Chapter 6 - The Price of Coming Home
Three months passed.
I did not return to the mansion.
Vincent did not ask me to.
That became one of the most important things he did.
Instead of trying to restore our old life, he began entering mine.
Slowly.
Carefully.
With permission.
He came to Evanston twice a week.
Sometimes three times.
He learned Lily's schedule.
He learned which bottle she preferred.
He knew the exact song that calmed her when she became overtired.
Strangely, it was an old Frank Sinatra song.
Vincent sang terribly.
Lily loved it.
The first time I heard him singing beside her crib, I stood outside the doorway and cried silently.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because it wasn't.
But because this was the father Lily should have had from the beginning.
And because Vincent appeared to understand that every beautiful moment now existed beside one he had missed.
He never complained.
One Saturday morning, he arrived wearing jeans and a black sweater.
No suit.
No driver.
No security visible.
"Where's everyone?"
"Matteo is two blocks away."
I smiled.
"Progress."
Vincent looked suspicious.
"What?"
"You used to bring six armed men to dinner."
"That restaurant had terrible security."
"It was Olive Garden."
"Exactly."
I laughed.
He smiled.
The ease frightened me.
Vincent took Lily from my arms.
She was nearly four months old now.
She recognized him.
The moment she saw his face, she kicked her legs and smiled.
Vincent melted.
Actually melted.
"Hello, principessa."
"You know she's going to expect everybody to call her princess."
"They should."
"No."
"Too late."
He kissed her head.
I looked away.
Later, we sat on the back porch while Lily slept.
Vincent held coffee.
I held tea.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then he said:
"I started therapy."
I almost dropped my cup.
"You what?"
"Therapy."
"With an actual therapist?"
He looked offended.
"No. With Matteo in a basement."
I laughed.
"Yes, Emily. An actual therapist."
"Why?"
His eyes narrowed.
"You're enjoying this."
"A little."
He smiled.
Then became serious.
"Because I don't trust myself to fix what I don't understand."
That silenced me.
"What are you trying to understand?"
"Why I thought providing money meant I didn't have to provide anything else."
He looked toward the yard.
"Why I confuse loyalty with obligation. Why I kept Sophia close when I knew it hurt you."
"And?"
"It's uncomfortable."
"That's therapy."
"Apparently."
"Have you threatened the therapist?"
"Only once."
I stared.
He sighed.
"Joke."
"With you it's difficult to know."
He looked at me.
"She says I turn every emotion into a task."
"That sounds accurate."
"She also says I believe being needed is safer than being loved."
I stopped smiling.
"Vincent."
"I don't know what that means yet."
I did.
Sophia always needed rescue.
I rarely did.
Perhaps Vincent understood how to respond to crisis better than intimacy.
I reached for my cup.
"I'm glad you're going."
"I'm not doing it to get you back."
My eyes met his.
"Okay."
"I mean, I want you back."
My heart tightened.
"But that's not why I'm going."
He looked toward Lily's room.
"I don't want our daughter growing up afraid to tell me what she feels."
That sentence stayed with me.
Vincent's legitimate businesses also began changing.
For years, he had lived with one foot in legality and one foot somewhere darker.
I never asked questions I did not want answered.
After Lily's birth, something shifted.
Matteo told me months later that Vincent began dismantling the most dangerous parts of the Moretti organization.
Illegal gambling houses were sold.
Protection operations ended.
Several men were offered legitimate employment inside construction and logistics businesses.
Some refused.
That created enemies.
One of them was Carlo Vitale.
Carlo had worked with the Moretti family for fifteen years.
He made money from fear.
Vincent's reforms threatened him.
"You've become soft," Carlo said during a private meeting.
Vincent sat behind his desk.
"No."
"Marriage problems. Baby pictures. Therapy."
Carlo laughed.
"People are talking."
Vincent's expression remained calm.
"Let them."
"You shut down three profitable operations."
"They were liabilities."
"They were tradition."
"Tradition is a poor excuse for stupidity."
Carlo leaned forward.
"Your father would be ashamed."
Vincent's eyes turned cold.
"Don't speak about my father."
"There he is."
Carlo smiled.
"The real Vincent."
Vincent stood.
"Meeting's over."
Carlo left.
But he did not forgive.
Two weeks later, I noticed the same gray sedan outside my house three days in a row.
I called Vincent.
He answered on the first ring.
"Emily?"
"There's a car."
His tone changed instantly.
"What car?"
"Gray Mercedes. Across the street."
"Go inside."
"I'm already inside."
