Chapter 24
Cesare
Eighteen weeks.
Four and a half months since that April morning when I'd married the wrong woman and somehow found the right one.
Paola stood at the kitchen counter, making tea, one hand absently rubbing her lower back. The bump was unmistakable now—round and firm, pressing against her soft sweater. Beautiful.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, coming up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.
"Tired. Sore. The baby's been moving all day but you still can't feel it from the outside." She leaned back against me. "Dr. Lin says any day now you'll be able to feel kicks too."
I'd been waiting for weeks. Paola had felt the first flutters around sixteen weeks—butterflies, she'd called them. Small movements that made her gasp and reach for my hand. But every time I'd tried to feel them, Lucia had gone still. We’d found out we were having a daughter.
"She's playing favorites," I said.
"She's shy around her papa."
"Or she's already plotting against me."
Paola laughed, the sound warming the entire penthouse. "She's your daughter. Plotting is genetic."
I pressed a kiss to her neck, breathed in her scent. She'd started using different lotion—something about pregnancy making her skin sensitive—and now she smelled like vanilla and something uniquely her.
"Come sit," I said. "You've been on your feet all morning."
"I'm making tea. It takes two minutes."
"Then I'll make the tea. You sit."
She didn't argue, which told me how tired she really was. I finished making her tea—chamomile, doctor approved—and brought it to where she'd settled on the couch.
"Thank you." She took the mug, sipped carefully. "You're getting good at this."
"At what?"
"Taking care of me. Being domestic. A few months ago, you would have had someone else make the tea."
"A few months ago, I didn't have you. Didn't have a reason to learn."
She smiled, set the mug on the coffee table. "Come here."
I sat beside her. She took my hand, placed it on her belly.
"Just wait. Sometimes if I'm still for a few minutes, she starts moving."
We sat in silence, my hand on the curve of her stomach where our daughter grew. Waiting.
Then—
A flutter. So faint I almost missed it.
"Was that—?"
"That was her. Did you feel it?"
"I felt something. Like a—"
Another movement. Stronger this time. Unmistakable.
A small kick.
My daughter. Kicking against my palm.
"Lucia," I breathed.
Paola's eyes filled with tears. "She knows you're here."
The kick came again. Then again. Like Lucia was saying hello, announcing her presence.
I was crying. Didn't even try to stop it. This was my daughter. Real. Alive. Making herself known.
"Hi, baby girl," I said, voice thick. "It's your papa. I've been waiting to meet you."
Another kick, right where my hand pressed.
Paola laughed through her own tears. "She's responding to your voice."
"Is she?"
"Talk to her more."
"Hey in there. We've been building your room. Your mama picked out yellow paint because she says it's cheerful. Your Uncle Piero bought you more stuffed animals than any baby needs. Everyone is so excited to meet you."
Kick. Kick.
"She likes your voice," Paola said softly. "She always moves more when you're talking."
"She's probably complaining already. 'Papa, stop talking, I'm trying to sleep.'"
"Or she's saying 'Tell me more, Papa. I love you.'"
Another kick, strong enough to see from the outside—a small bump rippling across Paola's stomach.
"Did you see that?" I asked, amazed.
"I saw it. She's getting stronger every day."
I stayed like that, face pressed to Paola's belly, hands cradling the bump, talking to my daughter. Telling her about the world she'd be born into. The family waiting for her. How much we already loved her.
And Lucia kicked back, every time, like she was part of the conversation.
This was real. My daughter was real.
And in four and a half months, I'd meet her.
The request came through Giulio three days later.
"Matteo wants to see you. He's been working with a prison psychologist. Says he has things he needs to say."
Matteo. My former financial operations chief. The man who'd betrayed us to Viktor, framed Piero, nearly destroyed everything.
He'd been in federal custody for four months, awaiting trial. Facing decades in prison.
"What does he want?" I asked.
"To apologize, apparently. To make amends."
"Amends." The word tasted bitter. "He can't undo what he did."
"No. But he's asking anyway." I looked at Paola, who'd been listening from the couch. "What do you think?"
"I think people deserve chances to be better. Even when they don't deserve forgiveness."
’"He framed Piero. Fed information to Viktor. Endangered you and Lucia."
"I know. And you don't have to forgive him. But maybe listening is enough."
She was too good. Too willing to see redemption where I only saw betrayal.
But she was also right.
"Set it up," I told Giulio. "Tomorrow. Federal holding facility. One hour."
The Metropolitan Correctional Center in Lower Manhattan was exactly as grim as expected. Gray walls. Armed guards. The smell of industrial cleaner trying to mask decades of human misery.
They brought Matteo to a private visiting room—small table, two chairs, guard outside the door.
He looked terrible. Thinner. Older. The expensive suits were replaced with an orange jumpsuit. But his eyes—
His eyes showed genuine remorse.
"Cesare. Thank you for coming."
I sat across from him, said nothing.
Matteo took a breath. "I don't expect forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But I needed to tell you—I'm sorry. For everything. The betrayal. The lies. Framing Piero. All of it."
"Why?" I asked flatly. "Why did you do it?"
"Viktor threatened my sister. Her family in Russia. He had proof that her husband Dmitri owed money to dangerous people. Said he could make it all disappear if I helped him."
"You could have come to me."
"I know. I should have. But I was scared. And greedy. Viktor offered money on top of protection. Enough to retire. Enough to disappear." He looked down at his cuffed hands. "I convinced myself you'd never find out. That I could play both sides and come out ahead."
"You almost got my brother killed."
"I know."
"You endangered my pregnant wife."
"I know."
"And now you want—what? Absolution? A pat on the head for admitting it?"
