Nineteen
Matteo
“ R ight this way, Mr. Marino.”
I follow the law firm office receptionist into a glass-walled conference room already filled with my team, assembled for the purpose of defending Amelia.
After Ellory left my house on Sunday, Willow wasted no time slipping into seduction mode.
When that didn’t work, the threats came out.
And now, I’m sitting here, trying to build a wall around my daughter with court filings and surveillance footage.
It gutted me to miss the mine tour yesterday, but I spent all day with Jim Adelson at Clear Security. Now, we have a plan.
There’s no universe where I’d ever explore anything with Willow. I’ve heard too much venom spill from her lips to find her even remotely attractive. But her threats about taking Amelia? That’s not something I can risk.
A petite blonde stands and extends her arm as I enter. “Mr. Marino? Colleen Delany.”
I shake her hand. Firm grip. Confident. “Nice to meet you.”
Bash Pontius steps in behind me, gives a quick nod, and takes a seat beside Jim.
“Looks like we’re all here,” Jim begins. “Colleen and her team are the best family law attorneys in the city. I’ve brought her up to speed. Colleen, the floor’s yours.”
She sits, elegant and composed. Beautiful, but it’s the sharpness in her gaze that stands out—focused, analytical. This is a woman who eats courtroom theatrics for breakfast.
“Thank you, Jim.” She turns to me. “Mr. Marino—”
“Matteo,” I say.
She smiles, and it actually reaches her eyes. “Matteo, do you recall when you met Ms. Jackson?”
I shake my head. “My memory’s fuzzy. I didn’t even recognize her from the photo she left with my doorman. Embarrassing as it is, I’m pretty sure we hooked up in the bathroom of a club—fast, messy, forgettable. Maybe an hour together, tops.”
Over the next hour, we walk through every corner of my life—family, finances, Amelia, and every encounter I’ve had with Willow.
“What makes you believe she’s after your money?” Colleen asks.
“She’s asked me to fire the nanny so she can take her place.”
“Why is that a concern? She is Amelia’s mother.”
I fight the urge to clench my fists. As if Amelia is something to barter. A prize for sale. “She also said it was going to be expensive for me to get what I want.”
Colleen nods, jotting that down.
“My team followed her to a lawyer—Ralph Ferguson,” Bash says.
Her gaze lifts. “He’s a bottom-feeder.”
“That was our read too,” Jim adds.
Colleen leans forward. “Tell me about Sunday.”
I walk her through the morning. Amelia dropping her bottle over and over, Ellory calmly picking it up. The three of us at the kitchen table like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“My kids did that too,” Colleen says, almost offhandedly.
That surprises me more than it should.
“Were you expecting Willow?”
I nod. “She’s technically welcome every morning, but she rarely shows until the afternoon, and she’s always gone before I get home.”
Colleen writes something in her notebook and looks at me. “And you confirmed that with Ms. Maxwell?”
“Yes. I’ve asked Trixie to text me every time Willow comes or goes.”
“How bad has the paparazzi been since Willow went public with Amelia’s paternity?”
“Bad enough that I had to bring in a full team with Clear. Building security has been increased for everyone’s safety.” I pause, then add, “And photos from Amelia’s birthday party were leaked Saturday night. We believe Willow’s friend took them.”
“There was also a twenty-five thousand dollar deposit into Willow’s account that night,” Bash says. “We’re tracing the source.”
I’d never trade Amelia for anything. But if I could rewrite the past…I’d give her a better beginning. A mother who shows up and cares about her. A mother like Ellory.
Colleen nods to Bash. “Keep me posted on that. Matteo, what’s this?” she asks as I slide a sheet of paper across the table.
“The hotel bill. Fairmont. She’s staying in the Presidential Suite. The suite is rented for two weeks at six hundred dollars a night. This total should be just over six grand. With a few room service meals maybe eight grand.”
Her brows lift as she skims the charges. “What’s all this extra?”
“Clothes. Shoes. Room service for half of Union Square. Alcohol. Shopping in the hotel boutiques…”
Her frown deepens. “What are these three five-thousand-dollar charges?”
Jim clears his throat. “She convinced a staff member to let her pull cash advances. Against Matteo’s credit card.”
Colleen’s head jerks up. “Excuse me?”
Jim nods grimly. “She’s withdrawn three five-thousand-dollar cash advances in the last ten days.”
“What is she doing with it?” Colleen asks.
“We don’t know. We have photos of her using cocaine, but it could also be a retainer for Ferguson.”
Colleen scoffs. “Highly unlikely. He only gets paid if she does.”
She flips through the statements, her jaw tightening.
