Chapter 19
NINETEEN
ENRICO FERRARA
It was late.
The clock on the wall behind my desk read nearly midnight, and still I couldn’t force myself out of that damn chair.
The hours crawled by, dissolving into photos, documents, reports—and the inevitable whiskey glass I kept turning between my fingers like it was the only thing tethering me to control.
In front of me, the custody petition I’d filed against Valentina stared back like a silent taunt. Spread across my desk, photos of Clara—from infancy to just weeks ago—were a constant, brutal reminder of everything I’d lost.
Five years of life.
Five years of memories I’d been denied because of Valentina and her lies.
My grip tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening as I stared at one photo in particular: Clara as a baby, sleeping peacefully in Valentina’s arms.
It was almost unbearable.
A disturbing blend of something I would’ve given anything to live… and something I could never reach now, no matter how much money or power I had.
The pain of that loss grew more suffocating every time I spent time with my daughter.
But worse than the pain was the rage—the steady burn that rose in me whenever I thought of Valentina.
She stole that from me.
She stole my child.
My jaw clenched—and before I could fall deeper into the spiral, my phone buzzed hard on the desk.
I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who was calling at this hour.
“Eloá,” I answered, flat.
“Your recent actions have been quite disappointing, Enrico.”
My grandmother’s voice cut through the line with no preamble. Direct. Cold. Sharp as ever—only this time there was an extra edge of irritation I recognized immediately.
“Good evening to you too, Nonna,” I shot back, sarcasm sharp. “What exactly is displeasing you this time?”
She released a clipped breath.
“You have always had a weakness for that woman,” she said. “Five years ago you nearly let everything collapse because of her. Do not make the same mistake twice. I don’t like the direction this is taking.”
Heat rose in my chest, but I forced control down over it. Eloá was miles away, and still her authority filled the room like she was standing beside my desk.
“This isn’t sentiment,” I said, controlled. “What I’m doing is for my daughter. Clara is my priority now.”
She laughed—dry and bitter, devoid of warmth.
“Don’t be na?ve, Enrico. What you call ‘your daughter’s best interest’ is nothing but revenge wearing a prettier name.” Her voice sharpened. “If you want revenge, do it properly and do it fast. Don’t give her time to turn this into a public scandal.”
I closed my eyes, my fist tightening on the desk until it hurt.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said. “I don’t need you telling me how to handle my daughter.”
“Of course you do,” she cut in immediately, her tone dropping into something low and dangerous.
“You wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d listened to me in the first place.
If you’d followed my advice, that woman would never have had the chance to deceive you.
” She didn’t pause. “Do what needs to be done—just do it quickly.”
The call ended abruptly.
I sat there holding the phone, staring into nothing with a mix of anger, frustration, and something deeper I refused to name.
Eloá had always been hard—merciless—but something in her words hit too close.
Not enough to make me back down.
Enough to make me wonder, briefly, how much of this I actually controlled.
I dropped the phone onto the desk and finished the whiskey in a single swallow. The burn in my throat did nothing to erase the bitter taste of that conversation.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
I didn’t need to answer to know who it was.
André.
“I’m assuming you heard all of that,” I muttered without looking up, eyes still fixed on Clara’s photo.
“Hard not to,” André said calmly as he stepped in and took the chair across from me. “Grandma wasn’t exactly trying to be discreet.”
“She never is,” I replied, dry. “And I don’t need another lecture from you tonight.”
André sighed. But I knew he wouldn’t leave without saying what he came to say.
“It’s not a lecture,” he said. “But maybe you should start listening to someone besides our grandmother.” His gaze held mine. “Are you sure taking Clara away from her mother is what’s best for Clara? Or are you giving in to Eloá’s pressure because you feel like you need to prove something?”
I lifted my eyes, letting my stare carry enough weight to shut him up.
“No one manipulates me, André,” I said coldly. “Not even Eloá. Clara is my daughter. Mine.” The words tasted like iron. “I’m not letting Valentina decide how and when I get to be in my child’s life. And I’m certainly not doing this to prove anything.”
My voice sharpened with conviction I could feel in my bones.
“That baby grew up without me—without what I could’ve given her. She’ll never be deprived of anything again. Never.”
André watched me in silence, his calm barely hiding the worry in his eyes.
“The only thing worse than making a mistake,” he said finally, “is doubling down on it out of pride.”
He stood.
“Think about that before it’s too late,” he added, voice quieter. “Look at yourself.” His gaze flicked to the photos, the paperwork, the empty glass. “You’ve been doing this every night for days. Sitting here. Staring at her pictures. Obsessing over a lawsuit that—at best—is ugly.”
He paused at the door.
“Is this the father you want your daughter to have?”
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I frowned.
I’d known exactly who would call that late.
But I had no idea who would show up at my door.
I’d already dismissed the staff for the night. Irritated, I shoved back from the desk, crossed the hall, descended the stairs, and headed for the front door with heavy steps—ready to unload my frustration on whoever had dared interrupt me again.
I yanked the door open.
And the air left my lungs in a violent rush.
Valentina stood there.
