresser.”
Nico reached for his phone.
Vincent stopped him.
“If Matteo entered the apartment, it's already gone.”
I looked down at my daughter.
“What was in it?”
Vincent and Nico exchanged a glance.
I hated that glance.
“Tell me.”
Vincent answered.
“Possibly the original trust key.”
Nico's face hardened.
“The one document Bianca and Matteo need to take control of Lila's inheritance.”
I stared at him.
“So the man who drove me to the hospital knew I was giving birth.”
“Yes.”
“He knew you weren't there.”
“Yes.”
“He knew exactly where the document was.”
Nico nodded.
I understood then.
Bellario's wasn't simply designed to keep Nico away from me.
My labor wasn't bad timing.
The photograph wasn't gossip.
The empty apartment wasn't opportunity.
May you like
Our daughter's birth had been scheduled like a robbery.
And somebody inside Nico's empire had known exactly when to strike.
Related Stories
