Chapter 31
Marco
I’m plating seared scallops at the test kitchen counter when I realize it’s time.
The cabin trip.
The one I mentioned to Jess a while back after that wilderness drill in the park.
I’d said “in a few weeks, once she’s more comfortable with the protocols.”
Well, it’s been a few weeks. Ben’s anxiety is down. She knows the satphone script cold. I’ve been practicing it and the other protocols with her every other day.
She’s ready.
Time to stop planning and actually go.
It’s exactly what Ben needs.
A cabin weekend.
Just us.
Some fresh air.
Maybe even take her hunting.
The way my old man took me when I was her age.
A rite of passage. The kind of thing that builds confidence without wrapping a kid in bubble wrap and hoping for the best.
The kind of thing that builds character.
I text Jess immediately. Need to talk. Tonight’s debrief?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Sure. What’s up?
Tell you at the debrief.
Because if I tell her now, she’ll have all day to build a defense. And I already know she’s going to push back.
That’s the thing about Jess. She’s brilliant with Ben. Patient. Creative. The whole Brave Kitchen concept came from her brain and it’s changing lives.
But she’s also risk-averse in ways I don’t fully understand yet.
Every time I suggest something that involves the outdoors, she gets this look. Like I just proposed we juggle chainsaws while blindfolded.
Still, I’m not asking permission. I’m giving her a heads-up.
Ben needs this. And what Ben needs, Ben gets.
Hell, I need this.
The rest of the day crawls. Lunch service at Osteria. A finance call with Rahul. Two vendor meetings that could have been quick emails. Finally, I’m home by six thirty and Ben’s already in her pajamas with Frederick tucked under one arm.
“Daddy!” She launches herself at my legs.
I scoop her up. “Hey, piccola.”
She pouts. “You weren’t at pickup today.”
“I know.” I run my fingers across her chest like a spider, making her giggle. “That’s only on Thursdays and Fridays, remember?”
She furrows her brow. “Oh. Oh yeah.”
“How was your day?” I continue.
“After school we made focaccia with Rosa and I counted seventy-three bubbles.” Her face is so serious. Like bubble-counting is an Olympic sport. “Frederick helped.”
“Of course he did.” I set her down. “Where’s Jess?”
She points. “In the library. She’s writing more Brave Bites cards.”
Right. Because Jess doesn’t just do her job. She builds entire systems while I’m not looking and then acts like it’s no big deal.
“Read me a story?” she pleads.
“Didn’t Jess already do that?” I ask.
“Yes, but...”
“Don’t be greedy, piccola,” I say. I kiss her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
I put her to bed, and find Jess at the library desk surrounded by laminated cards and colored markers. Her hair is up in one of those messy knots that shouldn’t be hot but absolutely is. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweater that keeps sliding off one shoulder.
My cock stirs.
Down boy.
We agreed to ice. And ice means ice.
Even if every cell in my body is screaming to cross that room and finish what we started.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway.
She looks up. Smiles. That warm, genuine thing that makes my heart skip. “Hey yourself. Ben said you wanted to talk?”
“Yeah.” I step inside and close the door. Not all the way. Just enough to muffle sound. “I’ve been thinking.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Dangerous.”
I almost smile. “Ben’s doing better. The anxiety is down. She’s sleeping through the night. The Brave Rules are working.”
“They are.” She sets down her marker. “Where’s this going?”
I hesitate.
Swallow.
“Well... remember that hunting trip I mentioned after the park drill? I think it’s time. Ben’s ready.” I keep my voice steady even though I already know what’s coming. “Nothing crazy. Just a short trip. Father-daughter bonding. Like we talked about.”
Her face goes carefully neutral. That mask she wears when she’s trying not to show what she’s actually thinking. “Hunting.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“With Ben.”
I nod. “With Ben.”
She stands. Crosses her arms. “Marco. She’s five.”
“I was five when my old man took me.” I lean against the doorframe. Keep my voice level. “It’s a rite of passage. Teaches respect. Patience. How to move through the world without being scared of it.”
