He saysquietlike it’s proof he’s changed. It’s not proof. It’s strategy.
“And you’re sure the boy is yours?”
Marco’s mouth tightens. “DNA will prove it.”
“Will,” I echo. “So you haven’t done it yet.”
He hesitates. A fraction too long. “Not yet. But I will.” And then he says it, like it’s the part meant to impress me. “I want custody.”
Custody. The word tastes like headlines. Like courtrooms. Like cameras. Like blood in water.
“You want custody,” I say slowly, “of a child you have not confirmed is yours.”
Marco’s eyes burn. “I want to do right by him.”
Do right.A phrase from therapy. A phrase meant to sound like growth. But there’s something underneath it. A possessive edge he can’t fully sand down.
“Why now?”
He swallows. “Because I’m getting better. Because I don’t want to be who I was.” A beat. “And because he’s mine.”
Mine. NotI love him.NotI want to know him.
Mine.Bloodline language. Ownership language.
My chest flips with something I don’t like. Hope.
Hope is the most expensive drug in my family.
Enzo clears his throat softly, like he’s asking permission to enter the moment. “I brought the paperwork,” he says.
Marco’s gaze flicks to him, then back to me. Enzo slides a folder onto the table. Too ready. Too smooth.
He knew?
This has been assembled. Planned. Fed to Marco like a narrative he can hold in his hands.
Marco flips it open, scans quickly. He looks up at me with the pen already in his fingers.
“I just need to sign,” he says. “Start the process. Then the test.”
I should ask the mother’s name. I should ask where she is. I should ask how he found her, what he promised, what he threatened, what he offered.
I don’t.
Because if this is real, and I crush it with interrogation, Marco will do what he always does when cornered. Lash out, run, burn the bridge just to prove he can.
And because there is a part of me that wants this to be true. A child could anchor him. A child could force him to become someone else. A child could quiet the council. A child could turn the Mancini future into something other than knives.
I keep my face smooth. “You will have counsel.”
Marco rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t explode. Progress.
Enzo speaks like silk. “I’ve arranged it. Discreet.”
Of course he has.
I look at Marco. “If this becomes public, it will be handled properly. Quietly.”