"No. I want you to know that I'm working on being better. Therapy. Education classes. Trying to understand why I made those choices so I never make them again."
I studied him. Four years he'd worked for me. Four years of loyalty I'd believed in.
"Are you asking for leniency? A character witness at trial?"
"No. I deserve whatever sentence I get. Ten years, twenty, life—I deserve it." He met my eyes. "But someday, when I get out—if I get out—I'd like a chance to prove I'm not that person anymore. Not to work for you. Just... to exist without being your enemy."
The request was so small. So humble.
"I have a daughter coming," I said. "In four and a half months. Lucia."
"Congratulations."
"She's going to grow up knowing about family. About trust. About the consequences of betrayal." I leaned forward. "I'm not going to lie to her about you. About what you did. But I'm also not going to teach her that people can't change. Can't earn second chances."
Hope flickered in Matteo's eyes.
"So here's the deal," I continued. "You do your time. You work on yourself. You become someone worthy of a second chance. And when you get out—if you get out—we'll talk. Maybe you can meet my daughter. Maybe you can be part of this family again. Maybe."
"Thank you," Matteo said, voice breaking. "Thank you, Cesare."
"Don't thank me yet. You have years of work ahead of you. And if you waste this chance—if you fall back into old patterns—there won't be a third one."
"I understand."
I stood. "Good luck, Matteo. I mean that."
"How's Piero?" he asked as I reached the door. "Is he—is he okay?"
"He's healing. It's hard for him. You were his friend."
"Tell him—" Matteo's voice caught. "Tell him I'm sorry. That I'll spend the rest of my life being sorry."
"I'll tell him."
Outside the prison, Manhattan's noise and light felt overwhelming after the gray stillness inside.
Giulio waited by the car. "How did it go?"
"Better than expected. He seems genuine."
"You believe him?"
"I want to. For Lucia's sake. I want her to grow up knowing redemption is possible."
"That's very... evolved of you, boss."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
Giulio smiled. "Your secret's safe with me."
That afternoon, Piero arrived at the penthouse with a truck full of furniture.
"Surprise," he said, grinning. "I bought out half of Pottery Barn."
"You what?"
"The changing table. The dresser. The rocking chair. All of it — I see you already started with the crib, so I brought everything else." He gestured to the truck. "Let's build."
Paola appeared, eyes wide. "Piero. This is too much."
"Nothing's too much for my niece. Besides, I'm the fun uncle. I'm supposed to spoil her."
"She's not even born yet!"
"Practice."
We spent the next four hours assembling furniture in what would be Lucia's nursery, yellow walls glowing in afternoon sun. Instructions spread across the floor. Tools scattered everywhere.
"This piece doesn't fit," Piero said, frowning at the crib frame.
"That's because you're holding it upside down."
"I'm not—" He turned it over. "Oh."
Paola watched from the rocking chair—already assembled, the only thing we'd managed not to mess up. "You two are disasters."
"We're learning," I defended.
"You've been working on that crib for an hour. It should take twenty minutes."
"The instructions are in Swedish."
"They're in English with picture diagrams."
"Same thing."
She laughed, shook her head. "I'm going to make dinner. Try not to break anything."
After she left, Piero and I worked in comfortable silence for a while. The crib slowly taking shape.
"I heard you visited Matteo," he said eventually.
"I did."
"How is he?"
"Remorseful. Working on himself. He asked about you."
Piero's hands stilled. "What did he say?"
"That he's sorry. That he'll spend the rest of his life being sorry."
"Does he expect forgiveness?"
"No. He expects nothing. But he's hoping for a chance someday. After he's done his time."
"And you told him...?"
"That maybe. Someday. If he proves he's changed." I looked at my brother. "How do you feel about that?"
Piero was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. He was my friend. Then he betrayed me in the worst possible way. I'm not ready to forgive. But maybe someday I could be."
"That's fair."
"Besides, Lucia should know her Uncle Matteo eventually. If he's genuinely better. If he's earned it."
"That's what I thought too."
We finished the crib, stood back to admire our work.
"Not bad," Piero said.
"Only took us two hours instead of twenty minutes."
"We're improving."
The changing table went faster. The dresser took another hour. By the time we finished, the nursery looked like an actual room for an actual baby.
Real.
"She's going to love this," Piero said softly. "Lucia. She's going to be so loved."
"She is."
"Thank you. For letting me be part of this. For not pushing me away after everything with Rosa."
"You're my brother. My family. Nothing changes that."
He pulled me into a hug—rare for us, but necessary. "I love you, Cesare. And I'm going to love that little girl like she's my own."
"I know. She's lucky to have you."
After Piero left, I found Paola in the nursery, running her hand over the crib rail.
"It's perfect," she said. "Everything's ready for her."
"Almost everything. We still need bedding. And a mobile. And about a thousand other things according to the registry you made."
"We have time."
"Four and a half months. That's not much time."
She turned, wrapped her arms around my neck, the bump pressed between us, Lucia a physical presence in our embrace.
"We're going to be parents," she said. "In four and a half months, we're going to have a baby."
"Terrifying."
"Exciting."
"Both."
She kissed me, soft and sweet. "I'm glad we're doing this together."
"So am I."
Lucia kicked between us, making her presence known.
We both laughed, hands moving to the bump.
"She's awake," Paola said.
"She's always awake when we're together."
"She likes hearing your voice."
I pressed my forehead to Paola's, one hand on her belly where our daughter moved. "Hi, Lucia. Your room is ready. Your Uncle Piero assembled your crib—badly, but it's standing. We can't wait to meet you."
Another kick.
"Four and a half months," Paola whispered. "Then she's here."
"Then she's here."
And I couldn't wait.