Chapter 6: A Father’s Unfinished Past
Lorenzo looked down at his hands.
“I would have protected you,” he said.
“I know.”
“You don’t sound like you believe that.”
“I believe you wanted to.”
The distinction hurt more than an accusation. It left him with no easy defense, no enemy to blame. Only the man he had been—and the woman who had been afraid of what that man might do.
Elena stood and adjusted the blanket over Rosie. The little girl stirred, then settled again, one fist tucked beneath her cheek.
“What did my mother think I would do?” Lorenzo asked.
“She thought you’d find us and bring us into your world. She thought you’d call it protection if you had men watching the door, if you decided where we could go and who we could see.”
“I wouldn’t have let anyone hurt you.”
“That’s not the same as asking what we wanted.”
He glanced toward Rosie. Her curls spilled across the pillow, bright against the blanket. He had missed every birthday, every scraped knee, every sleepy question. He hadn’t even known to miss them.
“I could have kept you safe,” he said, though the words sounded thinner now.
“Maybe,” Elena replied. “But I didn’t know what it would cost. I’d seen what happened when you were angry. I’d watched people agree with you because they were frightened, not because they trusted you. I didn’t want Rosie to grow up thinking that was love.”
A muscle moved in his jaw. “Did Isabella tell you I’d hurt you?”
“No. She told me she was afraid of what your enemies might do if they knew we mattered to you.” Elena paused. “And she was afraid you’d try to solve that danger the only way you knew how.”
Lorenzo looked at the door. Outside it, Enzo and the guards were supposed to be keeping the apartment secure. Inside, the quiet felt fragile enough to break with a careless word.
“Did you decide on your own?” he asked. “To leave?”
“Yes.” Elena’s voice was firm. “Your mother urged me to disappear, but it was my choice. She didn’t make it for me. I was the one who carried Rosie out of the hospital. I was the one who stayed away.”
“And you never thought I deserved to know?”
“I thought Rosie deserved to grow up without becoming a target. I thought I could give her that if nobody knew she was yours.”
He wanted to ask whether she had ever regretted it. He wanted to ask whether she had watched him from a distance, whether she had imagined bringing Rosie to him. Each question felt like a hand reaching for something Elena hadn’t offered.
So he asked the one he could bear to hear answered.
“What do you need from me now?”
Elena studied him as if she were checking for a trap.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t take her anywhere without my permission.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t punish people because you’re afraid.”
The words landed squarely. Lorenzo thought of the men at Nana’s Soup, the intruder at his house, the chapel window exploding inward. He thought of every time he had mistaken fear for control.
“I’ll try,” he said.
“I need more than a try.”
“You’re right.” He swallowed. “Then I’ll stop. If I feel myself about to do something that frightens you, I’ll step away and let you decide what happens next.”
Elena’s expression shifted, but not into trust. Not yet.
“Those are words,” she said.
“I know.”
A soft knock came from the apartment’s inner hall. Enzo entered only after Lorenzo nodded. He kept his voice low, mindful of the sleeping child.
“Perimeter’s clear for now. I’ve got the building feed up, and the doorman has the lawyer’s number if anyone shows.”
“Good,” Lorenzo said. “No one approaches this door unless Elena says so.”
Enzo nodded. “Understood.”
He glanced at the papers on the coffee table: the photograph from the chapel, Elena’s notes, and a small stack of documents she had pulled from her bag while searching for a phone charger.
“Is that the hospital card?” he asked.
Elena followed his gaze. A folded sheet had slipped partly beneath the photograph. She picked it up, then held it still for a moment before offering it to Lorenzo.
“It was in the envelope Isabella gave me,” she said. “I kept it because it was Rosie’s first record. Not because you had a right to it.”
Lorenzo accepted the paper only when she extended it. Its creases had softened from years of handling. The date printed near the top matched the date on the back of the chapel photograph: January 12. Beneath the hospital’s faded stamp were Elena’s name, the newborn’s name—Rosie—and a line for the child’s father.
Lorenzo Moretti.
His fingers tightened around the edge.
The document made no room for doubt. But it didn’t give him back the nights he had missed or explain why the memory of holding her was only a single, blurred moment.
“I signed this?” he asked.
“Isabella said you did,” Elena replied. “You were there that first night. You held Rosie while she slept. Then my mother came to take us home.”
He stared at his name. The ink was ordinary. The consequence was not.
“Why didn’t you throw it away?”
“Because Rosie deserved to know where she came from, even if she didn’t know you yet.” Elena folded her arms. “And because I didn’t want your family’s choices to erase the truth.”
Enzo looked from the document to Lorenzo. “Do you want me to photograph it for the lawyer?”
“No,” Elena said.
Lorenzo placed the paper back on the table.
“Not without her permission,” he said.
Elena gave a faint, wary nod. “Thank you.”
The room fell quiet again. Enzo returned to the hall, leaving the door open a few inches. Lorenzo stayed where he was, giving Elena space and Rosie the calm she needed.
A small rustle came from the sofa.
Rosie opened her eyes. She looked at her mother first, then at Lorenzo.
“Mr. Giant?”
“I’m here.”
She rubbed one eye. “Are you going away?”
He felt Elena watching him. This wasn’t a question he could answer by claiming what he wanted. He lowered himself beside the sofa, stopping far enough away that Rosie could see him without feeling crowded.
“I’ll stay if your mommy says it’s all right.”
Rosie turned her face toward Elena.
“Can he stay?”
Elena looked at Lorenzo for a long moment.
“He can sit in the chair,” she said. “You can talk to him if you want. That’s all for tonight.”
Lorenzo nodded. “That’s enough.”
Rosie yawned. “You can tell me a story, then.”
“Do you want a story about a dragon?”
“No. A soup story.”
A breath almost became a laugh in Lorenzo’s chest. “I don’t know any soup stories.”
“You can make one.”
“I’ll try.”
“Not a scary one,” Rosie added, and closed her eyes again.
“Not a scary one,” he promised.
He sat in the chair beside the sofa. Elena didn’t move closer, but she didn’t ask him to leave. For a few quiet minutes, the apartment held nothing but the low hum of the heater and Rosie’s breathing.
Then a sharp electronic chime cut through the room.
Enzo was on his feet in the hall.
“Alarm,” he said.
Lorenzo rose, but Elena was already standing between him and the sofa. He stopped when he saw her.
“Stay with Rosie,” he said. “I’ll check the feed.”
“Don’t go toward the threat,” Elena replied.
“I won’t.”
He crossed to the security monitor beside the entry. Enzo had the building cameras open, one tile showing the rear service corridor. The image flickered, then steadied.
A figure in a dark coat stepped through the corridor door. One hand held a weapon low at their side.
Enzo leaned closer to the screen.
May you like
“Someone’s inside.”
On the monitor, the armed figure turned toward the apartment floor and started down the hall.
