1. Adriano #3
That gives me pause.
Brief.
Controlled.
“She has friends,” Matteo adds helpfully.
“I’m aware.”
“People like her.”
“I’m also aware.”
Matteo’s grin turns sharper. “You know, socially. Outside of contractual obligation.”
“Is there a point approaching?”
“Yes. Try not to interrogate the woman into quitting before she starts.”
“I don’t interrogate.”
Nico’s brow lifts.
I ignore it.
“If she’s in my house with my daughter, I’ll know who she is.”
The room quiets slightly.
Not because I’ve raised my voice.
I haven’t.
Nico nods once. “Fair.”
“Let me do the checks. I’ll send you the report.”
Matteo is good at this kind of thing. And he knows I’m busy, so I nod. “Okay, thanks.”
Although I will be going through it with a fine-tooth comb.
At three fifteen, I step into the hallway and call home.
It rings once.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Daddy!”
The shift in her voice is immediate. Bright. Unfiltered. It cuts through the low office noise behind me and leaves something quieter in its place.
I lean back against the wall. “You’re home?”
“I just got back,” she says quickly. “I had a snack, and I didn’t spill anything, and I told Mrs. R about the blue crayon, and she said I was very patient, but I wasn’t because I wanted to yell. But I didn’t. And we made cannoli, and they are yummy, but I can’t have another until after dinner.”
That’s a lot of information.
“Slow down.”
“I’m not fast.”
“You are.”
A pause.
“…okay, maybe a little, but I might forget if I don’t say it fast.”
I close my eyes briefly. There are negotiations worth having. This one isn’t. “Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“What did you have?”
“Cannoli. And I didn’t drop any crumbs.”
“Good.”
“And Mrs. R said I could have two crackers because one broke, but that means it was really still one.”
“Interesting interpretation.”
“It’s true.”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m drawing now.”
“Inside the lines?”
Silence. “…mostly.”
“That’s progress, Jellybean.”
She laughs softly.
It stays with me.
“Are you coming home now?” she asks.
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“After one more meeting.”
“Is it big work?”
“Yes.”
“Can you make it little?”
“No.”
She sighs.
I look down the hall, at the glass walls, the people moving behind them, the screens full of numbers that don’t care what time preschool ends. “I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Promises matter.
I don’t make them unless I can keep them.
“Okay,” she says, softer now. “I’ll wait.”
“You don’t have to wait.”
“I want to.”
Something settles low in my chest. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Love you.”
The words land the way they always do. “I love you too, Jellybean.”
The silence after she hangs up is loud.
Controlled.
I hate it.
It used to be easier when there were two of us.
Schedules split. Decisions shared. Someone else remembering the things that don’t fit into calendars. Favorite cups. Lost clips. The way she needs the closet door open exactly three inches before she’ll sleep.
Now everything runs through me.
It works.
It has to.
I don’t allow the rest of the thought to finish.
When I walk back into the conference room, Matteo looks up immediately. “You look less terrifying. Who was that?”
“Your niece.”
“Ah.” He leans back. “The only person in this family with real power.”
“She asked about the pony this morning.”
Matteo points at me. “That was taken out of context.”
“She’s four.”
“She’s manipulative.”
“She’s four.”
“She’s a Mancini.”
Nico makes a sound that might be a laugh.
I sit, pick up the next file, and put Letty’s voice where it belongs.
Somewhere safe. Somewhere I can reach it later.
The rest of the afternoon moves cleanly.
Meetings. Calls. Signatures. A quiet correction to a contract clause that would have cost us six figures if left untouched.
No one thanks me for that, and I don’t need it. If they noticed everything I prevent, I wouldn’t be doing it properly.
At five-thirty, I close the final file.
Matteo is still talking.
I stand.
He stops mid-sentence. “You leaving?”
“It’s six.”
“So?”
“So I’m leaving to eat dinner with my daughter.”
Nico doesn’t comment. He knows how it is to want to be with someone else. Only his is his wife; mine is my daughter.
Matteo watches me button my jacket. “One day she’s going to realize you’re the easiest man in the world to control.”
“She already knows.”
I pick up my phone and keys.
By now, Letty will be at the table, pens pushed to one side but not put away. One cap missing. Possibly two.
Something will be on the stove. I told Elena not to cook for us as she’s there for Letty, not to run around after me, but she said she wanted to.
Letty will likely be interrupting her every other word.
She always talks over people when she’s tired.
Luckily, Elena Romano and my daughter have formed a solid bond, and I’m grateful for it.
If it were up to me, I’d hire her full time.
But Isabella would have my balls for dragging her mother out of retirement, and so would Rossi, our head of security and Elena’s new man friend, as she calls him.
I’ll roll my sleeves up again when I get home.
For now, they stay buttoned.