Chapter 6 - The First Time a Mafia Boss Had to Ask Permission
Vincent Moretti had never been particularly patient.
In Chicago, patience was something other people practiced while waiting for his decisions.
He could make a phone call and have a restaurant closed for a private dinner.
He could delay business deals worth millions.
He could summon men who controlled entire neighborhoods and make them arrive within minutes.
But he could not make Claire answer his messages.
He could not command June to recognize him.
And he could not reverse the years he had lost.
That lesson became painfully clear during the first meeting with his new family-law attorney.
Rebecca Shaw sat across from him in a plain office overlooking the Chicago River.
She was in her early fifties, with silver-streaked hair and an expression that suggested she had spent decades listening to powerful men confuse money with authority.
"Mr. Moretti," she said, "you need to understand that discovering you have a child doesn't automatically resolve questions of legal parentage, custody, or visitation."
Vincent nodded.
"I'm aware."
"Are you?"
He met her eyes.
Rebecca continued.
"Your former wife has raised this child for more than two years. The child doesn't know you. There is also an active investigation involving people associated with your family."
Vincent's expression tightened.
"My sister."
"Among others."
He said nothing.
Rebecca opened a folder.
"I have spoken with Ms. Cole. At this stage, Claire is willing to discuss a voluntary, gradual introduction if the safety situation improves."
Vincent leaned forward.
"When?"
"Not immediately."
His jaw tightened.
Rebecca noticed.
"Mr. Moretti, this is where I need you to listen."
He forced himself to relax.
"Go on."
"Your daughter's needs come before your feelings about missing her childhood."
Vincent looked down.
"Of course."
"You may experience grief, anger, or guilt. Those feelings are real. But a toddler shouldn't be responsible for helping you resolve them."
He nodded slowly.
"Understood."
Rebecca continued.
"Claire's attorney has proposed that any future introduction begin in a neutral environment, with Claire present and a child-development professional available if needed."
Vincent swallowed.
"She'll be there?"
"Yes."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Good."
Rebecca studied him.
"Most fathers in your situation ask whether they'll be allowed to take the child home."
Vincent looked at her.
"I don't even know what her favorite food is."
Rebecca softened slightly.
"Then you start by learning."
He nodded.
"And you demonstrate that you can respect boundaries even when they're difficult."
For the first time that morning, Vincent almost smiled.
"That may be the hardest thing anyone has asked me to do."
Rebecca's expression remained serious.
"Then it's probably the most important."
The investigation into Northbridge Holdings accelerated over the next two weeks.
Andrew Whitcomb's encrypted attachment became a central piece of evidence.
Claire had preserved the original email, including its headers and attachment.
Miriam arranged for a forensic specialist to extract the file without altering the evidence.
The password turned out to be the name of the literacy project Andrew had helped establish.
Inside were thirty-eight pages of financial discrepancies.
Invoices for renovations that had never occurred.
Payments to companies registered at empty commercial addresses.
Transfers approved through credentials assigned to Emily.
And one handwritten note.
Claire Bennett questioned these payments. She did not authorize them.
Andrew had signed and dated the note.
Vincent read it in silence when Evelyn presented a verified copy.
For years, Andrew had been remembered as a loyal accountant who died in a highway collision.
Now the records suggested he had been trying to expose fraud within the organization.
Evelyn looked at Vincent.
"I don't have evidence that his death was anything other than an accident."
Vincent nodded.
"But someone should review it."
"Yes. The appropriate investigators can determine whether there's a connection."
Vincent closed the folder.
He had spent years making people afraid of him.
Now he was forced to confront the possibility that fear had kept honest employees from reporting crimes committed under his own roof.
He turned to Marco.
"I want everything preserved."
Marco nodded.
"No missing files. No private cleanup."
"Understood."
"And if any records implicate my own conduct, they go to counsel and investigators too."
Marco looked at him.
"Vincent, that could become a problem."
Vincent stared at the photograph of Andrew clipped to the folder.
"It already is."
In Pittsburgh, Claire was preparing dinner when June asked a question that made her stop chopping carrots.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Where my daddy?"
Claire set down the knife.
June sat on a kitchen chair, swinging her little feet.
She wore purple pajamas and held a plastic dinosaur.
"Why do you ask?"
June shrugged.
"Mia has daddy. Ben has daddy."
Claire took a slow breath.
She had known this moment would come.
She had just hoped for more time.
"Families are different, baby. Some children live with their mommies and daddies. Some live with grandparents. Some have two mommies or two daddies. Some live with one parent."
June considered this.
"Me have Mommy."
Claire smiled.
"Yes, you do."
"Jo-Jo?"
"Jonah loves spending time with you."
June nodded.
Then she asked, "Me have daddy too?"
Claire felt tears rise.
She knelt beside the chair.
"Yes, sweetheart. You have a daddy."
June's eyes widened.
"Where?"
"He lives in another city."
June frowned.
"Why?"
Claire searched for words a two-year-old could understand.
"Because Mommy and Daddy don't live together."
June tilted her head.
"Daddy love me?"
The question broke Claire's heart.
