Chapter 10 - THE WOMAN VINCENT COULD NOT BLAME
Z
Vincent wanted to blame Sophia for everything.
I refused to let him.
That became important.
By the second week after Isabella’s birth, federal investigators had the ledger.
Arrests began quietly.
Then loudly.
Two city officials resigned.
A former detective was taken from his suburban home in handcuffs.
Three businesses were raided.
And several men who once toasted the Moretti name suddenly stopped answering Vincent’s calls.
His empire shook.
Yet every afternoon at four, he still came to the NICU.
No matter what happened outside.
He washed his hands.
Put on the protective gown.
Sat beside Isabella.
And read to her.
The first book he chose was a children’s story about a rabbit.
“You know she can’t understand that,” I said.
“She has good taste.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“She’s listening.”
“You sound ridiculous.”
“I’m a father. I’m allowed.”
Something in my chest warmed.
I hated how complicated love could be.
Divorce papers were already filed.
I still wanted them.
Yet watching Vincent touch our daughter with one careful finger reminded me of the man I had once believed he could be.
One afternoon, he received a call during reading time.
He ignored it.
Then another.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Business?”
“Former business.”
“What happened?”
“Three captains want a meeting.”
“About the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I told them no.”
I studied him.
“Are you in danger?”
“Probably.”
My stomach tightened.
He noticed.
“I have precautions.”
“I don’t care about your precautions.”
The words came out sharper than intended.
His eyes met mine.
I looked away.
“I mean Isabella needs a father.”
“Of course.”
“That’s what I meant.”
A tiny smile appeared.
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
“Don’t be annoying.”
“I’m trying.”
The humor faded when Salvatore entered.
Vincent’s grandfather looked older than he had at the birthday party.
He stood beside Isabella for several minutes.
Then turned to me.
“I owe you an apology.”
I was surprised.
“For what?”
“For watching my grandson become his father.”
Vincent stiffened.
Salvatore ignored him.
“My son believed fear was respect. He believed money replaced kindness. Vincent learned from him.”
“Grandfather.”
“Be quiet.”
I almost smiled.
Nobody told Vincent to be quiet.
Salvatore did.
“I saw what was happening in your marriage,” he continued. “I thought it was between husband and wife.”
“It was.”
“No. Abuse of power becomes everyone’s business when everyone watches and says nothing.”
Vincent stared at the floor.
I appreciated the words more than I expected.
“Thank you.”
Salvatore looked at Vincent.
“You cannot blame Sophia for the way you treated Claire.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because I hear men saying she poisoned you against your wife.”
He shook his head.
“No woman has that kind of magic. You made choices.”
“I know.”
“Then make better ones.”
Salvatore kissed two fingers and touched them to Isabella’s incubator.
Before leaving, he faced me again.
“You may divorce him.”
Vincent looked offended.
I laughed for the first time in days.
Salvatore continued.
“But please don’t keep my great-granddaughter from an old man because her father is an idiot.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
After he left, Vincent stared at me.
“You enjoyed that.”
“Very much.”
“My own grandfather.”
“He’s wise.”
“He called me an idiot.”
“He’s extremely wise.”
That evening, detectives located Sophia.
Not arrested.
Located.
A traffic camera caught her entering an abandoned warehouse district near the river.
Police moved in.
She was gone before they arrived.
But they found something.
Photographs.
Dozens.
Of me.
The house.
My apartment.
The hospital.
Vincent.
Luca.
Salvatore.
And Isabella.
One photograph had been taken through my apartment window.
I felt physically ill.
“We’re moving you,” Vincent said.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
“She knows where you live.”
“Then police can protect the building.”
“You’re coming to the Moretti estate.”
I stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
“It has walls, guards, cameras—”
“And you.”
His face fell slightly.
I immediately regretted the cruelty.
But only slightly.
“I’m not moving back into our marriage because Sophia scares me.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“It sounds like it.”
His voice lowered.
“I’m asking you to move somewhere I know I can keep you alive.”
I looked at him.
“You don’t control whether I live.”
“No.”
Pain moved across his face.
“I learned that in a hospital hallway.”
Silence.
Eventually we compromised.
Not the estate.
A Moretti-owned penthouse with secure elevators and two separate bedroom suites.
Temporary.
Until Sophia was caught.
When I arrived the next day, I expected Vincent’s people to have arranged everything.
Instead, I found something else.
A yellow blanket on the couch.
Coffee mugs on the counter.
Fresh flowers.
And a note.
No white carpet. I promise.
I laughed despite myself.
Then I noticed another line.
Your room locks from the inside.
May you like
For five years, Vincent had believed safety meant surrounding me with his power.
He was finally learning that sometimes safety meant giving me a door he could not open.
