Chapter 5 - I MOVED LILY INTO A SAFE APARTMENT, BUT THE FIRST THING SHE ASKED FOR WAS THE MAN WHO HAD BEEN HER DAD BEFORE ME
I offered Isabella one of my Manhattan penthouses.
She said no.
Good.
The old Alessandro would have been offended.
The current version was learning that “no” was not a declaration of war.
We chose an apartment through her attorney and an independent child-safety consultant.
Not Moretti-owned.
Not Bellini-owned.
Not connected to Giovanni.
The lease was in a protective trust administered by outside counsel until immediate threat passed.
Two bedrooms.
Small kitchen.
Doorman.
Normal building.
Lily walked inside and said:
“This is nicer than ours.”
Then immediately:
“But our couch is softer.”
Good.
Her world did not become automatically better because mine had more marble.
Isabella brought three suitcases.
Lily brought one backpack, two stuffed animals, a box of crayons, and the scholarship certificate.
That certificate still mattered to her.
I asked St. Catherine’s directly whether Lily had earned selection independent of donor influence.
The headmistress reviewed.
Her test scores were exceptional.
Her teacher recommendations strong.
Need qualifications legitimate.
Yes.
Rinaldi Foundation had funded the seat, but did not manufacture merit.
I told Lily.
“You earned it.”
She grinned.
“I told you.”
“Yes.”
“Mom said you’re rich.”
I looked at Isabella.
She shrugged.
“I had to explain why three attorneys were in kitchen.”
Fair.
Lily continued:
“Can rich people buy scholarships?”
“They can pay for them.”
“Can they buy smart?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Then her face changed.
“Can you call Evan?”
The question hit.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t answer Mom.”
Isabella stiffened.
“Lily.”
“What?”
“He said he’d come.”
Children do not reorganize attachment because DNA arrives.
Of course.
I looked at Isabella.
“Do you want me to?”
She hesitated.
Then:
“Maybe.”
That evening, I called Evan Mercer.
Not Romano. Let's maintain surname? Better Evan Hale perhaps. But earlier only Evan name. Use Evan Reed.
He answered after three rings.
“Hello?”
“Evan Reed?”
“Yes.”
“This is Alessandro Moretti.”
Silence.
Then:
“Jesus Christ.”
Expected.
“I’m calling about Lily.”
He started breathing differently.
“Is she okay?”
Good first question.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you—”
“She waited for you today.”
Silence.
My anger rose.
I kept it measured.
“She got scholarship.”
“I know.”
“You said you would be there.”
“I got stuck.”
“Where?”
“That’s none of your—”
“It is hers.”
He went silent.
I continued:
“I’m not calling to threaten you.”
“Sure.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to know whether you intend to remain in her life.”
The question quieted him.
“She’s not my kid.”
My jaw tightened.
“She calls you Dad.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t ask if she shares your blood.”
He said nothing.
I continued:
“Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Good.
“Then why are you disappearing?”
His voice broke slightly.
“Because Isabella and I ended.”
“That is not Lily’s fault.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Stop saying that.”
Apparently I had become infected by Sophia? Different story no. Here Lily. Still okay.
Evan exhaled.
“I don’t know what my place is.”
Interesting.
“Neither do I.”
Silence.
He laughed once.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“I met her yesterday.”
“Found out she’s mine today.”
“I don’t know her cereal.”
“I don’t know her bedtime.”
“I don’t know what makes her scared.”
“You do.”
He went quiet.
That hurt.
True.
“So tell me your place.”
“I was there.”
“Four years.”
“Then be there now.”
“What if you want me gone?”
I stared through apartment window.
There it was.
Fear of being replaced.
Maybe justified.
Old Alessandro might have wanted exclusive title.
Not now.
“If Lily wants you, I do not erase you.”
“Why?”
“Because this is not about what makes me feel more like father.”
Silence.
Then Evan whispered:
“I screwed up.”
“Yes.”
“Are you always this pleasant?”
“No.”
He almost laughed.
“Can I see her?”
“Ask Isabella.”
“I have.”
“She doesn’t answer.”
Because pain.
I looked toward Isabella washing dishes.
“Try tomorrow.”
“If she says no?”
“Then negotiate through family therapist.”
He laughed.
“You have a family therapist?”
“Since this afternoon.”
“Of course.”
I hung up.
Isabella stared.
“You called him.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He wants to see Lily.”
Her face tightened.
“No.”
I did not argue.
“Why?”
“He left.”
“Yes.”
“She cried for months.”
“I believe you.”