She pulled her daughter gently into her arms.
"Sweetheart, nothing about where grown-ups live is because of something you did."
June rested her head against Claire's shoulder.
"Okay."
Claire kissed her hair.
"And you are loved very, very much."
June sat quietly for several seconds.
Then she looked up.
"Daddy have dinosaur?"
Claire laughed through her tears.
"I don't know."
June considered that answer.
Then she held out her plastic dinosaur.
"He can borrow."
Claire closed her eyes.
In that moment, she understood something she had resisted for three years.
June deserved the opportunity to know the truth about where she came from.
Not because Vincent had earned forgiveness.
Not because he could demand a place in their lives.
But because June's identity belonged to June.
And Claire would not let her own pain become another secret her daughter might one day have to unravel.
Five days later, Vincent saw June for the first time.
The meeting took place in a private playroom inside a family counseling center in Pittsburgh.
Claire had approved the arrangement after consulting with Miriam and a child-development specialist.
The immediate surveillance threat had been reduced by the arrest of the courier who delivered the photograph.
Investigators had connected him to a contractor employed by Mercer's security company.
The investigation remained active, but Claire agreed that a short, carefully managed visit could proceed.
Vincent arrived fifteen minutes early.
He wore dark jeans, a gray sweater, and a black coat.
No expensive watch.
No cuff links.
No visible security detail.
He carried a small paper bag containing two books and a stuffed fox.
Rebecca had advised him against extravagant gifts.
"Your daughter doesn't need to be impressed," she told him. "She needs to feel comfortable."
Vincent had spent half an hour in a bookstore trying to choose something a toddler might enjoy.
He finally bought a picture book about animals and another about a small bear learning to share.
Now he sat in the playroom staring at a collection of wooden blocks.
His hands wouldn't stop moving.
The door opened.
Claire entered first.
She wore a soft green sweater and jeans.
Behind her came June.
The little girl held Claire's hand.
She wore red overalls, white sneakers, and a yellow hair clip.
Her dark brown hair curled around her cheeks.
And her eyes—
Vincent forgot how to breathe.
Gray.
The same unmistakable shade as his mother's.
The same shade he saw in the mirror every morning.
June stopped beside Claire.
She looked at the unfamiliar man sitting on the carpet.
"Mommy?"
Claire crouched.
"Sweetheart, this is Vincent. He's the man I told you about."
June stared at him.
Vincent remained seated.
He did not move closer.
He didn't want to frighten her.
"Hi, June," he said softly.
The little girl hid behind Claire's leg.
Vincent's chest tightened.
Claire stroked June's hair.
"It's okay, honey. You don't have to say anything."
June peeked out again.
She noticed the paper bag.
"What's that?"
Vincent looked down.
"I brought a book."
June considered this.
"What book?"
"One about animals."
She stepped slightly forward.
"Dinosaurs?"
Vincent's face fell.
"No dinosaurs."
June looked disappointed.
He swallowed.
"I made a mistake."
Claire pressed her lips together.
For the first time since he arrived, her expression softened.
June stepped closer.
"Fox?"
Vincent opened the bag and removed the stuffed fox.
Her eyes widened.
"Fox!"
He placed it on the carpet between them.
"It's for you, if you want it."
June looked at Claire.
Claire nodded.
"You can take it."
June walked forward, grabbed the fox, and immediately retreated.
Vincent smiled.
"Does he have a name?"
June examined the toy.
"Mr. Orange."
Vincent laughed.
"That's a good name."
June nodded seriously.
Then she sat on the carpet several feet away.
For ten minutes, she played with blocks while Vincent watched.
He asked occasional questions.
She answered some.
Ignored others.
And gradually moved closer.
Finally, she picked up a blue block.
"Make tower."
Vincent leaned forward.
"Can I help?"
June thought about it.
Then handed him a block.
"Here."
He accepted it as though she had placed something priceless in his hands.
Together, they built a tower.
It collapsed three times.
June laughed each time.
Vincent laughed too.
Claire watched from a chair near the door.
A strange ache filled her chest.
She had imagined this scene once.
Years ago.
Vincent sitting on the floor with their child.
Laughing.
Playing.
Completely absorbed in something that didn't involve money, danger, or power.
She had wanted that future so badly.
Now it was happening.
But without the marriage she had once believed would hold it together.
June stacked another block.
Then she leaned closer to Vincent.
"Your eyes."
He froze.
"What about them?"
June pointed at her own face.
"Same."
Vincent felt his throat close.
Claire sat very still.
June looked toward her mother.
"Mommy, same eyes."
Claire nodded.
"Yes, sweetheart."
June turned back.
Vincent smiled through sudden tears.
"We do have the same eyes."
June considered this extraordinary discovery.
Then she handed him another block.
"Again."
Vincent wiped his cheek quickly.
"Again."
The visit lasted forty-five minutes.
When Claire announced it was time to leave, June protested.
"More tower!"
Claire crouched beside her.
"We can build another one another day."
June frowned.
Vincent looked at Claire.
He did not ask for a promise.
He simply waited.
Claire added, "We'll talk about it, sweetheart."
