Twenty-six
Matteo
G etting into the courthouse on a Tuesday morning feels like navigating an obstacle course.
Short of stripping to my boxer briefs, I’ve done everything but a full cavity search just to get through security.
Three tries later—no belt, empty pockets, and shoes sent through the X-ray—I finally reach the courtroom I was told to find and sit down outside on a bench.
The hallway is lined with benches. I grab a spot and check my phone.
Twenty minutes early.
That’s when I see it—buried in my inbox.
A reminder of tonight’s North American Gemological Institute—NAGI—meeting.
Shit. I completely forgot I’m supposed to speak.
I’d promised the evening to Amelia. Ciro bailed, Luca’s in L.A.
, and Dante’s in New York with Felicity.
Which means the whole thing falls to me.
“You made it,” Colleen says, walking up with a smirk.
“You didn’t mention the metal detectors. I almost got strip-searched.”
She shrugs. “Family court brings out a lot of emotion. The security’s for everyone’s safety.”
“Any word from Willow’s attorney?”
“He’s annoyed we didn’t offer a payout.”
I scoff. “Is he working on contingency?”
“If he is, he’s a fool,” she mutters, nodding toward a balding man striding toward us, briefcase in hand.
My stomach knots. I hate this part. Dante thrives on confrontation. Me? I’m a middle child. I broker peace, not battles. But today, I want this over.
The door opens. A court officer steps out. “Marino versus Jackson.”
“We’re here,” Colleen says, rising smoothly. I follow her into the judge’s chambers.
“My client hasn’t arrived yet,” Willow’s attorney, Ralph Ferguson, announces with a sniff.
“She’s got twenty seconds or she’s out of luck,” the bailiff replies flatly.
Judge Lee barely looks up as she flips through the paperwork, her expression already irritated.
Willow bursts in seconds later, shoes in hand, breathless. “Sorry I’m late. Security was—”
“Plan better,” the judge cuts in, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
For a second, I almost feel bad. Then I remember the hotel bill. The cash advances. The damage to the suite.
Judge Lee straightens in her chair. “Why are we here?”
Colleen steps forward, voice calm and confident. “Your Honor, we’re seeking an emergency order granting Mr. Marino sole custody of his daughter, Amelia Marie Marino.”
Willow bursts into tears right on cue. If she weren’t so infuriating, I might be impressed.
“On what grounds?” the judge asks.
Colleen hands over a file. “Ms. Jackson failed to disclose the child’s existence until Amelia was nearly eight months old. When she did, she left the baby with Mr. Marino’s doorman—a days worth of formula, two outfits, and three diapers.”
“I couldn’t afford more,” Willow sniffs.
Colleen keeps going, outlining Willow’s lack of contact, the private investigator’s involvement, and the invitation to visit for Amelia’s birthday.
“Since arriving, she’s barely spent any time with her daughter.
She’s instead taken over seventy thousand dollars in cash advances on Mr. Marino’s credit card, purchased luxury items, partied, and offered to surrender custody in exchange for one million dollars per year. ”
Judge Lee’s eyebrows lift. “Ms. Jackson?”
“They turned my daughter against me,” Willow cries. “Every time she saw me, she screamed. It was awful.”
The judge scans the framed photos on her desk—family, kids, maybe even grandkids—then flips through the documents, pausing on the hotel invoices.
“Why didn’t you spend more time with your daughter?”
“They treated me like I didn’t belong. The nanny—she undermined me. But she’s my daughter. I know what I’m doing.”
Judge Lee glances at me. “You flew her out after she abandoned the child?”
I nod. “I thought it was important Amelia know her mother. But Willow didn’t seem interested.”
“In your package,” Colleen interrupts. “You’ll see the time Ms. Jackson said she’d be there, when she arrived and when she left. They’re also marked with security footage and elevator codes.”
She thumbs through and sees what Colleen was talking about and then goes back to the Fairmont’s bill and stares at me.
“The hotel is billing me for over seventy thousand dollars in damage charges and said it will take a month to repair the room, which I’m being billed for.”
The judge eyes Willow’s designer dress and shoes. “What did you do with the cash advance money?”
“I had debts,” Willow says quietly.
“And how did you afford the Jerome Gatenoux dress and Jimmy Choos you’re wearing?”
Willow flounders. “I, um…”
“I’m sorry,” Judge Lee says. “Could you repeat that?”
Willow dissolves into louder, more dramatic sobs.
Judge Lee turns to me. “Mr. Marino, when did you become aware of the charges?”
“A few days after she missed another scheduled visit with Amelia.”