"Lock every door."
"They're locked."
"Take Lily upstairs away from windows."
My heart started racing.
"Vincent—"
"I'm coming."
Within six minutes, Matteo arrived with security.
The gray Mercedes disappeared.
Vincent reached the house ten minutes later.
He entered pale with fury.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Lily?"
"Asleep."
He checked every window.
Every door.
"Who was it?"
"I don't know yet."
"Is this because of you?"
He stopped.
"Probably."
My fear became anger.
"This is exactly why Sophia left."
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Vincent flinched.
I immediately regretted using her.
But the point remained.
"This is the world I didn't want Lily near."
"I know."
"You promised security."
"I promised nothing would reach you."
"Something already did."
"No one touched you."
"That's not the standard."
He became silent.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
"I can't go back to a life where armed men follow our daughter."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
His voice was quiet.
"That's why I'm leaving it."
I stared.
"What?"
"I'm getting out."
I almost laughed.
"Vincent, you're a Moretti."
"My legitimate companies make more money than everything else combined."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know."
He moved closer but kept distance between us.
"I can't erase the name."
"No."
"But I can decide what it means when Lily grows up."
That night, Vincent stayed outside with security.
Not inside.
I found him at three in the morning sitting on the porch.
"You should sleep."
"So should you."
"I can't."
"Neither can I."
I sat beside him.
For a while, we listened to crickets.
"Was it Carlo?" I asked.
"Probably."
"Will you kill him?"
Vincent looked at me.
Old Vincent might have lied.
Instead he said:
"Three years ago, yes."
"And now?"
"I'll give law enforcement enough information to bury him legally."
I stared.
"You have information?"
"Everybody has information."
"You would cooperate with police?"
"If it keeps Lily safe."
A pause.
"And you."
My throat tightened.
"Why now?"
"Because for years I thought power meant nobody could take anything from me."
He looked toward the dark yard.
"Then I came home from Paris."
I closed my eyes.
"And everything that mattered was already gone."
I touched his hand.
It was the first time I initiated contact since leaving.
Vincent looked down at our fingers.
He did not move.
Neither did I.
The moment lasted perhaps thirty seconds.
Then I pulled away.
But something changed.
Two days later, federal agents arrested Carlo Vitale on racketeering and weapons charges.
Nobody publicly connected Vincent to the investigation.
Inside the organization, everybody knew.
Some men called him a traitor.
Others quietly followed him into legitimate business.
For the first time in generations, the Moretti empire began becoming something different.
Not clean overnight.
Nothing that large changed overnight.
But direction mattered.
Then came Lily's first Christmas.
I expected Vincent to buy everything.
Instead, he arrived with one wrapped box.
Inside was a small wooden rabbit.
Hand carved.
One ear slightly uneven.
I stared.
"What is this?"
"I made it."
I looked at him.
"You?"
"Therapist suggested hobbies."
I burst out laughing.
Vincent frowned.
"It's not that bad."
"It's adorable."
"It's uneven."
"So are you."
He smiled.
The rabbit resembled the one painted on the nursery wall at the mansion.
I understood.
"Thank you."
That evening, Isabella joined us.
So did Matteo.
Rachel came later.
My little grandmother's house became crowded.
Lily sat in Vincent's lap wearing red pajamas.
At some point, she grabbed his lower lip.
Vincent allowed it.
Matteo took a photograph.
"This is worth blackmail money."
Vincent pointed at him.
"Delete it."
"No."
Everyone laughed.
For several hours, we looked like a family.
After everyone left, Vincent helped clean the kitchen.
Then he stood near the door.
"Merry Christmas, Emily."
"Merry Christmas."
He reached for his coat.
"Vincent."
He turned.
I didn't know what I intended until I crossed the room.
I kissed him.
Only once.
Softly.
Briefly.
Vincent did not move.
When I stepped back, his eyes were wide.
"Don't make this bigger than it is."
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"Okay."
"That's all you're going to say?"
"I've learned speaking often ruins things."
I smiled.
He smiled back.
Then left.
I closed the door and leaned against it.
My heart pounded.
I had kissed my husband.
The man I was divorcing.
The man I might still love.
The man who was slowly becoming somebody I could imagine trusting again.
Upstairs, Lily began crying.
I laughed at myself.
"Perfect timing."
But three days after Christmas, everything changed again.
Carlo Vitale's younger brother disappeared from federal custody during transport.
And the first message Vincent received afterward contained only one sentence.
May you like
You took my brother.
Now I'll take what you love.
