Chapter 11 - EIGHTEEN MONTHS WITHOUT VINCENT MORETTI
Prison reduced life to ordinary humiliations.
Count.
Meals.
Schedules.
Permission.
Waiting.
For a man who controlled hotels, shipping terminals, judges' phone numbers, and men with guns, asking whether I could use a second sheet of paper felt spiritually corrective.
Eva wrote first.
Not Sloan.
Her letter said:
Mom says letters are healthy.
I think this is homework.
Willa can roll over.
You missed it.
Sorry.
Then below:
Actually that sounded mean.
Still true though.
I laughed.
She was my daughter.
Sloan sent photographs.
Willa at four months.
Six.
Nine.
First tooth.
First time sitting.
One photograph of her asleep with her fist around Eva's finger.
I kept that one.
Anna wrote twice.
Mostly updates about Eva.
No resentment.
No friendliness either.
We were learning to occupy the same family without demanding a category.
Isabella visited once.
She sat across from me and smiled.
“You look terrible.”
“Good to see you too.”
“Prison suits you.”
“Rose said the same?”
“She said you needed humility.”
“Everyone has opinions.”
Isabella became serious.
“I spent twenty-two years angry that you became like Dad.”
“I did.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you also walked into prison voluntarily.”
I stared.
“Do not make me noble.”
“I wasn't.”
Good sister.
“I am trying to understand who you are now.”
“Me too.”
She smiled.
That felt almost like childhood.
Then:
“I forgave Rose.”
I looked up.
“Already?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“That's not what forgiveness means.”
Fair.
“I still hate what she did.”
“Yes.”
“I also know she saved me.”
“Yes.”
“Both.”
Our family had learned one concept and refused to stop using it.
“Carlo?”
Isabella's face closed.
“Never.”
“Allowed.”
“Yes.”
Carlo's trial occurred while I was incarcerated.
I followed through newspapers and legal calls.
Charges:
Conspiracy connected to Isabella's attempted killing.
Kidnapping and obstruction involving Anna and Eva.
Conspiracy around Willa's medical endangerment.
Dr. Warren's abduction.
Financial crimes.
Megan Doyle cover-up.
Not Megan's murder directly.
Evidence tied Salvatore more clearly.
Dead men evade sentencing.
The jury convicted Carlo on most major counts.
Claire Rizzo pleaded guilty separately.
Her sentence was substantial.
She wrote Sloan an apology.
Sloan did not answer.
Good.
Rose testified.
Marco testified.
Isabella testified.
Anna did not have to.
Eva was protected from court.
Willa obviously knew nothing.
Exactly as it should be.
Carlo received a sentence likely longer than his remaining life.
When I heard, I felt nothing for ten minutes.
Then grief.
Not for the defendant.
For Uncle Carlo.
The man who taught me to shoot.
Who stood beside my father.
Who brought me cannoli when my mother died.
Human memory refuses courtroom simplicity.
I told Isabella.
She said:
“I miss Dad sometimes too.”
Salvatore.
The man who tried to kill her.
Both.
Again.
My best visits came from Willa.
She could not understand prison.
At fourteen months, she saw the visitation room and frowned.
“Ugly.”
Sloan laughed.
“It is.”
Willa touched the table.
Then looked at me.
“Da.”
I stopped breathing.
Sloan froze.
“What?”
Willa pointed.
“Da.”
My entire body broke.
She had said sounds before.
Maybe it was not Dad.
Maybe random.
I did not care.
Sloan's eyes filled.
“She knows you from pictures.”
I looked at her.
“You show her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sloan looked offended.
“You are her father.”
Simple.
No romantic promise.
No punishment through parenthood.
I loved her more in that moment than I had any right to say.
Eva visited three months before release.
Seventeen now.
Driving.
Terrifying.
She sat across from me.
“I applied to Columbia.”
“Good.”
“And Northwestern.”
“Good.”
“And Stanford.”
“Good.”
“Do you have opinions?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to say them?”
“Only if asked.”
She stared.
“Prison changed you.”
“Apparently.”
She smiled.
Then:
“I put Vincent Moretti on the father section.”
My throat closed.
“What?”
“College applications.”
“You did not have to.”
“I know.”
Allowed use.
I looked down because crying in visitation felt inevitable and inconvenient.
Eva continued:
“I still don't want your last name.”
“Good.”
“You keep saying good.”
“Better than arguing.”
“True.”
Then she leaned closer.
“When you get out, I want to know you without lawyers.”
My chest tightened.
“So do I.”
“No security interview before dates.”
I stared.
“Absolutely not.”
She laughed.
“There he is.”
I corrected.
“We negotiate later.”
“Better.”
Sloan's final visit before release happened alone.
No Willa.
I noticed immediately.
“Where is she?”
“With Jenna.”
“Why?”
Sloan sat.
“I wanted to talk.”
Terrifying.
“Okay.”
She looked at me for a long time.
“You have six weeks left.”
“Yes.”
“Do you still love me?”
No games.
“Yes.”
“Did prison make you say that?”
“No.”
“Do you expect us to remarry when you leave?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
“I want to.”
Her expression tightened.
“But expecting it would be another version of deciding.”
Sloan's eyes filled.
“So what do you expect?”
“To be Willa's father.”
“Yes.”
“To build something with Eva if she lets me.”
“Yes.”
“To stay legally accountable.”
“Yes.”
“To find somewhere to live.”
She almost smiled.
“And us?”
“I hope.”
One word.
Not plan.
Not demand.
Hope.
Sloan looked down.
“I love you.”
My heart stopped.
Then she held up one finger.
“Do not make a face.”
Too late.
“I love you.”
She swallowed.
“But I am not moving back into a marriage we broke.”
“Okay.”
“I don't want the old version.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don't know what the new one looks like.”
“Neither do I.”
She laughed softly.
“Good.”
When I walked out six weeks later, there were no reporters at the gate.
My attorney arranged another exit.
Sloan hated spectacle.
So did I now.
A black SUV waited.
Marco drove.
I opened the rear door.
Willa sat in a car seat.
Two years old.
Almost.
She stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Daddy.”
This time unmistakable.
I closed my eyes.
Sloan sat beside her.
Eva beside Sloan.
Anna in the front.
I stared.
“What is this?”
Eva shrugged.
“Family pickup.”
Apparently.
I got in.
No empire waited.
No captains.
No private office.
May you like
Just four people who had absolutely no requirement to be there.
And they came anyway.
