Thirty-three
Matteo
M onday mornings always start the same—coffee too hot, a dozen things waiting for me, and my brothers already ready to tackle the day. I’m rolling my shirt sleeves up getting ready to focus on my exploding email box, when my phone rings. Colleen.
The moment I see her name, my chest tightens. This is about Willow.
“Matteo,” she says, calm and professional, but I can hear the undercurrent. “I’ve got the social worker’s report that was sent to Judge Lee.”
I brace myself. “Tell me.”
“It’s not good for Willow. The way it’s written, she’ll be limited to supervised visits, at best. The evaluator does point out your lifestyle before Amelia—reckless, unfocused—but since she’s been with you, it’s clear you’ve built a stable home life.”
I shut my eyes, relief hitting me so hard it steals my breath. Amelia. She’s the reason the house feels different now. The reason I do. Every late night, every careless decision—it all looks like a past life compared to what I’ve built around her.
“So,” I manage, forcing the words through the lump in my throat, “what do we do next?”
“That’s up to you,” Colleen says gently. “The court will follow your lead.”
“What do you think her lawyer is going to suggest?” I ask, pacing the length of my office, phone pressed tight against my ear. Just saying it makes my stomach clench. Her lawyer. The reminder that Willow still has a piece of control over Amelia—even after everything.
Colleen exhales slowly. “Hard to say. I can find out.”
“Do that.” My jaw tightens. I stare at my reflection in the mirror—tie hanging loose, shirt half-buttoned, but none of that matters. What matters is Amelia. “And Colleen…find out what the price is for her to give up her parental rights.”
There’s a pause. “You want her out completely?”
“She can remain in contact with Amelia, but all visits are supervised,” I say, my voice rough with the force of it. “But she doesn’t get to decide anything. Not where Amelia goes to school. Not where we live. None of it. She doesn’t get that power again.”
Colleen’s quiet for a moment. “Are you considering moving?”
“No,” I answer, sharper than I intend. I drag a hand over my face. “Not now. But maybe someday. I want the freedom to travel with Amelia, to give her the world. And I don’t want to need Willow’s approval for a single second of it.”
“Understood,” Colleen says gently. “I’ll talk to her attorney, see where they stand, and get back to you.”
I stop pacing. The silence between her words leaves too much room for mine. Amelia’s face flashes in my mind, her sleepy smile when I carry her to bed, the way she clutches my hand like it’s her lifeline. She is my life. Protecting her isn’t a choice, it’s who I am now.
And in that same heartbeat, another picture forms. One that steals the air from my lungs. Amelia safe. Loved. Certain of her place in this world. And Ellory by my side. She already looks at Amelia like she’s hers too. Maybe one day it wouldn’t just be a look. Maybe Amelia could truly be ours.
The thought shakes me. Too soon, too dangerous to hope. But it’s there, bright and undeniable.
“When is Judge Lee going to want to meet?” I ask, forcing my voice steady.
“Soon,” Colleen replies. “And that’ll put pressure on Willow to decide what she really wants.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. Pressure could break Willow. Or it could finally give Amelia the future she deserves, a future I’ll fight to build for her. Maybe even with Ellory.
Colleen promises to be in touch, and I end the call, the weight of it still pressing against my chest. For a second, I just stand there, phone dangling at my side, trying to shake off the thoughts of judges and attorneys and futures I want so badly I can barely breathe.
Then I shove it down. Right now, I have another responsibility—our family business.
I head down the hall to the conference room, the low rumble of voices spilling out before I even push open the door. Dante, Luca, Ciro, and Gianna are already gathered around the long table, papers scattered, coffee cups half-empty.
“About time,” Luca says, smirking as I drop into the empty chair.
Dante ignores him, sliding a folder across the table toward me. “We need to start thinking about the U.S. Gem Show. Do we want a booth that only showcases the Fire and Ice diamonds or something broader? Olivier does have the exclusive rights.”
Gianna taps her pen against her notebook. “If we highlight Fire and Ice exclusively, we risk narrowing the brand and boxing ourselves in. What about all the other jewelry we sell. Mom’s necklace, Royal Elegance?”
Before I can weigh in, Dante pulls a thick black sketchbook from his bag and lays it open on the table. “There’s something else.” He flips to a page carefully protected in plastic, a design none of us have ever seen before.
My chest tightens. Mom’s work.
Ciro leans forward, reverence in his voice. “I’ve never seen this before.”
