Chapter 5 - Victor Moretti Finally Gave Me a Choice
Three days later, federal agents arrested Anthony Rizzo.
No gunfight.
No bodies disappearing.
No whispered revenge.
Victor kept his word.
That mattered.
But it didn't erase everything.
When I was discharged, Victor stood beside the hospital entrance while rain misted over Fifth Avenue.
A black SUV waited at the curb.
I stopped.
“No.”
Victor looked at the car.
“It's transportation.”
“With Carlo driving?”
“Yes.”
“That's a mafia car.”
Carlo lowered his window.
“It's a Cadillac.”
“Stay out of this.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Victor almost smiled.
“Where do you want to go?”
“My apartment.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
No argument.
That worried me more than an argument.
When we reached my building in Hell's Kitchen, Victor stepped onto the sidewalk and stared upward.
The expression on his face was terrifying.
“Don't.”
“The front door doesn't lock.”
“It locks sometimes.”
“Lena.”
“The landlord's fixing it.”
“When?”
“Eventually.”
Victor looked at Carlo.
I snapped my fingers.
“Eyes here.”
Victor turned back.
“You cannot buy the building.”
“I wasn't—”
“You were.”
“I was considering it.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
We climbed four flights.
When I opened my room, Victor stopped.
One bed.
A folding table.
Mini refrigerator.
Secondhand crib still boxed against the wall.
His eyes moved slowly around the room.
I could see anger building.
“Don't.”
“I'm not angry at you.”
“I know.”
“That makes it worse?”
“Yes.”
He stepped inside.
“You lived here while pregnant with my child.”
“I lived here because it was mine.”
He looked at me.
That stopped him.
I continued.
“It wasn't beautiful. It wasn't safe enough. It wasn't comfortable. But every decision in this room was mine.”
Victor nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He looked around.
“You wanted something I never knew how to give you.”
“What?”
“Freedom from me.”
The words hurt.
“I didn't want freedom from you.”
He looked at me.
“I wanted freedom beside you.”
Victor said nothing.
I walked to the window.
“I loved you.”
“Past tense?”
“I don't know.”
He swallowed.
“That hurts.”
“Good.”
His mouth twitched.
“Fair.”
I turned.
“If we try again, everything changes.”
“Name it.”
“No surveillance unless there's an actual threat and I know about it.”
“Agreed.”
“No making decisions about my work.”
“Agreed.”
“No controlling my friends.”
“Agreed.”
“No lying because you think the truth will scare me.”
He hesitated.
“Victor.”
“Agreed.”
“And our daughter doesn't grow up thinking fear equals respect.”
His face became serious.
“Absolutely.”
I studied him.
“That's easy to promise.”
“I know.”
“Keeping it is harder.”
“I know.”
“So I'm not moving back in.”
His face fell slightly.
“I expected that.”
“You did?”
“I had an apartment prepared.”
I glared.
He raised his hands.
“Not purchased.”
“Victor.”
“Leased.”
I kept glaring.
“In your name.”
“Without asking me?”
He winced.
“When you say it like that—”
“There is no other way to say it.”
“Right.”
I started laughing.
I couldn't help it.
Victor stared.
Then he laughed too.
“What?”
“You're terrible at this.”
“At what?”
“Not controlling everything.”
“I'm learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Painfully.”
A knock sounded.
Marisol stood outside carrying grocery bags.
She looked at Victor.
Then at me.
Then back at Victor.
“Oh.”
I sighed.
“Marisol, Victor. Victor, the woman responsible for forcing me into the hospital.”
Victor immediately held out his hand.
“Thank you.”
Marisol ignored it and hugged him.
Victor froze.
“You're welcome.”
She pulled back.
“You're the father?”
“Yes.”
“You rich?”
Victor glanced at me.
“Apparently that's complicated too.”
Marisol pointed at him.
“She was eating crackers for dinner.”
Victor's face hardened.
“Marisol.”
“What? He should know.”
Victor looked at me.
“You told me you ate whatever you could afford.”
“I survived.”
He walked toward the boxed crib.
Then stopped.
“May I buy my daughter a crib?”
I crossed my arms.
“One crib.”
“May I buy her clothes?”
“Reasonable amount.”
“Define reasonable.”
“Normal people reasonable.”
“I don't know what that means.”
Marisol laughed.
“I'll supervise him.”
Victor looked alarmed.
I smiled.
“Perfect.”
That evening, the three of us assembled the crib.
Victor Moretti—who allegedly controlled half the waterfront—could not understand an instruction manual.
“This piece is backward,” I said.
“It isn't.”
“It is.”
“It can't be.”
Marisol pointed.
“It's backward.”
Victor stared at the wooden rail like it had personally betrayed him.
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
Then my daughter kicked.
Victor immediately dropped the screwdriver.
“Was that her?”
“Yes.”
He knelt beside me.
“Strong?”
“Very.”
His relief was immediate.
I watched him place his hand near my stomach, waiting.
He looked up.
“May I?”
I nodded.
And that was when I realized something had changed.
Not because Victor had money.
Not because Rizzo was gone.
Not because my brother had returned.
Because the man who once believed protecting me meant deciding for me had started asking permission.
Maybe that wasn't enough to rebuild everything.
May you like
But it was enough to begin.
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