“Or it traumatizes her and sets back every bit of progress we’ve made.”
There it is. The pushback.
“It won’t traumatize her,” I counter. “We’ll bring the shotgun. I’ll show her how to handle it safely. Teach her respect for it. That’s the whole point.”
Her eyes go wide. “You’re going to let her shoot?”
“Not yet. Maybe next year.” I keep my voice level. “But I’ll demonstrate. Show her the process. How to clear the chamber. Check the safety. Treat it like the tool it is.”
“Marco.” Her voice has an edge now. Real alarm. “I say again: she’s five.”
“And I was five when my dad showed me.” I don’t back down. “She won’t touch it. I promise. But she’ll watch. That’s how you build respect instead of fear.”
“Safety protocol.” She’s using that voice. The one that sounds calm but actually means she thinks I’m insane. “You’re talking about firing a weapon in the wilderness with an anxious five-year-old watching.”
“I’m talking about giving my daughter a chance to do something meaningful instead of keeping her locked in a townhouse because the world might be scary.”
Her jaw tightens. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I push off the doorframe. Move closer. “You’re the one who taught her that brave and scared can live in the same body. This is me letting her practice that.”
Still, she doesn’t back down. Just holds my gaze with those warm brown eyes that see way too much. “And what if something goes wrong?”
“Nothing will go wrong.” My voice gets that edge that means I’m done debating. “We’ll have the full kit. Satphone. Bear spray. Laminated rules. Jag will know the route. Filepe will have the GPS coordinates. It’ll be safer than half the shit people do in this city every day.”
“And the shotgun?” she presses.
I shrug. “It’ll be cased during transport. Unloaded. Ammo stored separately. Only when we’re out there and it’s safe will I bring it out.”
“Marco.” She says my name like a warning. Like I’m missing something obvious.
Maybe I am.
But I’m also the parent here. And Ben is my kid.
“I’m going,” I tell her flatly. “You can come or not. But either way, this is happening.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to cut.
Then she exhales. Long and slow. “Of course...” She closes her eyes, and I swear her chin is quivering just a little bit. She squeezes both hands into fists before opening her eyes again.
“Of course I’m coming,” she says quickly.
I study her uncertainly. “You don’t have to...”
“Yes, I do.” Her voice softens just slightly. “Someone has to keep you from doing something stupid. And Ben will need me.”
She’s right. Ben will need her.
But I don’t say that out loud. Just nod once. “Okay. I’ll coordinate with Filepe on logistics.”
“When?” she asks.
“The coming weekend,” I reply. “Friday night through Sunday morning.”
She looks like she wants to argue more. But instead she just says, “Fine.”
I leave before either of us can say something we can’t take back.
I text Ethan and let him know the weekend plan.
He texts back: I’ll drop by tomorrow morning after my shift with some supplies.
I ping Filepe and Jag and update them on the situation.
Filepe promises to stage the route, while Jag intends to check the cabin access and confirm the ranger station phone number by tomorrow night.
Ethan shows up the next morning with a small duffel bag.
“Wilderness kit,” he says, dropping it in the mudroom. “Trauma shears. Bandage roll. Extra whistles. Two bear sprays. Satphone’s charged, right?”
“Charged and tested.” I open the bag and check the contents. Everything’s there as he said. “We already have bear spray.”
He shrugs. “Never hurts to have more.” He studies me. “You’re really doing this?”
“Yeah.”
“Mad man.” He shakes his head. “Jess going?”
“Yeah.”
He purses his lips, as if unsure that’s a good idea. Then shrugs again. “At least she’ll keep you honest.”
We head outside to wait for Ben. It’s one of those crisp mornings where the air smells like leaves and coffee and the city hasn’t quite woken up yet.
Jag’s waiting by the Range Rover. Filepe’s doing a perimeter sweep.
And across the street, there’s an unmarked sedan with tinted windows.
Ethan clocks it immediately. “That the one Luis flagged?”
