Chapter 6 - WHEN MATTEO FINALLY SAW HIS DAUGHTER
Isabella spent thirty-eight days in the neonatal intensive care unit.
Thirty-eight days of alarms.
Tiny bottles.
Weight checks.
Oxygen monitors.
Elena learned to sleep sitting up beside the incubator.
Carol learned every nurse’s name.
Dante brought coffee every morning and pretended it was coincidence.
On day twenty-two, Isabella breathed entirely on her own.
Elena cried.
On day twenty-nine, she reached four pounds.
Dante brought a cake.
The nurses informed him babies could not eat cake.
“I’m aware.”
“You bought a six-pound cake.”
“There are adults.”
On day thirty-eight, doctors said the word Elena had been afraid to hope for.
“Home.”
The home was not the penthouse.
Elena never returned there.
Carol arranged for her belongings to be removed while Matteo remained in custody.
Elena sold nothing at first.
She did not want to make decisions while still recovering.
She rented a quiet brownstone apartment in Brooklyn Heights.
Her name alone on the lease.
A nursery overlooking a courtyard.
A bedroom with no cameras.
A kitchen without marble.
She chose wood.
Warm.
Soft.
Human.
Before Isabella came home, another legal question arrived.
Matteo requested to see his daughter.
Elena stared at the letter for a long time.
Carol waited.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s allowed.”
“He’s her father.”
“Yes.”
“He nearly killed her.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want him touching her.”
“Then he doesn’t.”
Elena looked down.
“But someday she may ask whether he ever saw her.”
Carol said nothing.
Elena thought for two days.
Then made a decision.
Matteo could see Isabella once.
Through glass.
At the hospital.
Under supervision.
No holding.
No contact.
No photograph.
No claim.
Just sight.
Dante hated the idea.
He kept his opinion to himself until Elena asked.
“What do you think?”
“I think he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Neither do I.”
Dante looked at her.
“But?”
“But this isn’t for him.”
He waited.
“It’s for me.”
“How?”
“I need to know I didn’t become him.”
Dante understood.
Matteo arrived in handcuffs.
Two federal marshals stood beside him.
Elena waited inside the NICU family room.
Isabella slept against her chest.
Matteo stopped outside the glass.
His face changed instantly.
He had never seen her.
Not even a photograph.
For several seconds, the man who had controlled rooms his entire life did nothing.
Then his mouth moved.
“What’s her name?”
The marshal relayed the question through the intercom.
Elena pressed the button.
“Isabella Marco Vitale.”
Matteo stared.
Not Moretti.
He understood.
His face tightened.
“Elena.”
She said nothing.
“Please.”
The word sounded strange from him.
He had used it rarely.
“I’m sorry.”
Elena’s body reacted before her mind did.
Her pulse accelerated.
Her hands went cold.
The room became the kitchen.
Marble.
Papers.
His face.
She looked down at Isabella.
Then back.
Matteo continued.
“Vivien set me up.”
Elena’s eyes hardened.
She pressed the intercom.
“Vivien planted papers.”
Matteo nodded desperately.
“She knew what she was doing.”
“Yes.”
“She wanted me to—”
“No.”
Elena’s voice stayed steady.
“She wanted you angry.”
He stared.
“You decided what to do with the anger.”
Matteo lowered his eyes.
“Elena…”
“You don’t get to build your apology around someone else.”
Silence.
He started crying.
She had seen Matteo angry.
Drunk.
Cold.
Triumphant.
She had never seen him cry.
It did not heal anything.
That surprised her.
For months, part of Elena had imagined that if he truly understood what he had done, perhaps some weight inside her would lift.
It didn’t.
His remorse belonged to him.
Her healing belonged to her.
“I loved you,” Matteo whispered through the speaker.
Elena closed her eyes.
Past tense would have been easier.
“I know.”
“I still do.”
She looked at him.
“No.”
His face changed.
“You love what I did for your life. You loved that I understood you. You loved how I looked beside you.”
Her voice trembled.
“But love does not leave someone bleeding and go to dinner.”
Matteo lowered his head.
Isabella moved.
A tiny sound.
Matteo looked up.
“Can I hear her?”
Elena hesitated.
Then held Isabella slightly closer to the microphone.
The baby made a soft little cry.
Matteo broke.
His knees weakened.
One marshal steadied him.
Elena watched.
Not with satisfaction.
Not pity.
With distance.
The kind she had fought to earn.
“You will not contact us directly,” she said.
Matteo looked up.
“All communication goes through Carol.”
“Elena—”
“You will not use my friends, employees, family, or anyone else to reach me.”
He nodded slowly.
“If a court someday decides Isabella should know you, that decision will happen with professionals involved.”
His face crumpled.
“You’re taking my daughter.”
Elena’s eyes turned cold.
“No.”
She held Isabella closer.
“I’m protecting mine.”
She switched off the intercom.
The visit ended.
Outside, Dante waited in the hallway.
Elena came out ten minutes later.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Good answer.
She looked at him.
“You wanted me to refuse.”
“Yes.”
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you chose.”
Simple.
Elena smiled faintly.
That evening, Isabella left the hospital.
Dante drove.
Not because Elena needed a driver.
Because she asked him.
Carol sat in the back beside her.
When they reached the brownstone, several people waited.
Rosa.
Gino.
Paul.
Two nurses from the NICU who had finished their shift.
Gino stood awkwardly holding a stuffed elephant.
Elena froze when she saw him.
He looked terrified.
“I can go.”
“No.”
He stopped.
Elena handed Isabella to Carol.
Then walked toward Gino.
“You drove past Lexington.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at the floor.
“Because I thought if I took you there, he’d own what happened.”
Elena cried.
Gino’s voice shook.
“I should have called police that night.”
“You got me to a hospital.”
“I lied to the nurse.”
“You stayed.”
“I left.”
“You sent the message.”
Gino looked up.
Elena hugged him.
He started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Both could be true.
That night, after everyone left, Elena sat alone in the nursery.
Isabella slept against her.
The apartment was quiet.
No guards outside the door.
No footsteps she feared.
No husband asking where she had been.
Dante stood in the hallway.
“You need anything?”
Elena looked around.
For years, that question had terrified her because it always came with a hidden price.
Now it didn’t.
She smiled.
“No.”
Dante nodded.
“Then I’ll go.”
He turned.
“Dante.”
He looked back.
“Stay for coffee.”
Something changed in his face.
“All right.”
Not because she needed protection.
Because she wanted company.
May you like
And for Elena, those were finally two very different things.
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