Chapter 5 - The Empty Nursery
When Dante’s black SUV tore through the iron gates of the Moretti estate and screeched to a halt under the portico, the house felt entirely different than it had twenty-four hours ago.
The grand stone manor wasn't just quiet; it was dead.
Dante burst through the double front doors, his coat half-open, his breathing ragged. "Isabella!" he called out, his voice echoing off the high marble ceilings.
No one answered.
He sprinted up the sweeping staircase and rushed down the East Wing corridor toward the newly renovated nursery. The door was wide open.
Inside, the room was pristine, smelling faintly of lavender and fresh white paint. The crib was made, the mobile of silver stars hung motionless over the mattress, and a stack of pastel-wrapped baby gifts sat neatly on the rocking chair.
It was completely untouched. No baby had slept here yet. No mother had rocked an infant in the chair.
"Boss."
Dante spun around. Marco Bianchi stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his face carved out of granite.
"Where is she, Marco?" Dante demanded, stepping forward, his hands trembling slightly. "Where is Isabella and my daughter?"
"They’re not coming back here, Dante," Marco said quietly.
Dante stared at him, uncomprehending. "What do you mean, they're not coming back? This is their home. Send the cars back to the hospital—"
"They went to Isabella’s family estate in Vermont," Marco interrupted, stepping into the room. "Her brother sent a private medical transport at six this morning. Isabella discharged herself against medical advice just so she wouldn't have to look at you."
"She’s my wife!" Dante roared, the frustration and panic finally boiling over into blind anger. "She can't just take my child and run off to Vermont!"
"She didn't run off, Dante. She legally filed for a temporary separation and a restraining order before she walked out of those hospital doors," Marco said, his eyes locking onto Dante’s with unblinking severity. "And for the record... she filed it with the help of Judge Harrison’s office. The same Judge Harrison you spent all evening drinking scotch with at the summit."
Dante staggered backward, hitting the edge of the empty crib. The irony struck him like a physical blow. While he was up in the penthouse suite drinking with the political elite, trading handshakes for power, those exact same men were quietly helping his wife dismantle his life.
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"And that’s not all," Marco added, tossing a thick manila envelope onto the rocking chair. "While you were busy smiling for the cameras with Bianca Ross, someone leaked those photographs to the financial press. The Duca syndicate and the Solanzio family are already using your marital scandal to undermine our shipping contracts in Newark."
The empire he had chosen over his wife was beginning to unravel before the sun had even reached its peak.
