Chapter 3 - What His Money Could Not Buy
Dante discovered Emma’s absence everywhere.
In the empty space beside the bathroom sink.
In the unopened jar of pickles on the refrigerator shelf.
In the nursery, where a tiny sweater lay across a rocking chair he had chosen because Emma said it looked comfortable.
He had furnished rooms larger than most people’s homes without considering the meaning of an empty chair.
Now he could not look at that one.
Bianca had left the estate before dawn.
When he confronted her about the shove, she stared at him as though he had broken an agreement.
“She slapped me.”
“You pushed her.”
“She’s turning you against me.”
Dante looked at the faint mark on Bianca’s cheek.
Then he remembered Emma’s hand moving to her stomach.
“Leave.”
Bianca’s expression sharpened.
“You invited me into that house.”
He had no answer.
It was the most damning thing she said.
By the following afternoon, Dante had assembled the family attorney, a public relations adviser, and Marco in his study.
The adviser recommended a statement about a marital misunderstanding.
Marco stood up.
“No.”
Dante stared at him.
The security chief had worked for him for seventeen years. He had never interrupted a meeting.
“It happened in front of us,” Marco said. “You don’t get to call it a misunderstanding because the truth sounds worse.”
The attorney closed his notebook.
Dante dismissed everyone except Marco.
“Did you give her the recording?”
“I secured it. My attorney has contacted hers.”
“You work for me.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“That was the problem Thursday night.”
For a long moment, Dante looked capable of becoming the man Chicago feared.
Then his gaze shifted toward the framed photograph on his desk.
Emma at twenty-four, laughing into the wind beside Lake Michigan.
He sat down.
“Did she ask about me?”
Marco did not soften the answer.
“No.”
Across the city, Emma was learning the shape of Nora’s spare bedroom.
The dresser drawer stuck. A bus rattled beneath the windows at six every morning. The radiator hissed like an irritated cat.
She loved all three things.
Nobody entered without knocking.
Nobody asked her to smile through humiliation.
Nobody mistook an expensive roof for permission to hurt her.
Still, freedom frightened her in practical ways.
Her personal account held less than she expected. She had stopped working full time six years earlier after Dante insisted she needed less stress during fertility treatment. Small freelance projects had gradually disappeared beneath appointments, grief, and the endless demands of being his wife.
Now she examined her old architectural portfolio on Nora’s kitchen table.
Her last completed residential project was four years old.
“I used to be good,” she murmured.
Nora looked up from chopping carrots.
“You’re talking about yourself like you’re dead.”
Emma opened another folder.
A renovation drawing filled the screen.
Clean lines. Generous windows. A central courtyard designed to catch morning light.
She remembered every decision.
For the first time that week, her thoughts traveled somewhere other than the dining room.
Two days later, the protection hearing began.
Emma wore a navy dress and flat shoes.
Dante waited outside the courtroom with his attorney. When he saw her, he rose automatically.
She stopped.
Leah stepped between them.
“Communication through counsel.”
“I only wanted to ask if she’s comfortable.”
Emma looked at him.
“You could have asked that at dinner.”
He sat.
Inside, Leah presented the medical documentation, Emma’s account, Lucia’s statement, and the preserved recording. The footage showed the shove. It also showed what happened afterward without needing anyone to interpret it.
Emma kept her eyes on the table.
She had lived those seconds once.
Watching them again was not necessary to know the truth.
The judge imposed temporary restrictions and scheduled further proceedings. Decisions about the baby would be addressed through the appropriate process after his birth.
Outside, reporters had gathered.
Someone had leaked the hearing.
A microphone appeared near Emma’s shoulder.
“Mrs. Romano, are you trying to take your husband’s fortune?”
Her stomach tightened.
Then another question came.
“Will you forgive him?”
Emma stopped walking.
She had not planned to speak.
But she was suddenly tired of hearing everyone ask what she intended to give Dante.
Money.
Mercy.
Another chance.
She looked toward the cameras.
“My child and I deserve to be safe,” she said. “That is what I’m asking for.”
Leah guided her toward the car.
Behind them, Dante emerged from the courthouse.
May you like
For once, every camera turned toward him.
And Emma did not look back to see what he would say.
