Chapter 9 - The Day Mia Spoke in Court
Francesca’s petition failed quickly.
The documents she relied on were part of the forged settlement package.
My lawyer showed that the supposed trust assignment had been signed with the same copied signature.
Francesca’s own criminal case made her credibility worse.
The judge dismissed her claim and referred the new filing to prosecutors for review.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, I was furious that she had made Mia’s name appear on one more piece of paper.
Outside court, reporters waited.
I had avoided them for months.
That morning, I stopped.
My lawyer looked at me.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
I faced the cameras.
“My daughter is three years old. She is not an asset, leverage, or a branch of anybody’s family business.”
The microphones moved closer.
I continued.
“Neither are employees. Neither are widows. Neither are people who cannot afford expensive lawyers. What happened to my husband and to the workers at Castalano properties happened because powerful people believed quiet people would stay quiet.”
I looked directly into one camera.
“We’re not quiet anymore.”
That clip spread online.
I hated being recognized at the grocery store.
June loved it.
“You looked beautiful.”
“I looked angry.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
Vincent said nothing until that evening.
Then he asked, “Are you okay with people knowing your name?”
“No.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
I believed he did.
Francesca eventually entered a plea on financial crimes and evidence tampering while charges connected to Noah’s death proceeded separately.
The criminal case would take time.
Maybe years.
I stopped measuring healing by court dates.
Mia had preschool concerts.
Rent.
Laundry.
Life kept moving while justice wore sensible shoes.
My new job expanded.
The staff council elected me as permanent employee advocate across three Castalano-owned properties.
I negotiated.
I learned payroll law.
I discovered I loved asking questions rich executives did not want to answer.
Renzo called it my superpower.
Vincent called it terrifying.
Our first date finally happened.
No attack.
No secret envelope.
No one was arrested.
We ate pasta.
Vincent told me he once wanted to design houses.
“Architecture?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“My father.”
“That answer does a lot of work.”
He laughed.
“I went into the family business.”
“You could still design.”
“I’m forty-one.”
“So?”
He stared.
“You say things like time is not a weapon.”
“Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s just Tuesday.”
He smiled.
I told him about Noah.
Not only the dead version.
The annoying one.
He left cabinet doors open.
Sang badly.
Bought expensive hot sauce and complained when I used it.
Vincent listened without jealousy.
That mattered.
When he drove me home, he did not come upstairs.
He asked if he could kiss me.
I said yes.
It was brief.
Careful.
Then Mia opened the apartment door.
Erin stood behind her, horrified.
Mia crossed her arms.
She looked at Vincent.
Then at me.
Then back at Vincent.
“You kissed Mommy.”
I wanted to disappear.
Vincent, the feared mafia boss, looked genuinely terrified.
“Yes.”
Mia scowled.
He scowled back.
She said, “Why?”
Vincent looked at me.
I refused to help.
“Because I like your mommy.”
Mia considered.
“I like dinosaurs.”
Erin burst out laughing.
I covered my face.
Vincent nodded solemnly.
“Also good.”
Mia pointed at him.
“No sleepover.”
I nearly died.
Erin whispered, “I did not teach her that.”
Vincent said, “Understood.”
Mia stepped aside.
“Okay.”
Apparently the interview was complete.
Later, after Mia slept, Erin sat with me.
“You like him.”
“Yes.”
“He is dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him?”
I thought.
“More than I did.”
“That was not my question.”
“No.”
Erin waited.
“I trust him to tell me when he is angry now. I trust him to ask instead of decide. I trust him to let me say no.”
“That is something.”
“Yes.”
“Is it enough?”
“I don’t know.”
She hugged me.
“Good answer.”
Months passed.
Vincent separated the last questionable family businesses from the legitimate companies through outside counsel.
He was not a saint.
He had a history I could not soften.
But he was making choices in the present that looked different from the choices he inherited.
I did not confuse that with redemption.
I called it work.
On the anniversary of Noah’s death, I took Mia to the cemetery.
Vincent did not come.
I had not invited him.
At Noah’s grave, Mia placed a dinosaur sticker on the stone.
“Daddy likes it.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
She asked, “Do you like Mr. Vincent?”
Children.
No warm-up.
“Yes.”
“More than Daddy?”
My chest hurt.
“No.”
She frowned.
“You can’t?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Why?”
I knelt.
“Love doesn’t always replace love. Sometimes your heart makes another room.”
She thought about that.
“Like our apartment?”
“Hopefully bigger.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered, “Daddy can have dinosaur room.”
I cried.
Mia hugged me.
That evening, Vincent sent one message.
THINKING OF YOU BOTH. NO NEED TO ANSWER.
I did not answer.
I did not need to.
The next morning, I found a package outside my office.
Inside was a framed photograph.
Noah holding baby Mia.
I had never seen it.
On the back:
TAKEN AT HUDSON TERRACE FAMILY DAY.
Under that, in Salvatore’s handwriting:
NOAH ASKED ME TO GIVE THIS TO CLAIRE IF HE EVER FAILED TO MAKE IT HOME.
My knees weakened.
There was one more line.
HE ALSO ASKED ME TO TELL HER WHERE HE HID THE ORIGINAL AUDIT.
I stared at the message.
The second ledger was not the last secret.
May you like
Noah had hidden something himself.
And Salvatore had apparently known exactly where.