Bash slides another folder across the table. “Photos of her hotel room. Taken yesterday. The damage is escalating. We expect additional charges when she checks out.”
Colleen looks at the itemized list from housekeeping. “Curtains torn…red wine on the carpet…cracked bathroom mirror…and this chair—completely destroyed.”
She looks genuinely disgusted. I don’t even glance. I’ve already seen them. And they made me sick.
Colleen sets the folder aside and reaches across the table, her touch light but firm on my arm. “I know your instinct is to cut her off. But don’t. Let her keep spending. Let her dig the hole.”
I nod. “It’s not a financial burden. I’ll follow your lead.”
“I want daily updates on the state of her suite,” she says to Jim. “Photos if possible, especially if we catch drug use. And I want to know who she’s with. If she’s sleeping alone or not.”
Her voice is calm, precise. But I can feel the power behind it.
We’re building a case.
And I believe we can win.
“I have a feeling she’s not leaving in three days to go back to Wisconsin,” I say.
“I suspect the same,” Colleen agrees. She turns to Jim and Bash. “What do we know about her home life?”
Jim opens a file. “Single mother. No father listed. She has a younger brother, currently serving time at Dodge Correctional in Wisconsin. Maximum security. Convicted of assaulting his pregnant girlfriend.”
That stops me cold. A wave of relief washes over me. Thank God Amelia is with me and not tangled in that mess.
“Her mother’s been on disability since the mid-90s,” Jim continues. “That claim’s under federal investigation for fraud.”
I rub a hand down my face. “This just keeps getting worse.”
“I want full custody,” I say quietly. “I want Willow to relinquish her parental rights entirely. What’s it going to take?”
Colleen exhales, eyes scanning her notes. “My guess? Several million a year. Ongoing. If she doesn’t get it, she’ll keep leaking photos, stories, anything to make you and Amelia tabloid bait and line her pockets with cash. It won’t stop.”
“Fuuuuck,” I mutter under my breath.
She leans in. “But…there is another path. It might keep you from paying her anything.”
My eyes meet hers. “I’m listening.”
She lays it out. And my stomach flips.
It’s bold. Brutal. It would expose everything—Amelia, me, even my family. But it would strip Willow of any leverage. If she chooses to stay in San Francisco, we’d push for supervised visitation with a social worker or bodyguard present—no alone time with Amelia. Ever.
“Think about it,” Colleen says. “If she leaves in three days, great. We pay the hotel bill, take the lesson, and move on.”
“In a perfect world,” I say wryly. “But this world’s far from perfect.”
Colleen smiles. “I’ve been surprised before.”
We wrap the meeting with action items for everyone. Jim and Bash ride back to the office with me.
“We’ll keep eyes on her,” Bash says. “We can tap her phone, too, if it comes to that.”
I hate the idea. But I hate surprises more. I glance at Jim.
“Not admissible,” he says. “But it might give us a heads-up. That said, Colleen would likely advise against it.”
I nod. “Hold off for now.”
I text Trixie on the way home.
Me: Any word from Willow?
Trixie: Not yet.
I glance over at Bash. “Can you find out where she is?”
He’s already checking his phone. “Ferguson’s office.”
I exhale. “So I should brace myself.”
“We can intercept the service,” Bash offers.
I shake my head. “No. Let her make her move. I like Colleen’s plan, bring it out into the open and crush her.”
The car pulls up in front of my office building. I check the time, wondering if Dante and Luca are still over at Olivier. Frustration prickles in my chest. I hate that I’m dealing with this instead of being with her.
As I step onto the sidewalk, a woman approaches, maybe mid-twenties, holding a manila envelope.
“Are you Matteo Marino?” she asks.
Bash steps between us, but she holds out the envelope.
“You’ve been served.”
I take it silently, jaw clenched.
We ride the elevator in silence—me, Bash, and Jim. The tension’s so thick, it feels like the walls are closing in. My jaw aches from grinding it. My pulse won’t slow.
Game on.
In my office, I sit down and open the envelope.
“Willow Jackson is suing me for full custody of Amelia.” I knew it was coming. We all did. But seeing it in print? It hits like a sledgehammer.
The words feel like a gut punch.
I drop back into my chair. “This is just her opening move. She wants money.”
“Let’s call Colleen,” Jim says calmly.
I nod and hit her number on the office line, then put her on speaker.
“Colleen, I’ve got Jim and Bash here with me. You’re on speaker.” I snap a photo of the summons and email it to her.
“That didn’t take long,” she says after a beat, a dry note in her voice.
Silence stretches as she reads.
“This is good,” she says finally. “It may sound like bad news, but it’s not. She’s shown her hand. She wants cash, not custody. Now, we build our response.”
She shifts into strategy mode.