Chapter 8 - THE MAN MIA CALLED DADDY BY ACCIDENT
By summer, I knew the road to Stamford better than half the streets in Brooklyn.
Saturday became Wednesday too.
Then some Fridays.
I never moved in.
Elena never asked.
That mattered.
Mia started preschool.
Different school.
No armored taxis.
No secret routes.
One security officer who wore jeans and pretended to be an uncle at pickup.
Mia named him “Big Tom.”
Tom hated it.
Everyone else loved it.
Elena got the supervisor job.
She was good at it.
Within four months, management offered her assistant operations manager.
She called me after the meeting.
“They offered thirty percent more.”
“Take it.”
“You didn’t even ask if I want it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then take it.”
Silence.
“What?”
“You’re learning.”
“I hate when you say that.”
“I know.”
The legitimate Moretti companies changed too.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Audits found problems I did not want to know about.
We fixed them.
A freight company went bankrupt.
Two restaurants improved.
Marco turned the security division into the most profitable clean business we owned and became unbearable about it.
“Turns out crime had terrible margins.”
“Leave.”
He laughed.
My mother returned from Florida in September.
She had stayed away during Vittorio’s case.
Not because she supported him.
Because she did not know how to face me.
She asked to meet Elena.
I said it was Elena’s choice.
My mother stared as if I had begun speaking French.
“You ask now?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Mostly.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Elena agreed to dinner.
Mia arrived wearing a yellow dress and carrying Miss Rose.
My mother, Isabella, saw her and stopped breathing.
Mia stared back.
“Are you Dominic’s mommy?”
Isabella looked offended.
“I suppose.”
Mia nodded.
“He’s bossy.”
Elena coughed.
Marco walked out of the room.
My mother looked at me.
“She is not wrong.”
Dinner went better than expected.
Then Isabella asked the question nobody else had.
“Where is Mia’s father?”
Elena’s face softened.
“Lucas died when she was eight months old.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Mia looked up.
“My first daddy is heaven.”
The room went quiet.
Then she pointed at me.
“And Dominic is here.”
My heart stopped.
Isabella’s eyes moved to mine.
Elena stared at Mia.
The child returned to pasta.
No one corrected her.
Later, I stood on the terrace.
Elena joined me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“I learned from Mia.”
She smiled.
Then leaned against the railing.
“She knows Lucas is her father.”
“I know.”
“She has pictures.”
“I know.”
“She asks about him.”
“I know.”
Elena looked at me.
“But she thinks of you that way too.”
I swallowed.
“I don’t want to replace him.”
“You can’t.”
“Good.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be something.”
I stared toward the garden.
“What?”
“That depends on you.”
A month later, Mia answered the question herself.
She fell from a swing.
Nothing serious.
Scraped knee.
Blood.
Tears.
Elena was in a meeting.
Big Tom called me because I was closer.
I arrived in twelve minutes.
Mia sat in the nurse’s office.
She saw me.
“Daddy!”
The word came out between sobs.
I stopped in the doorway.
The nurse smiled.
“Your father’s here.”
I should have corrected her.
I didn’t.
I crouched.
Mia climbed into my arms.
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
“Kiss it.”
I looked at the bloody scrape.
“No.”
She cried harder.
“Fine.”
I kissed the bandage.
“Better?”
“No.”
“Fraud.”
She laughed through tears.
I held her until Elena arrived.
She saw us.
Saw my face.
“You heard it.”
“Yes.”
Elena sat beside me.
Mia reached for her.
“Mommy.”
Elena kissed her hair.
Then looked at me.
“She chooses names herself.”
“Clearly.”
“You don’t have to use it.”
I looked at Mia.
“I know.”
That night, after Mia slept, I asked Elena something I had been thinking about for months.
“Would you let me become her legal guardian?”
Elena stared.
“Dominic.”
“Not adoption.”
“Why not?”
I stopped.
She smiled faintly.
“You were going to ask eventually.”
“I did not know whether you’d think it erased Lucas.”
“It wouldn’t.”
“I don’t want that.”
“I know.”
I sat across from her.
“I want legal responsibility if something happens.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
Her expression changed.
“That scares you.”
“Everything scares me now.”
She reached across the table.
I took her hand.
“What does being her father mean to you?” she asked.
I thought carefully.
“Showing up.”
She waited.
“Not only when someone takes her.”
Her eyes softened.
“Good start.”
“Knowing her teacher’s name.”
“Mrs. Patel.”
“I know.”
“Her pediatrician?”
“Dr. Green.”
“Shoe size?”
I paused.
Elena smiled.
“Fail.”
“Six?”
“Seven.”
“Ridiculous feet.”
She laughed.
I continued.
“It means not making her afraid of my life.”
“Good.”
“Not using money to control either of you.”
“Very good.”
“Learning how to braid.”
“Impossible.”
“Agreed.”
She squeezed my hand.
“It means loving Lucas too.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Not like I did.”
She smiled sadly.
“But respecting that Mia came from someone who loved her.”
I nodded.
“I can do that.”
“And if she calls you Dominic for the next ten years?”
“I answer.”
“And if she calls you Dad tomorrow?”
I swallowed.
“I answer.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“Then yes.”
The legal process took months.
Background checks.
Court filings.
The irony of Dominic Moretti being evaluated by a family court investigator was not lost on Marco.
He laughed for six straight minutes.
I threatened to fire him.
He laughed harder.
By December, I had become Mia’s legal adoptive father with Elena’s consent while Lucas remained honored in her records and family story.
The judge asked Mia one question.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Mia nodded.
“To give Dominic papers.”
The judge smiled.
“What papers?”
“So he can be Daddy officially.”
I looked down.
Elena took my hand.
The judge signed.
Mia clapped.
Then she whispered to me.
“Can I have pony now?”
I closed my eyes.
Elena said, “No.”
The judge laughed.
I looked at Mia.
“Appeal denied.”
May you like
She sighed.
Fatherhood, I learned, was mostly losing negotiations to shorter people.