“No,” Dante says softly. “But it was in her portfolio. And I think it’s time we decide what we want to do with it.”
I study the sketch, the sharp lines and daring edges.
It’s her hand all over again—bold, unflinching, certain of beauty where no one else would’ve seen it.
For a second, it’s like she’s here, standing over us with that same stubborn spark in her eyes.
The air leaves my lungs, and the grief that I thought had dulled twists fresh inside me.
“She was creating,” I murmur, half to myself. “She still had more to give. And then the accident…” My voice falters, and I force myself to say it. “What if it wasn’t an accident at all?”
The room goes still.
Gianna’s pen slips from her fingers. Luca shifts uncomfortably. Even Ciro, usually quick to argue, says nothing.
Dante finally clears his throat. “Matteo…” He sets the sketchbook down carefully, his gaze steady on me. “We don’t know anything new. We’ve gone over this a hundred times. The letters are inconclusive. The investigation didn’t find anything. All we have are questions—and no answers.”
I drag a hand across the back of my neck, the familiar ache of frustration flaring. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we’ll never know. But staring at her design, so alive, so full of intention, makes it impossible not to wonder if someone decided she had too much left to give.
Silence lingers a moment longer before Gianna breaks it. “We’re building a company that involves gems from around the world. I say we focus on Royal Elegance and Dante you make that necklace for NAGI. I want to beat Amal this year.”
Dante smiles. Aryanna Karimi met Dante at a wedding and something happened, but we don’t know. Except Dante was upset when they got a big award at NAGI’s national meeting last year.
“She’s right,” Luca agrees quickly, seizing on the safer ground. “The Gem Show would eat this alive. And it would be about what we’re planning.”
“That’s not a bad thing,” Ciro argues, his voice low but firm. “Mom built the foundation. Honoring her keeps the legacy alive.”
“It does,” I say, forcing myself back into the present. “But timing matters. We only get one chance to launch this design. If we rush it, it won’t just be about honoring her. It’ll look like we’re using her name to cash in.”
Dante nods slowly. “Gianna’s right. The fall NAGI meeting. That’s where it belongs. The right audience. The right moment.”
Gianna sets down her pen. “So we use the U.S. Gem show to showcase Royal Elegance and our loose stone business.”
Ciro exhales, reluctant but conceding. “That works.”
“Then it’s decided,” Dante says, closing the sketchbook carefully, like he’s sealing away a part of her. “For now, we focus on Fire and Ice and Royal Elegance . Mom’s design waits until NAGI. I want best in show this year.”
I nod, but my thoughts stay tangled in the silence. We can plan the launch. But the question lingers, a shadow I can’t shake. If our parents death wasn’t an accident, then somewhere out there lies the truth. And one day, we’ll find it.
When I get back to my office, the red light on my phone is blinking. A message. From Colleen.
My stomach dips. That was fast. Too fast. Good news never comes this quickly.
I don’t listen to it. Not yet. Instead, I drop into my chair and open my laptop, convincing myself I need to clear my inbox first. A stall tactic, but I’ll take any excuse.
The newest email is from Tristan Whitmore, the photographer—proofs from the shoot last week. I click through, half-distracted, until Ellory’s face fills the screen.
And just like that, the tension in my chest eases. She’s laughing in one shot, serious and focused in another, but in every single frame I know she belongs to me.
I sit back, letting myself really look at her. My partner in all of this. The woman who’s steadied me when everything else has felt like quicksand. I’m so damn lucky she’s here, that Amelia has her.
And I know, as surely as I know my own name, that as soon as I get this mess with Willow settled, I need to make it official. A real commitment. Something permanent. Because Ellory deserves more than a man who’s still fighting battles from his past. She deserves to know she’s my future.
I close the laptop slowly, my pulse thudding in my ears. Then I finally reach for the phone.
I hit the button to return Colleen’s call. Her assistant answers on the second ring, brisk and polite.
“She’s on another line, Mr. Marino. Can you hold?”
“Yeah,” I say, even though my throat’s dry.
The line clicks over to soft piano hold music, and I press my thumb against my knee, bouncing it hard enough to rattle the chair. Every second drags. My nerves climb higher, sharp and restless. If she’s making me wait, it has to be bad.
Finally, Colleen’s voice cuts through. “Matteo. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
I don’t waste time. “Just tell me.”
There’s the briefest pause before she says, “How do you feel about a half million dollars?”
My heart stutters. “Annually? What does that cover?”