“He missed her birthday.”
“Yes.”
“He promised today.”
“Yes.”
“Then why should he get another chance?”
I thought.
“Maybe he shouldn’t.”
She looked surprised.
“Then?”
“Lily wants him.”
“That doesn’t mean she gets everything she wants.”
“No.”
“But it means her wanting matters.”
Isabella sank into chair.
“I hate this.”
“So do I.”
“He’ll disappoint her again.”
“Maybe.”
“And then?”
“We help her through it.”
“Not prevent every possible hurt by deciding for her.”
That sentence sounded strange coming from me.
Isabella noticed.
“So your father’s letter got to you.”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled.
Then:
“You were not always like this.”
“No.”
“Eight years ago, you told me if you survived, you would find the men who shot you and burn their homes.”
“I was feverish.”
“You meant it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
I looked away.
“Two.”
Her face changed.
“Their homes?”
“No.”
“The men.”
Silence.
I had not planned to discuss my history with Lily in next room.
Isabella said quietly:
“You want to be in her life.”
“Yes.”
“You know your life is dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“What changes?”
There it was.
The question I had avoided.
Everything?
Nothing?
Could I simply add Lily into my fortress?
Car seats in armored SUVs.
Guards at school.
Men with guns outside ballet class.
No.
“I’m restructuring security first.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I know.”
“Business?”
I looked at her.
“My legitimate businesses stay.”
“And the rest?”
Silence.
She waited.
I had built identity on organization.
Protection.
Debt.
Illegal gambling.
Port theft.
Bribes.
Violence delegated through men who rarely used my name.
I could tell myself I had cleaned it.
Less blood than my father.
Fewer drugs.
No trafficking.
Those distinctions mattered morally.
Not enough for a six-year-old who might become leverage.
“I’m reviewing exit.”
Isabella almost laughed.
“Reviewing.”
“It doesn’t disappear in a week.”
“No.”
“But are you willing?”
I looked through doorway.
Lily was on floor arranging crayons by color.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised me.
Then my phone rang.
Marco.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found something in Giovanni’s foundation server.”
My pulse changed.
“What?”
“Scholarship file wasn’t opened three months ago.”
“It was opened six years ago.”
I stood.
“By who?”
“Giovanni.”
Of course.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“Every year he uploaded a new photograph of Lily.”
My stomach turned cold.
“From where?”
“School.”
“Playground.”
“Apartment.”
“Jesus.”
“He was monitoring her.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Then:
“Last photo was taken yesterday.”
Central Park.
Lily sitting beside me on bench.
My entire body froze.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after Isabella came?”
“Before.”
So someone had photographed Lily hugging me.
Before paternity test.
Before Bellini investigator appeared.
Giovanni’s system knew Lily had found me within minutes.
I looked at Isabella.
“Pack.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“We move again.”
“No.”
“This place may be compromised.”
“By who?”
“Giovanni.”
Lily appeared.
“Why are we packing?”
I stopped.
No lying.
“Someone who knows me has been watching you.”
Her eyes widened.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he bad?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Grown-ups are complicated.”
She repeated her park observation.
“Yes.”
Then she looked worried.
“Do I still get to see Evan?”
In the middle of surveillance.
Trust.
Money.
Danger.
Her concern remained a man who promised pictures.
I crouched.
“If it can be done safely.”
“Promise?”
“I promise I won’t make that decision only because I’m jealous.”
She frowned.
“That’s a weird promise.”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
But it was the right one.
That night, we moved to a secure family residence under federal liaison because the surveillance now potentially connected to financial coercion and child safety.
No private Moretti army.
Giovanni called during drive.
I answered.
“You broke into my servers.”
“No.”
“My board’s forensic team reviewed company-connected systems after legal authorization.”
“You are becoming tedious.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Why did you photograph Lily for six years?”
Silence.
“Giovanni.”
His voice changed.
“Because I was protecting her.”
I stared at city outside.
“From who?”
“You.”
There.
The word hurt.
Then he added:
“And from Carlo Bellini.”
I said nothing.
Giovanni continued:
“Carlo has known her identity for four years.”
My blood went cold.
“Why did he wait?”
“Because he never needed her until Sofia became pregnant.”
“And now?”
“Now his daughter’s marriage is gone.”
“His fake heir is gone.”
“And Lily has been confirmed as yours.”
Giovanni’s voice dropped.
“Alessandro, Carlo is not trying to get the trust anymore.”
My hand tightened.
May you like
“What is he trying to do?”
“Make sure Lily never activates it.”
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