Chapter 12 - THE FATHER I NEVER MET
Daniel Moretti existed for me only in photographs.
I hated that.
One showed him at twenty-seven.
Dark hair.
Easy smile.
No expensive suit.
He was standing beside a motorcycle with grease on his hands.
Another showed him with Evelyn.
They were laughing.
Not posing.
Real laughter.
I stared for a long time.
“He knew about me?”
Evelyn sat beside me.
“For three weeks.”
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to leave.”
“With us?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“We planned to.”
Her voice broke.
“The night he died, he was going to bring money and passports.”
My chest hurt.
“He loved me?”
“He loved you before he met you.”
That was enough.
Maybe it had to be.
Matteo gave me Daniel’s old letters.
Not as leverage.
Not with conditions.
“He should have had the chance to raise you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry my family didn’t protect him.”
I looked at him.
“Your family also helped create the world that killed him.”
Matteo nodded.
“Yes.”
Honesty was becoming contagious.
The Moretti trust became the next battle.
Lawyers discovered Daniel’s descendants inherited a significant share.
Mine.
I did not want mafia power.
So I restructured everything I could.
Legitimate holdings went into an independent trust.
Illegal-linked assets were surrendered or liquidated under legal review.
Part funded victim restitution.
Part funded domestic-violence shelters.
That idea came from Marcus.
Not because he deserved honor.
Because women like me deserved exits.
I called the foundation Evelyn House.
Adrien donated quietly.
I found out anyway.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because nobody should have to run barefoot into my club to survive.”
My throat tightened.
Our relationship had changed without either of us naming it.
He never touched me without asking.
Never entered my room without knocking.
Never used protection as an excuse for ownership.
Weeks passed.
My bruises disappeared.
The fear took longer.
Sometimes a slammed door made me freeze.
Sometimes I woke hearing Marcus’s voice.
Adrien never told me to get over it.
He simply stayed nearby.
Then one night we sat on the brownstone roof.
New York below us.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Trying to decide whether this is a bad idea.”
“What is?”
He looked at me.
“Kissing you.”
My heart stopped.
The fact that Adrien Viscari asked changed everything.
“Probably terrible.”
“Yes.”
“You have enemies.”
“Yes.”
“I have trust issues.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re emotionally difficult.”
“So are you.”
I laughed.
Then leaned closer.
“One kiss.”
“One.”
He kissed me.
Slow.
Careful.
Nothing like Marcus.
No ownership.
No force.
When we separated, neither spoke.
Then Marco called.
Adrien sighed.
“Of course.”
He answered.
“What?”
His expression changed.
“Send it.”
A document appeared on his phone.
Newly uncovered from Vittorio’s private archive.
A letter from Daniel Moretti.
Addressed to Adrien’s father.
Vittorio,
If anything happens to me, protect Evelyn and my daughter. I trust you because you once told me Adrien deserves a world better than ours.
Adrien read it twice.
Then handed it to me.
At the bottom, Daniel had added one final line.
May you like
If our children ever meet, do not let our war become theirs.
Twenty-two years before we kissed, my father had already asked that we choose differently.