“You allowed her to charge seventy thousand dollars to your card?”
“Your Honor,” Colleen interjects smoothly, “I advised him to hold off on disputing charges in case someone else covered the bill at checkout. We didn’t want to escalate things prematurely.”
Judge Lee gives me a long, assessing look. I hated waiting. But Colleen was right. If we’d pulled the plug too soon, we’d be the aggressors, not the ones asking for peace. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or quietly judging me for being too generous for too long.
“When was your last conversation with Ms. Jackson?” Judge Lee asks.
“Sunday night,” I answer. “She told me to fire the nanny so she could move in.”
“And why didn’t you?”
I glance down briefly, then meet her gaze.
“She’s never shown consistent interest in Amelia.
She doesn’t understand why Amelia doesn’t remember her, but we’ve worked hard to build a stable, happy routine.
I wasn’t going to jeopardize that by removing someone Amelia trusts, especially not for someone who hasn’t earned it. ”
Judge Lee turns to Willow. “How long were you and Mr. Marino in a relationship?”
Willow doesn’t look at me. “Just one night. The condom broke.”
The judge remains expressionless.
Colleen steps forward. “If you refer to the final pages, Your Honor, you’ll find sworn affidavits from two other men—both financially successful—who describe similar experiences with Ms. Jackson. There’s a clear and troubling pattern.”
Willow scoffs. “That’s a lie!”
Judge Lee calmly flips to the affidavits. “But you did offer to terminate your parental rights in exchange for a million dollars a year?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” her attorney replies before she can open her mouth again.
The judge raises an eyebrow. “Ms. Jackson, do you have anything you’d like to say?”
“He leaves her with a nanny all day and sometimes all night.” Tears fill Willow’s eyes.
“She’s my daughter. I know I screwed up.
I didn’t know how to get a hold of him until I saw him in the paper.
And for leaving her like that. But I didn’t have any money.
I couldn’t take her back to Wisconsin. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I love her. I want to be in her life.”
Judge Lee exhales, slow and measured. “Here’s my ruling. Ms. Jackson, you have ninety days to secure employment, find safe housing, and begin building a consistent, positive relationship with your daughter but you can’t stay at the Fairmont and any expenses you have moving forward are on your own.”
She turns to me. “Mr. Marino.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Until then, you’ll retain full custody. Ms. Jackson will be granted supervised visitation only, monitored by a court-appointed social worker.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll reassess in three months before issuing a final custody order.”
Willow’s face crumples. “But—how am I supposed to work and take care of her?”
Judge Lee’s tone sharpens. “That’s a question every parent has to answer.”
The bailiff steps forward and opens the door.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I say as Colleen and I head for the exit.
“How dare you!” Willow screams behind us.
We don’t stop.
The bailiff follows, hand already on his radio in case things escalate.
Colleen rests a hand on my arm. “Don’t meet her eyes. Don’t take the bait. Just keep walking.”
“Doing what’s right for your daughter when you shack up with that whore. That’s bullshit and you know it!” Willow’s voice echoes down the corridor.
Colleen tugs me gently toward the waiting car. I want to turn around. To yell back. To remind her what she walked away from. But I don’t. Because Amelia deserves better than more shouting.
“Need a ride back to your office?” I ask as we climb in.
She exhales, soft but tired. “Yes, please.”
As the car pulls away, I glance out the window and spot Willow outside with three unfamiliar people. I snap a quick photo and send it to Jim.
I lean back, the tension settling in my shoulders. “I wish it had gone differently. But maybe this deadline from the judge will push her to make a real choice. Maybe she’ll walk away.”
“Or maybe she’ll show up for once,” Colleen says. “Either way, this gives Amelia some stability—for now.”
“I’ll make sure she’s monitored,” I add, still watching the window.
And if those strangers outside the courthouse mean what I think they do…
I’m grateful Jim has eyes on her. “Part of me wants it to be over. All of it. But another part… If she actually stepped up, if she really tried, maybe Amelia could have a mother.”
Colleen looks over. “You held the line. That’s what matters.”
“Thanks. I just don’t want this to come from resentment.”
“It’s not,” she says gently. “It’s protection. That’s what being a parent is.”
“What happens next?”
“A social worker will contact you. They’ll speak to you, the nanny, and then observe Willow with Amelia. Their report will help inform the final ruling.”
“We’ll make ourselves available.”
I drop Colleen off at her office and check the time and decide I need to head to Jim’s office to give him the update and see if he’s learned anything new. “Keith can you take me to Clear Security.”