Chapter 20 Marco
Marco
Gideon King’s office looks more and more like a fucking museum these days. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking lower Manhattan. Artwork everywhere. Everything precise and cold and perfect.
Just like the man himself.
I’m sitting across from him at a glass table that could double as an operating theater. He’s reviewing my pitch for the new coastal concept. Numbers on a tablet. Face unreadable.
I hate this part. The waiting. The being judged. Even though I know my numbers are solid and my concept is tighter than a Michelin kitchen on a Saturday night.
“The margins work,” Gideon says finally. He slides the tablet back to me. “But you already knew that.”
I nod in agreement. “I did.”
He frowns. “So why are you here?”
Straight to it. No bullshit. That’s why I respect the bastard even when he makes me want to put my fist through something.
“I need a reality check,” I admit. “Before I pull the trigger on another expansion.”
He leans back. Studies me like I’m an earnings report with missing footnotes. “You’ve never needed a reality check before.”
I fold my arms. “Yeah well. Things change.”
“Do they.” It’s not a question. It’s a challenge. And suddenly I’m back in my first kitchen getting dressed down by a chef who could smell weakness like burnt garlic.
I shift in my chair. “You didn’t come to my wedding.”
Gideon’s eyebrow lifts exactly one millimeter. “That’s what this is about?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.” I run a hand through my hair. “You were on the list. You didn’t show.”
“I was busy,” he says evenly. “Ava... and my kids, are my top priority. Married men don’t go to Vegas alone.”
“Your wife was invited, too.”
“Plus,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “Leo mentioned something about GHB-laced cocktails. And a very interesting evening. Didn’t sound like the kind of wedding I needed to attend.”
My jaw tightens. “That was the day before.”
Still, that fucking day.
The day everything started.
The day I met Jess and nearly destroyed my life before it even began.
“And it was in no way part of the plan,” I say through my teeth.
“I’m sure it wasn’t. But it happened.” Gideon folds his hands on the table. “Which brings us back to why you’re really here. This isn’t about restaurant margins or expansion timing. You want advice.”
Fuck.
Always could see right through me.
That’s Gideon King for you.
“I have a kid,” I start. Then stop. Try again. “My daughter. She’s five. Anxious as hell. Lost her mom two years ago.”
Gideon nods. Doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.
“I hired a nanny. Best decision I’ve made in years. Ben is actually happy now. Sleeping better. Fewer meltdowns. The woman is a fucking miracle worker.”
“But.”
Yep.
Always a but.
Always a catch.
Life is mise en place and every ingredient has a purpose and I’m the idiot who keeps adding the wrong ones.
“But I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” I admit. “The dad thing. I keep everything on a schedule. Locked down. Safe. And it works. Mostly. But sometimes I wonder if I’m suffocating her instead of protecting her.”
“Are you asking me how to parent?” Gideon’s tone is dry. “Because I have kids who just learned the word ‘no’ and use it like a weapon. I wouldn’t say I’m particularly qualified.”
“I’m asking what you do...” I reply. “When you’re scared you’ll fuck it up.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “If you confuse control with care, you’ll lose both.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
“What the hell does that mean?” I finally ask.
“It means you can’t micromanage love, Marco. You can set boundaries. Provide structure. Keep them safe. But if every decision is about maintaining your own sense of control, you’re not protecting them. You’re protecting yourself.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
I want to argue. Want to tell him he’s wrong. That my rules keep Ben alive. That structure is what she needs after losing her mother. That I’m doing this because I love her, not because I’m terrified of failing.
But the words stick in my throat.
“At Vegas,” I hear myself say. “Five years ago. The bachelor party. I met someone the night before my wedding.”
Gideon’s expression doesn’t change. “Did you sleep with her?”
“No. But I wanted to.” The admission tastes like rotten veal. “Wanted her so badly I ran. Literally sprinted back to my hotel room because I knew if I stayed another five minutes I’d blow up my entire life.”
“And then?”
“And then I married Isotta anyway. Had a daughter. Built a life. Loved my wife.” I pause. Swallow hard. “But I never forgot that other woman. Never stopped thinking about her. Even when I was happy. Even when I should have been grateful for what I had.”
“That’s not uncommon,” Gideon says carefully. “Attraction doesn’t stop just because you make a commitment.”
“It’s more than attraction.” My voice drops. “I hired a private investigator to track her. For months. Just to know where she was. What she was doing. If she was happy.”
The silence that follows is so thick I could plate it.
“That’s concerning,” Gideon finally says.
“I know.”
“Obsessive, actually.”
I’m gazing at my hands now, currently balled into fists. “I fucking know.”
“And now?”
I swallow. Look him in the eye. “Now she’s my daughter’s nanny.”
Gideon blinks. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him surprised. “You hired the woman you’ve been obsessed with for five years to live in your house and take care of your child?”
