Elena #2
Rocco looks up, syrup on his chin. "The fake Santa said my daddy killed your daddy, but I told him he’s a liar."
Ricci's eyebrow raises. "Did he now?" She glances at me. “My investigation suggests your uncle killed your father.”
My brow furrows. “You knew that?”
Her mouth tightens as if she feels like she might have said too much. “I know a lot about the Vitale family.”
“Funny how you’re only interested in finding justice if it puts someone in jail, but weren’t interested in clearing the name of the man wrongly accused.”
“It’s not my job to clear names.”
I’ve had enough. I’m about to tell Rocco to finish his pancakes when the diner door slams open.
Luca stands there with Dom next to him.
Luca’s eyes lock on Rocco, softening for just a second before hardening again as they shift to Ricci.
He strides toward us, every movement controlled but radiating violence.
The other patrons sense it, conversations dying as he approaches.
"Daddy!" Rocco calls happily, oblivious to the danger crackling in the air.
Luca sweeps Rocco into his arms, crushing our son against his chest with a fierce protectiveness.
The relief on his face mirrors what I felt moments ago, that overwhelming rush of finding your child safe.
"We need to go. Now." Luca's voice is gentle for Rocco but leaves no room for argument.
Dom slides smoothly into the booth beside Agent Ricci, effectively trapping her against the wall.
His smile doesn't reach his eyes as he introduces himself, though she clearly knows exactly who he is.
I hesitate, my gaze shifting between Luca's urgent expression and Dom's predatory posture.
Something doesn't feel right.
I take Rocco back into my arms.
"Agent Ricci was just explaining what happened to Rocco," I say, not moving from my seat. "She says she got an anonymous tip."
Luca's jaw tightens. "We can discuss this at home."
"The man who took me wasn't the real Santa," Rocco pipes up, seemingly oblivious to the tension. "He made me go with another man in a black car."
Luca's eyes flash dangerously. "What man? Who was he?"
Agent Ricci clears her throat. "That's what we're trying to determine. I received a tip about a child matching Rocco's description in Brooklyn."
Dom leans forward, his voice deceptively casual. "How convenient that an FBI informant just happened to be there at the right moment."
I catch the implication in his tone. That the FBI might have orchestrated this whole thing.
“How did you even know Rocco was missing?” Dom asks.
"Come now, Don Vitale. We both know I'm aware of much that happens within your family's operation." Her confidence sends a chill down my spine. How much does she know about us? About La Corona?
Dom scoffs. "Including where the child was taken, but not who took him?” He shakes his head. “The FBI is slipping. Or, more likely, reverting to unsavory tactics. Sort of reminds me of something we might do, except of course, we’d never use children. That makes us better than you."
Something flickers across Ricci's face. It seems like uncertainty. She glances at Rocco, then back to Dom.
"I'll admit something feels off about this situation," she finally says.
"Normal patterns of child abduction?" Luca's voice is deadly quiet. "Is that something you study, Agent Ricci?"
I place my hand on Luca's arm, feeling the tension coiled there.
“I’m not able to divulge specific info about the case—”
“But you’re happy to pick our brains?” I snap.
“I can tell you that Rocco was alone when I found him at the rental in Brooklyn.”
Dom and Luca glance at each other, but I don’t get a sense that either has any specific connection to a rental in Brooklyn.
"Convenient," Dom remarks. “I’d bet my right nut that whoever took him watched you show up after your informant’s call.”
“What’s a right nut?” Rocco asks.
I give Dom a chastising glare.
"I've already determined the property owner had no knowledge their place was being used," Ricci continues on, ignoring Rocco’s question. "Paid in cash through a third party. No cameras."
I exchange glances with Luca.
"So what you're telling us," I say, finding my voice, "is that someone took our son, then abandoned him where he could be found by the FBI, who then tried to use him as bait to get information from me?"
Ricci's expression hardens. "That's not—"
"I don't care what your intentions were," I cut her off. "Instead of bringing him home, you lured me here.”
She has the good grace to look chagrined.
“My son is not a pawn in whatever game you're playing."
Rocco stirs in my arms, looking up at me with innocent eyes. "Mommy, are you mad?"
I press my lips to his forehead. "Not at you. Never at you."
"We're done here," Luca says with finality, standing and reaching for Rocco. Once Rocco is in his arm, he uses his free hand to help me out.
"Agent Ricci, thank you for returning my son."
She meets my gaze steadily. "Ms. Vitale, I understand your hesitation. But consider that we don’t know who took Rocco, so the threat remains."
"We can protect our own," Dom says with quiet menace.
I take Rocco from Luca's arms, holding him close. "Let's go home."
As we walk toward the door, I can't shake the feeling that we're all pieces in someone else's game. A game they’re now willing to involve children in.
“Is he going to kill her?” I ask once in the car, where Rocco is in the back falling asleep the moment we pulled out from the curb.
“No. Not in a diner, anyway. Not at all, likely. Now that we’ve been seen with her, we’d be the first they’d suspect.” He shakes his head, his disappointment in me evident. “Why don’t you trust me?”
I hate that I’ve hurt him again. “It’s not a matter of not trusting you, Luca. It’s a matter of the kids coming first. Surely, you can understand that.”
His jaw is tight, but he nods in the affirmative.
When we walk through Luca’s front door, Adalina and Elio tackle their brother with such force they nearly knock him over, their little voices overlapping as they bombard him with questions.
Rocco, basks in the attention, dramatically recounting his "adventure" with embellishments that make Luca's eyebrows rise.
“At least he’s not traumatized,” I whisper to Luca.
Antonio shuffles into the room. "Who are these bambini?" he asks, but then recognition dawns. "Ah, Luca's children." He beams with pride. "They have your eyes, Luca."
For hours, we exist in a bubble where the outside world can't touch us. Luca orders pizza and gelato.
The kids build a blanket fort in the living room.
Antonio tells stories of Luca as a boy that make the triplets giggle and Luca groan with embarrassment.
"Papa, enough," Luca protests when Antonio describes how little Luca once tried to "help" in the kitchen and covered himself head-to-toe in flour.
“We did that!” Adalina says.
“No wonder he wasn’t mad,” Elio adds.
“Like father, like children,” I quip, wondering when the kids had been covered head-to-toe in flour.
Watching them all together, Luca teaching the kids Italian Christmas words, Antonio dozing with Adalina curled against him, I see the life we could have had. I hide my sadness about losing it behind a smile as Rocco wishes me Buon Natale, Merry Christmas in Italian.
Later, after tucking the exhausted children into bed, I find Luca in his study, staring into a glass of whiskey.
"They're finally asleep," I say, lingering in the doorway.
He looks up, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. "Good."
"Luca, today was—"
"I've been thinking," he interrupts, setting down his glass. "Maybe you should take Ricci's offer."
The words are like a slap to the face. "What?"
"Or I can arrange for you and the kids to go to Italy. Somewhere no one can find you. No one knows you’re a Monti or a Vitale."
"You want us to leave?" My voice catches.
"I want you safe." His eyes meet mine, tormented. "Someone took our son to get to me, to get to La Corona. As long as you're connected to this life, they'll be targets, and I can’t have that."
I realize in this moment that a part of me believed we might work through our issues. That we might still have a chance to be the family Luca once said he wanted.
But his words rip that hope, that dream, away.