"She's probably complaining already. 'Papa, stop talking, I'm trying to sleep.'"
"Or she's saying 'Tell me more, Papa. I love you.'"
Another kick, strong enough to see from the outside—a small bump rippling across Paola's stomach.
"Did you see that?" I asked, amazed.
"I saw it. She's getting stronger every day."
I stayed like that, face pressed to Paola's belly, hands cradling the bump, talking to my daughter. Telling her about the world she'd be born into. The family waiting for her. How much we already loved her.
And Lucia kicked back, every time, like she was part of the conversation.
This was real. My daughter was real.
And in four and a half months, I'd meet her.
The request came through Giulio three days later.
"Matteo wants to see you. He's been working with a prison psychologist. Says he has things he needs to say."
Matteo. My former financial operations chief. The man who'd betrayed us to Viktor, framed Piero, nearly destroyed everything.
He'd been in federal custody for four months, awaiting trial. Facing decades in prison.
"What does he want?" I asked.
"To apologize, apparently. To make amends."
"Amends." The word tasted bitter. "He can't undo what he did."
"No. But he's asking anyway." I looked at Paola, who'd been listening from the couch. "What do you think?"
"I think people deserve chances to be better. Even when they don't deserve forgiveness."
’"He framed Piero. Fed information to Viktor. Endangered you and Lucia."
"I know. And you don't have to forgive him. But maybe listening is enough."
She was too good. Too willing to see redemption where I only saw betrayal.
But she was also right.
"Set it up," I told Giulio. "Tomorrow. Federal holding facility. One hour."
The Metropolitan Correctional Center in Lower Manhattan was exactly as grim as expected. Gray walls. Armed guards. The smell of industrial cleaner trying to mask decades of human misery.
They brought Matteo to a private visiting room—small table, two chairs, guard outside the door.
He looked terrible. Thinner. Older. The expensive suits were replaced with an orange jumpsuit. But his eyes—
His eyes showed genuine remorse.
"Cesare. Thank you for coming."
I sat across from him, said nothing.
Matteo took a breath. "I don't expect forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But I needed to tell you—I'm sorry. For everything. The betrayal. The lies. Framing Piero. All of it."
