“Simple,” he says. “You show up. You dress appropriately. You smile. You stand on my arm. You let people see we’re… stable.”
Stable.
The word tastes like bile.
“Marco,” I say slowly, “I’m not doing that.”
His voice drops. “You will.”
A beat.
“Or what?” I ask, even though my body already knows.
His answer is almost gentle.
“Or I tell the judge you’re vindictive.” He pauses like he’s savoring it. “Erratic. That you refuse to co-parent. That you’re using my child to punish me.”
My stomach twists.
He continues. “I’ll say you’re unstable. That you’re turning him against me. Alienation. You know that word, right? Judges hate it.”
My skin prickles. And I can hear Enzo in the background of his words like a ghost:Optics matter here.
“You can’t force me to go to a party.”
Marco’s smile is audible. “No. I can’t.”
He lets that settle. Then he adds, lightly, “But I can make you regret refusing.”
My throat goes tight. “Nico is not a prop,” I manage.
“He’s a Mancini,” Marco snaps, the mask slipping. Then he steadies himself with a breath like rehab taught him. “And you’re going to stop acting like you’re above us. You’ll be ready,” he says. “I’ll have a car pick you up. Eight sharp. Don’t be late.”
“I’m not?—”
The line clicks dead. I stare at my phone. It feels heavier than it should. Like a weapon in my hand.
Nico whispers, “Mommy?”
I look up too fast. My face softens automatically. “I’m okay, baby.”
He doesn’t believe me. He’s three, and he already knows the difference between a truth and a lie by the shape of your mouth. He touches his ear again, thinking.
“Was that… that man?” he asks.
My heart stutters. “That man” is his name now. The man who showed up and didn’t look at him. The man who sat on his phone. The man who is trying to steal him with paperwork.
“Yes,” I say. “That was him.”
Nico frowns. “I don’t like him.”
Something breaks open in my chest. Quiet. Sharp.
“I know,” I whisper. “You don’t have to.”
He nods like he’s relieved I didn’t correct him. Then he returns to his dinosaurs, lining them up again like order can keep the noise out.
I sit there for one more second. Then I call my lawyer. He answers with the same exhausted cheer he always uses, like he’s trying to convince himself he isn’t drowning, too.
