Chapter 2 - THE DAY HE BORROWED A FAMILY
“What counts as personal?” Emma whispered.
Sophia closed her eyes briefly.
“Questions about his family. His work. His home. Anything that might make him uncomfortable.”
Emma looked toward Lorenzo, who stood near the study window with one hand in his pocket.
“Can I ask him if he likes pancakes?”
Sophia hesitated.
Lorenzo turned around.
“That is not personal,” he said.
Emma brightened. “Do you like pancakes?”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“But,” Lorenzo added, “I am willing to reconsider.”
For the first time that morning, Sophia almost smiled.
The black sedan left the Duca estate at eight o’clock.
Marco Rossi sat in the front passenger seat. Two security vehicles followed behind them, though Lorenzo had ordered them to keep their distance once they reached the school.
Emma sat in the booster seat beside Lorenzo, holding a small purple backpack against her chest.
For the first fifteen minutes, she said nothing.
Lorenzo found the silence unfamiliar.
Most people around him spoke because they wanted something. They wanted favors, money, protection, approval, or simply the satisfaction of proving they were not afraid.
Emma did not appear to want any of those things.
She watched the city pass by her window.
Then she looked at him.
“Do you have children?”
Sophia’s warning came back to him.
Do not ask personal questions.
Lorenzo could have avoided the answer.
He could have said no and changed the subject.
Instead, he looked at the small red heart on the festival invitation still tucked inside his coat.
“I was supposed to,” he said.
Emma waited.
“My wife and I were going to have a baby.”
“Where is the baby now?”
Lorenzo looked out the window.
The traffic blurred beyond the glass.
“With Isabella,” he said quietly.
Emma was silent for a moment.
Then she reached into her backpack and pulled out a package of crayons.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
No one had said those words to him so simply in years.
Not without fear.
Not without carefully chosen language.
Just sorry.
She selected a blue crayon and began drawing on a folded sheet of paper.
“What are you making?” Lorenzo asked.
“A picture.”
“Of what?”
“Your wife and baby.”
His throat tightened.
“You never met them.”
“I know. But maybe they want a picture too.”
Lorenzo looked away before she could see his face.
From the front seat, Marco watched them in the rearview mirror.
His expression remained neutral.
But Lorenzo knew Marco well enough to notice the tension in his jaw.
At St. Cecilia Elementary, the parking lot was crowded with minivans, balloons, and parents carrying coffee cups. A cheerful banner stretched above the entrance:
FATHER AND CHILD AUTUMN FESTIVAL
Lorenzo stepped out of the sedan.
Every conversation nearby stopped.
He was not difficult to recognize.
Even without the usual entourage, Lorenzo Duca had a way of changing the temperature of a space. He stood too straight. He moved too deliberately. His face carried the controlled stillness of a man who had spent his life making sure no one saw what he felt.
One father near the entrance took out his phone.
Marco appeared beside him before the camera could rise.
“Photos are not permitted,” Marco said calmly.
The man put the phone away.
Emma took Lorenzo’s hand.
Not because she was frightened.
Because she seemed to assume that was what fathers and daughters did.
Lorenzo looked down at her fingers wrapped around his.
Then he allowed her to lead him inside.
The school gymnasium smelled like coffee, glue, cinnamon, and the faint rubber scent of old basketballs. Children rushed between game stations. Fathers wore matching team jerseys, superhero shirts, work boots, dress clothes, and one unfortunate pirate costume.
Emma stood at the entrance, suddenly quiet.
“You can still leave if you want,” Lorenzo told her.
She looked up at him.
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t either.”
Her smile returned.
They began with a craft table.
The assignment was to build a “family shield” from cardboard, markers, stickers, and colorful paper.
Emma looked at Lorenzo’s blank shield.
“What should yours have?”
“I don’t know.”
“Everybody has something.”
Lorenzo considered the question.
After a moment, he drew a dark blue ocean wave.
Emma tilted her head.
“Do you like swimming?”
“No.”
“Then why water?”
“My father worked on ships.”
“Oh.”
She thought for a moment and added a small gold star beside the wave.
“For your wife and baby,” she said.
Lorenzo stared at the star.
Then he nodded once.
Across the gym, Marco stood near the exit with two security men. He checked his watch repeatedly. His phone vibrated twice.
Lorenzo noticed.
“What is it?” he asked.
Marco approached but kept his voice low.
“Nothing that cannot wait.”
“Then why are you checking your phone?”
Marco paused.
“There has been movement around the estate.”
Sophia’s face appeared in Lorenzo’s mind.
“Explain.”
“A delivery van came through the service gate. It had proper clearance, but the driver’s identity is being verified.”
“Who cleared it?”
“Estate logistics.”
“Whose authorization?”
Marco hesitated.
“Mine.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“Did Sophia receive it?”
“No. She is working in the west wing.”
“Then verify the driver.”
Marco nodded. “Already underway.”
Emma tugged gently on Lorenzo’s sleeve.
“Mr. Lorenzo?”
“Yes?”
“You look like you’re thinking about grown-up problems.”
“I am.”
“You’re supposed to be my daddy until lunch.”
The words should have sounded ridiculous.
Instead, they brought him back to the gymnasium floor, the cardboard shield, the small gold star.
“You’re right,” he said.
Emma smiled.
“Then you have to do the sack race.”
Lorenzo stared at the burlap bags lined up near the far wall.
“I do not.”
“Yes,” Emma said. “You do.”
Ten minutes later, the most feared man in New York was hopping inside a burlap sack while six children screamed encouragement.
He did not win.
He fell halfway through.
Emma laughed so hard she had to sit on the floor.
For a few seconds, Lorenzo laughed too.
Then Marco’s phone rang again.
This time, he stepped away to answer.
Lorenzo watched his old friend’s back stiffen.
And something inside him became alert.
Because Marco Rossi did not look worried.
May you like
He looked prepared.
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