June accepted this after some negotiation involving a sticker.
Before leaving, she turned toward Vincent.
"Bye, Vincent."
His heart clenched.
"Bye, June."
She held up the stuffed fox.
"Mr. Orange come home."
Vincent smiled.
"I hope he likes it there."
June nodded.
"He sleep with Bunny."
"Then he'll have a friend."
Claire took her daughter's hand.
Vincent stood.
For a brief moment, he and Claire faced each other.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Claire looked at him.
"Don't thank me yet."
His smile faded.
"This is the beginning, Vincent. Not proof that everything is fixed."
He nodded.
"I understand."
"June gets to decide how comfortable she feels around you."
"I know."
"And if you make promises, keep them."
Vincent swallowed.
"I will."
Claire studied him.
Then she nodded once.
"Good."
She turned and walked away with June.
Vincent remained standing long after the door closed.
A family counselor approached quietly.
"How are you feeling?"
Vincent laughed through his tears.
"Like I just met someone I've loved my whole life."
The counselor smiled gently.
"Then remember that for her, you're someone she's only just met."
Vincent nodded.
The distinction mattered.
He had lost nearly three years.
June had lost nothing she could remember.
The responsibility was his to build trust.
Not hers to replace his regret with affection.
That night, Jonah arrived at Claire's apartment with takeout.
June was already asleep.
Claire opened the door wearing an oversized sweater.
"You didn't have to bring dinner."
"I know."
He held up the bag.
"But I figured you might have forgotten to eat."
She stepped aside.
They ate at the kitchen counter.
For a while, they talked about ordinary things.
A housing application.
A broken printer.
June's new obsession with Mr. Orange.
Then Jonah looked at Claire.
"How did it go?"
She set down her fork.
"Better than I expected."
He nodded.
"That's good."
"She liked him."
Jonah smiled slightly.
"He's her father. I'm glad the first meeting went well."
Claire studied him.
"Does that bother you?"
"What?"
"That Vincent is back."
Jonah considered the question.
"It changes things."
Claire looked down.
"I know."
"But June having a relationship with her father doesn't erase the people already in her life."
She smiled faintly.
"You're remarkably calm about all this."
Jonah laughed.
"I'm not always calm."
"No?"
"No. I spent fifteen minutes arguing with a parking meter yesterday."
Claire laughed.
He grew serious.
"Claire, I'm not competing with Vincent."
She met his eyes.
"You're not?"
"No."
He paused.
"June isn't a prize. And neither are you."
Something in Claire's chest shifted.
For years, she had lived in a world where men measured love through possession.
Who belonged to whom.
Who had won.
Who had lost.
Jonah was offering her something different.
A relationship without a competition.
A future that did not require her to erase the past.
She reached across the counter.
Her fingers touched his.
Jonah looked down.
Then back at her.
"Claire?"
She smiled.
"Thank you for being here."
He gently closed his hand around hers.
"You're welcome."
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Claire leaned forward and kissed him.
It was brief.
Soft.
Almost hesitant.
When she pulled away, Jonah looked stunned.
Claire laughed nervously.
"Was that okay?"
He smiled.
"Very okay."
She rested her forehead against his.
"I don't know exactly what I'm ready for."
"Then we figure it out slowly."
Claire closed her eyes.
For the first time in years, the thought of loving someone again did not feel like walking toward danger.
It felt like opening a door.
In Chicago, Vincent received a call from Marco just after midnight.
"Vincent, we found Victor Sloane."
Vincent sat upright.
"Where?"
"At a hotel near O'Hare."
"Does he know we're looking for him?"
"Probably."
Vincent swung his legs out of bed.
"Don't approach him."
Marco hesitated.
"You're not coming?"
"No. Contact the federal investigators handling the Northbridge case. Give them the location."
A pause.
"Vincent, that man helped threaten Claire."
"I know."
"We could make him talk."
Vincent looked toward the photograph of June sitting on his bedside table.
It was a photograph Claire had permitted Miriam to send after their meeting.
June sat beside her block tower, grinning proudly.
Vincent studied it.
"No," he said.
Marco sounded surprised.
"No?"
"Whatever Victor knows, we need it recorded, preserved, and usable in court."
Marco was silent for several seconds.
Then he answered.
"Understood."
Vincent ended the call.
He walked toward the window.
Chicago glittered beneath him.
For years, he had believed power meant making people obey.
Now he was beginning to understand that real change required choosing restraint when force would have been easier.
But thirty minutes later, Marco called again.
His voice was urgent.
"Vincent, Victor's gone."
Vincent's stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
"The investigators reached the hotel. His room was empty. He checked out through a service exit."
"Did anyone see him leave?"
"Yes. A security camera caught him entering a black SUV."
Vincent closed his eyes.
"Mercer?"
"Most likely."
Marco paused.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Victor left a phone in his hotel room. The investigators recovered it."
Vincent waited.
"One of the last messages was sent to Emily."
His jaw tightened.
"What did it say?"
May you like
Marco's voice dropped.
The little girl has met her father. Mercer says it's time for Plan B.