“Yep.”
“Press or worse?”
“Press.” I keep my voice low. “Filepe had a little talk with them already.”
He frowns. “And they’re still here?”
I shrug. “Public property, unfortunately.”
I get a ping text. Ben is coming out. Running interference.
Filepe drives the second Range Rover out onto the street, and parks directly in front of the unmarked sedan, hemming the vehicle in, and blocking the driver’s view to the door.
Jess escorts Ben outside to the vehicle. We get my daughter loaded into her car seat. She’s chattering about Frederick and snail shells and whether pizza dough dreams.
Then we close the door behind Ben. Jess gives Ethan a hug, and I stand there speechlessly, wishing I was the one getting the hug. Wishing I could wrap that beautiful—
Concentrate.
Afterward, Jess gives me a curt nod, then dashes back inside.
Ethan leans against the vehicle. Looks at me with that serious expression he gets when he’s about to say something that matters. Or maybe he’s just going to tell me to keep my hands off his sister again.
“You’re a good dad,” he says quietly.
The words land harder than they should.
Because I don’t feel like a good dad most days. I feel like I’m barely holding it together. Like one wrong move and the whole thing collapses.
But I just nod. “Thanks.”
“I mean it.” He straightens. “Ben’s lucky to have you.”
Then he’s gone. Heading back toward his vehicle. Leaving me standing there with his words rattling around in my skull.
You’re a good dad.
Am I though?
A good dad wouldn’t have wanted someone else while his wife was alive. A good dad wouldn’t have hired a private investigator to track a woman he met once in Vegas. A good dad wouldn’t be planning a hunting trip partly because he wants to prove something to himself.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe being a good dad isn’t about being perfect.
Maybe it’s about showing up.
Making the hard calls.
Teaching your kid that the world is big and scary and beautiful and you don’t have to hide from it.
We pull away from the curb. Jag drives. Filepe keeps the sedan hemmed in until we’re gone.
And I sit in the back watching Ben count things out the window. Taxis. Dogs. People in red coats.
My kid.
My responsibility.
My chance to do one thing right.
The cabin trip is happening. Jess can push back all she wants. But at the end of the day, this is my call.
And I’m making it.
For Ben.
For us.
For the future I’m trying to build that doesn’t look like a museum to grief and fear.
Even if Jess thinks I’m reckless.
Control masquerading as care.
Gideon’s words echo in my head like a timer going off in a busy kitchen.
Except this isn’t control. This is teaching. This is letting go just enough to let her grow.
Isn’t it?
Later that afternoon, when I’m at the office, Filepe texts. Route staged. Sat-comms tested. Ranger on standby.
Good.
My phone rings. Livia. Ben’s grandmother. Isotta’s mother.
“Marco, we got your message about the camping trip.” Her voice has that firm tone she uses when she’s already decided something. “We’d like to take Benedetta for a few days first. Spoil her a little before you drag her into the wilderness.”
Drag her. Right.
I sigh mentally.
“When?” I ask.
“Tonight through Friday morning. Enzo wants to take her to the bakery. Show her how he makes the sfogliatelle.”
“You know she has school, right?”
“Kindergarten is hardly school,” Liva scoffs. “A place where the kids play all day, rather than learn. Besides, she could use a couple of days off.”
I should say no. Should keep the routine tight. But Ben loves her nonno’s bakery. And honestly, a few days of peace before the trip wouldn’t hurt.
“Fine,” I tell her. “Six o’clock pickup.”
“We’ll be there.” A pause. “And Marco? Be careful with her out there. Very careful.”
Like I wouldn’t be.
After I hang up, I open my thread with Jess and type: Ben’s taking Thursday and Friday off school. In-laws picking up Ben tonight at 6. Overnight through Friday morning. Spoiling her before the trip.
Jess replies: Got it. I’ll have her bag ready.
Everything is in place.
Mise en place for a weekend that has to go right.
Because if it doesn’t, I’ll never forgive myself.
And neither will Jess.