“I didn’t plan it that way. I just, well, her brother is my best friend, and she needed the job... and Ben needed stability... and I thought I could handle it.”
Gideon studies me. “So can you?”
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
I’ve already violated the contract once.
I’m lying to Ethan.
I’m using breathing techniques she taught my five year old just to get through board meetings without losing my shit.
“I’m trying,” I say instead.
Gideon leans forward. His voice is still even but there’s something sharp underneath. “Let me ask you something. When your wife was alive, did you love her?”
“Yes. Of course I did.”
He narrows his eyes. “Did you want the other woman more?”
“No. I wanted Isotta. I chose Isotta.” I drag a hand over my face. “But there was always this voice in the back of my head asking what if. And when Isotta died, that voice got louder.”
He nods slowly. “Grief is complicated.”
“It’s not grief.” The words come out harsh. Angry. “It’s guilt. Because when she died, some fucked up part of me was relieved that I could finally stop pretending I didn’t want someone else. And that makes me the worst kind of bastard.”
The confession hangs between us like smoke.
Gideon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t judge. Just processes.
“You think wanting this woman now means you didn’t love your wife.”
“I think it means I’m disloyal. That I’m sullying Isotta’s memory by even considering it.”
“Or,” Gideon says slowly, “it means you’re human. People don’t stop being attracted to others just because they’re married. What matters is what you do with that attraction.”
“I ran five years ago.”
“And now?”
Now I’m fucking my daughter’s nanny in a carriage house while her brother, my best friend, thinks I’m keeping it professional.
“Now I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit.
Gideon sits back. Considers. “So do you love her, then? The nanny.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s complicated.”
“Is she good for your daughter?”
“The best thing that’s happened to us in two years.”
“Then stop confusing your guilt with your daughter’s needs.” His tone sharpens. “If you pull away from this woman because you think it dishonors your late wife, you’re not protecting anyone. You’re just punishing yourself. And your daughter will pay the price.”
The words land like a cleaver through bone.
“Your words are great and all, but they’re just words,” I say quietly. “What if I hurt her? The nanny. What if I can’t give her what she deserves because I’m too fucked up from losing Isotta?”
“Then you figure it out. Together. Or you don’t. But you can’t keep living in this limbo where you want her but won’t let yourself have her because of some misguided loyalty to a ghost.”
A ghost.
Is that what Isotta has become? Just a memory I’m using to justify my fear? Something that haunts me?
Fuck.
“I don’t want to replace her,” I say. My voice sounds rough even to my own ears. “Isotta. I don’t want Ben to think I’m replacing her mother.”
“You’re not replacing anyone,” Gideon says. “You’re moving forward. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes. Replacing means erasing. Moving forward means carrying her with you while making space for something new.”
I want to believe him. Want to believe it’s possible to want Jess without betraying Isotta. To build something with a woman who’s not my late wife and still honor the mother of my child.
But the guilt is a hand around my throat and I don’t know how to breathe through it.
The funny thing is, I barely feel the guilt when I’m around Jess. When she’s near, all I can think about is her. But whenever she’s away, or I’m at work, that guilt keeps coming back, prodding around the edges. Distracting me from my dirty thoughts, which are already distracting me from my work.
“Thank you,” I finally manage. “For the honesty.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Gideon stands. Extends a hand. “You’re about to do the hard part. Which is actually making a decision instead of white-knuckling your way through avoidance.”
Am I?
But I shake his hand anyway. His grip is firm. Final.
He walks me to the door. Valentina is waiting in the hallway, tablet in hand, next to Jag. Ready to escort me out.
“Marco,” Gideon calls.
I turn back.
“Your wife would want you to be happy. Don’t let guilt convince you otherwise.”
Easier said than done.
The door closes behind me.
I stand in the hallway for a full minute trying to remember how to move.
Valentina clears her throat. “Mr. Fiore? Your next appointment is in twenty minutes.”
Right. Work. Restaurants. The life I built on precision and control and never fucking up because mistakes cost everything.
Except I’ve already fucked up.
With Jess.
With Ethan.
With the boundaries I swore I’d maintain.
And the worst part? I’d do it again.
I’d cross every line. Break every rule. Violate every clause in that contract if it meant keeping her close.
Which means Gideon is right.
I’m not protecting anyone.
I’m just controlling the collapse.
And eventually, the whole thing is going to come down anyway.
The question is whether I burn alone or take everyone with me.
I text Jess as I head toward the elevator.
How was pickup?
Three dots appear immediately.
Smooth. Ben used the breathing in the hallway without prompting. Progress.
Progress.
Yeah.
That’s what we’re calling this slow-motion disaster.
I pocket my phone and step into the elevator. Watch the floors tick down. Try not to think about what comes next.
Try not to think about how badly I want something I have no right to want.
Try not to think about Gideon’s words echoing in my skull like a fucking curse.
If you confuse control with care, you’ll lose both.
Fuck.