Her dark eyes burned, dangerous and bright. Her hands were curled into fists. Her face was lit with a fury I hadn’t seen since our last explosive encounter.
For a few endless seconds, we froze in absolute silence, staring at each other like the air between us had turned electric.
Then she spoke—steady, furious—and every muscle in my body tightened instinctively.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
The question hung between us—raw, direct, packed with as much pain as anger. Valentina was trembling, but it wasn’t fear.
It was pure rage.
Deep and shining in her eyes.
I stepped forward without hesitation, invading her space.
“My problem?” I growled, low. “You show up at my door after everything you’ve done, and you have the nerve to ask me what my problem is, Valentina?”
She lifted her chin, refusing to back up even though I was dangerously close.
“Everything I’ve done?” she spat, bitterness slicing through every syllable.
“You destroyed my life, Enrico. Twice.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t break.
“Was humiliating me in front of your guests at the altar not enough? Was calling me a liar and abandoning me while I was pregnant not enough? Now you want to take my daughter from me? Have you completely lost your mind?”
My blood boiled, my fists clenching so hard I had to fight the urge to break something.
“Our daughter,” I snapped back, anger edging into control only by force. “That child is as much mine as she is yours. You had no right to hide her from me for five years.”
She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with contempt.
“No right?” She leaned in, eyes blazing.
“You discarded me like I was trash long before that, Enrico. You made it very clear in that church—in front of everyone—that you wanted nothing to do with me or anything connected to me. How was I supposed to believe you’d accept Clara?
That you’d love her—or even respect her?
” Her voice turned sharp, cutting. “All you know how to do is destroy, humiliate, and hurt. I wasn’t giving you the chance to do that to my daughter. ”
I stepped closer, closing the distance until we were breathing the same air, my gaze locked on hers with an intensity that made my heart slam against my ribs.
“She’s my daughter too,” I said through clenched teeth. “You stole five years of her life from me. You stole everything.”
“And you stole far more from me,” she shot back—and stepped forward so sharply we were nearly colliding.
Too close. Our breaths mixing, hot and fast. “You stole my dreams, my family, my dignity.” Her voice broke on the edge of fury.
“You have no idea what I had to survive alone. You can’t imagine what it felt like explaining to my child why her father wasn’t there. ”
My throat tightened painfully.
The accusation hit with a guilt that tangled into the rage, turning it darker.
“You think I didn’t suffer?” I asked, voice low and feral, our faces inches apart.
“You think losing you like that was easy? Finding out it was all a lie—a cheap performance?” I leaned closer.
“You say I destroyed your life, but you shattered mine. You betrayed me. You deceived me. You turned everything into ashes.”
Valentina laughed again, but this time it was rough, almost choking. Her fists trembled at her sides.
“You still believe that?” she demanded. “After all these years, you still believe that lie?” Her eyes flashed. “You don’t see how manipulated you were? How it was all theater?”
Something pulsed inside me—hard and painful—threatening the fragile control I still held.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Valentina,” I hissed.
“I saw the proof. Photos. Messages. Everything.” My voice sharpened, memory turning into steel.
“You were pregnant and you didn’t even have the courage to tell me.
I found out through an envelope—from someone else.
Do you honestly think I would’ve believed you after that? ”
“Yes, I was pregnant,” she shouted, finally shattering the last of her restraint.
“Pregnant by the man I loved, Enrico.” Her eyes glittered with something dangerous.
“By the man I would’ve never—never—betrayed.
” She stepped closer, voice shaking with raw truth.
“But you didn’t want to listen. You didn’t even want to look at me.
You chose the comfortable lies they sold you instead of choosing me. ”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Her words hung between us—burning, cutting, ripping open wounds that would never fully heal.
I stared at her, my mind refusing to accept what she was saying…
even as a dangerous part of me wanted—desperately—to believe it.
A part that still missed her with an intensity that hurt.
Without warning, anger and bitterness began to morph into something more primal.
Deeper.
The air between us turned electric in a new, far more dangerous way.
Her gaze flicked—briefly—to my mouth, betraying her conflict before she forced herself to step back like she’d been burned.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, trying to regain control. “You’re not taking Clara from me. I won’t allow it.”
My voice came out rough, almost unrecognizable.
“I’d like to see you try.”
She stared at me, breathing hard, chest rising and falling.
Then she shook her head slowly.
“No, Enrico. What you want is revenge.” Her tone cut. “You want to hurt. You always want something beyond what you say.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m not letting you do that to my daughter.”
“Our daughter,” I corrected again, the words a harsh whisper. I stepped closer—too close—until my mouth was almost brushing hers. “I’m not making the mistake of trusting you again. I’m not giving you the chance to keep me from Clara a second time.”
For a moment, she went completely still—eyes locked on mine, the closeness nearly unbearable.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then Valentina jerked back, something close to panic flashing across her face.
“You’re not winning this war, Enrico,” she said, and turned on her heel.
I watched her go, every muscle in my body fighting an absurd impulse to follow her, to grab her, to—
No.
That couldn’t happen.
I didn’t want anything from Valentina except her destruction.
I couldn’t want anything else.
Not when wanting her had nearly ruined me once already.