I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I love you more than anything in the whole world.”
“I love you more than monster trucks,” he replies sleepily.
“That’s serious.”
“The most serious.”
I switch off the lamp once his eyes drift closed.
The apartment falls quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic outside.
I clean the kitchen slowly to burn off nervous energy.
Wash plates.
Wipe counters.
Check the lock twice.
Then, I sit at the tiny kitchen table with my laptop.
I open the revised profiles and keep working. The words flow easier now. Protecting the private lives behind public fortunes. I think about Nico’s small hands holding that toy car and I write with more conviction.
My phone buzzes on the table. A text from Dante.
I hear you took a job with Ferretti. Poor choice, sweetheart. Come home before you embarrass yourself.
The fear hits first. Sharp and familiar. Then something else rises underneath it. Harder. Sharper. Determination. I have spent five years building a life away from his control.
I will not crawl back now. Not when Nico deserves better. Not when I am finally standing on my own feet even if those feet are currently shaking.
I delete the message without replying. My hands are steady when I close the laptop and walk to Nico’s room. I watch him sleep for a long time, the nightlight casting soft shadows across his peaceful face.
Whatever comes next at that Hudson Valley estate, I’ll face it. For him. For us.
Even if it means standing toe to toe with Valentino Ferretti and the truth I’ve hidden for so long.
Chapter Eight
VALENTINO
Children do not belong on the thirty-second floor of Ferretti Global Risk.
The floor is designed for silence.
Glass walls. Controlled voices. Expensive restraint.
People walk quickly here because hesitation costs money. Conversations happen in fragments behind conference room doors. Analysts monitor threat patterns across six countries while executives pretend caffeine is a personality trait.
Nothing soft survives long in this environment.
Which is why the sound of a child laughing stops me cold halfway down the corridor outside Operations.
I look up from the tablet in my hand.
Again, a child laughs, and every instinct I possess sharpens instantly.
Security breach.
