Chapter 2 - THE MESSAGE THAT STOPPED THE MORETTI FAMILY COLD
For eleven seconds, nobody replied.
Then my phone exploded.
VINCENT: WHAT?
ISABELLA: Ava, call me immediately.
MATTEO: She was born?
ANTHONY: Where is Nico?
Then a name I had never once seen appear in the family group chat lit up my screen.
ANGELO MORETTI: What hospital?
My heart stopped.
Angelo Moretti.
Nico’s father.
The man who had built the Moretti shipping empire from two borrowed trucks, three warehouses, and enough whispered favors that federal prosecutors had spent twenty years trying to decide whether he was a businessman with criminals around him or a criminal surrounded by businessmen.
He had never messaged me directly.
Not once.
Nico had told me the family chat was for emergencies.
Apparently announcing the birth of the Moretti family’s first granddaughter qualified.
A nurse adjusted the blanket around Lila.
“You need to rest.”
“I know.”
But my phone kept vibrating.
ANGELO: Ava. Which hospital?
I stared at the screen.
Then typed.
St. Catherine’s, Hoboken. Room 417.
The reply arrived instantly.
ANGELO: We are coming.
My stomach tightened.
We.
I looked toward Lila.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She slept as if I had not just dropped a bomb into one of New York’s most powerful families.
Another message appeared.
Private this time.
Vincent.
Do not let anyone move you or the baby. I’m ten minutes away.
That sentence bothered me.
Why would anyone move us?
No response.
I called him.
He answered before the first ring finished.
“Ava.”
“What is going on?”
“Are you alone?”
“There are nurses.”
“Good. Keep the door closed.”
“Vincent.”
Silence.
Then:
“Nico doesn’t know Lila was born.”
I closed my eyes.
“You already said that.”
“He left his phone with security for almost an hour.”
“At Bellario’s?”
“Yes.”
“With the woman in the red dress?”
Another silence.
I hated how much could fit inside silence.
“Who is she?”
Vincent exhaled.
“Serena Vale.”
I knew the name.
Everyone in New York finance did.
Serena Vale was the daughter of Victor Vale, whose family controlled construction contracts, casinos in Atlantic City, and enough union votes that newspapers carefully called them “politically connected.”
Nico had told me Serena was irrelevant.
Old family history.
A woman his mother once hoped he would marry.
“Did he kiss her?”
Vincent said nothing.
“Vincent.”
“Yes.”
I stared at Lila.
The answer hurt even though I already knew it.
“Thank you.”
“Ava—”
“No. Thank you for not lying.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means exactly what it means.”
I ended the call.
For years, every man around Nico had protected him by making his behavior sound complicated.
He wasn’t distant.
He was under pressure.
He wasn’t secretive.
He was protecting me.
He wasn’t controlling.
He was cautious.
There was always a different word available when the plain one made Nico look bad.
Tonight, I wanted plain words.
He kissed another woman while I gave birth.
Period.
A nurse entered.
“There are several men downstairs asking for access to the maternity floor.”
Of course there were.
“Names?”
“One is Vincent Moretti.”
“Let him up.”
“And the others?”
I hesitated.
“Who?”
“Angelo Moretti. Isabella Moretti. Matteo Moretti.”
The family.
The entire inner circle.
“No Nico?”
The nurse shook her head.
“No.”
That should not have hurt anymore.
It did.
“Let them up.”
Vincent arrived first.
He looked as if he had run from Manhattan.
Usually immaculate, he had no tie and rain darkened the shoulders of his coat.
The moment he saw me, his expression changed.
Then he saw Lila.
He stopped.
“Oh.”
That was all.
Vincent Moretti, who could negotiate a twelve-million-dollar shipping dispute without raising his pulse, stood beside a hospital bassinet and forgot English.
“She’s…”
“Tiny?”
“Yes.”
“That seems to be the consensus.”
He smiled.
Then his eyes filled.
I looked away because seeing a Moretti man cry felt strangely private.
“She looks like you.”
“She has Nico’s eyebrows.”
Vincent laughed softly.
“Poor child.”
For the first time all night, my body relaxed.
Then I remembered why he was there.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
His smile disappeared.
“Ava.”
“Why did you tell me not to let anyone move us?”
He sat.
“Nico’s meeting tonight wasn’t random.”
I looked at him.
“It looked like a date.”
“It became one.”
That phrasing mattered.
“What was it supposed to be?”
“A settlement meeting.”
“With Serena?”
“With her father.”
My stomach tightened.
“What settlement?”
Vincent rubbed his jaw.
“The Vales want a controlling stake in Pier Nine.”
I knew Pier Nine.
Nico had spent six years acquiring it.
It was the most valuable private freight terminal in northern New Jersey.
“What does that have to do with Serena?”
“Victor offered favorable terms if Nico formalized a family alliance.”
I stared.
“A family alliance.”
Vincent looked ashamed.
“He wanted Nico to marry Serena.”
The room went completely still.
“Nico and I have been together five years.”
“I know.”
“I am the mother of his child.”
“I know.”
“And Victor Vale knew?”
“Yes.”
I laughed once.
“What did Nico say?”
“He refused.”
Some tiny, humiliating part of me felt relief.
Then Vincent added:
“Until tonight.”
My chest tightened.
“What happened tonight?”
“Serena told him Victor was going to back Marco Bellini in the port arbitration.”
Marco Bellini was Nico’s biggest enemy.
That mattered.
But not enough.
“So Nico kissed her to save a shipping terminal?”
“No.”
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“He kissed her because he was angry, drunker than he should have been, and stupid.”
Good.
No excuses.
“He had a fight with you?”
“He told me three days ago he’d be at the hospital.”
Vincent nodded.
“I know.”
“Did he know I was having contractions?”
“No.”
“I texted him at four seventeen.”
“Security had his phone.”
“I called at five.”
“I know.”
“So someone saw.”
Vincent looked down.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
His jaw tightened.
“Paul.”
Nico’s security chief.
“Did Paul tell him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know yet.”
That frightened me more than the affair.
Before I could ask another question, the hallway changed.
People moved.
Nurses straightened.
Then Isabella Moretti entered.
Nico’s mother had always intimidated me.
Elegant.
Severe.
The kind of woman who could make a room feel underdressed without saying a word.
Tonight, her mascara had run.
She saw Lila.
Then she covered her mouth.
“Oh, my God.”
Behind her came Matteo.
Then Angelo.
Angelo Moretti stopped at the doorway.
He looked older than the photographs.
Silver hair.
Black overcoat.
Heavy expression.
His eyes moved from me to the bassinet.
He did not approach until I nodded.
Then he walked to Lila.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
His granddaughter opened one eye.
Angelo’s face broke.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“She has Nico’s mouth.”
“She has my temper.”
He looked at me.
“Good.”
That surprised me.
Then Isabella touched Lila’s blanket.
“Why didn’t anybody call us?”
I laughed bitterly.
“I thought her father might.”
Everyone went silent.
Angelo turned.
“Where is my son?”
Vincent answered.
“Manhattan.”
“With Vale?”
“Yes.”
Angelo’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Something colder.
Then he looked at me.
“Did you send the photo?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent said:
“It was posted privately, then forwarded.”
Angelo turned toward him.
“Find out.”
Vincent nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
Nico.
Finally.
I stared at the name.
Nobody spoke.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Breathing.
Then:
“Ava?”
His voice sounded wrong.
Not drunk.
Terrified.
“Where are you?”
I looked at our daughter.
“The hospital.”
“What hospital?”
The question almost made me laugh.
“St. Catherine’s.”
Silence.
Then:
“Why?”
My entire body went cold.
“Why?”
“Ava, Vincent sent me a picture of—”
“You don’t know.”
“What?”
“You don’t know why I’m here.”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
He had not seen the messages.
Not the contractions.
Not the blood.
Not the emergency admission.
Not the birth.
“Nico.”
My voice cracked.
“I had your daughter forty minutes ago.”
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Then something hit the other end of the call.
A chair.
A table.
I didn’t know.
“What?”
His voice broke.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“No.”
“Ava—”
“Her name is Lila.”
He stopped breathing.
“Nico?”
“My daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Is she okay?”
“She is.”
“And you?”
“I’m alive.”
Those words destroyed whatever remained of his composure.
“I’m coming.”
I looked around at the Moretti family already standing beside me.
“No.”
Silence.
“What?”
“You are not walking into this room smelling like another woman.”
His breathing stopped.
“Ava.”
“I saw the picture.”
“That is not—”
“Do not insult me.”
“I kissed her.”
Everyone heard.
I had not realized the phone was loud enough.
Isabella closed her eyes.
Angelo looked toward the window.
Nico continued.
“It was one kiss.”
“One was enough.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“No.”
“She is my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“And you cannot keep me from her.”
Something in me hardened.
“I am not keeping you from Lila.”
I looked at the blood still dried along the edge of my hospital gown.
“I am keeping you from me.”
Silence.
Then Nico whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
I ended the call.
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Then Angelo looked at Vincent.
“Bring Paul.”
Vincent frowned.
“Here?”
“No.”
Angelo’s voice became ice.
“To me.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
Angelo met my eyes.
“Because my son’s security chief saw repeated emergency calls from the woman carrying his child…”
He paused.
“…and chose not to interrupt a dinner with the Vale family.”
My stomach tightened.
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“No.”
May you like
Angelo looked toward Lila.
“And by sunrise, I intend to know exactly who wanted Nico to miss his daughter’s birth.”
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