Chapter 9: The Weight of What She Signed
Leo came home at noon.
Dr.
Rossi carried him in, handed him to Alessio in the front hall, and gave a short list of instructions in a low voice.
No lasting damage.
Airway clear.
Watch for any unusual lethargy in the next twenty-four hours.
Call immediately if his color changed.
Alessio held Leo against his chest and didn't speak.
Dr.
Rossi nodded to me on his way out.
That was all.
I went upstairs to the nursery.
The room was still locked — Alessio had kept the key — but he had sent one of his men in earlier to right the bottle warmer, remove the overturned items, and air the room.
The crib had fresh bedding.
The Persian rug was gone.
The changing table had been wiped down.
The camera above the door still had its green light.
I stood under it for a moment.
Then I went back downstairs.
Alessio was in the sitting room — not the east corridor room where Giada had been held, but the larger one at the front of the house, with the tall windows and the pale morning light.
He was in the armchair with Leo on his chest, one large hand spread across the baby's back.
Leo was asleep.
I sat across from them and said nothing for a while.
"The DA's office called while Rossi was here," Alessio said quietly.
"They want a formal statement.
From me, from Mrs.
Ferrante, and from you."
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning.
They're sending someone here — not asking us to come in.
A courtesy." A pause.
"Or a precaution.
I'm not sure which."
"Either way it's good."
"Giada is in her room.
Sutter told her not to leave the house voluntarily — it would look worse." He looked down at Leo.
"She agreed.
Which means she still thinks she can manage this."
"Can she?"
"No." He said it without hesitation.
"Carver's documentation.
Mrs.
Ferrante's statement.
The recording.
The compound match." He paused.
"And you."
"I'm a witness," I said.
"Not evidence."
"You're the most credible person in this house." He looked up.
"You had no reason to be here except the job.
You had no history with this family.
You had no stake in any of it."
"I had Leo."
"Yes." He looked back down.
"You had Leo."
The room was quiet for a while.
Leo made a small sound in his sleep and didn't wake.
"Tell me about Elena," I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
"She was twenty-three," he said.
"I was thirty-eight.
She came to work for a company I had an interest in.
She was very young and I was very certain about things I had no right to be certain about." He paused.
"When she became pregnant, I wanted the child.
She was less sure.
My lawyers made sure that her uncertainty became a legal document."
"And now?"
"And now she's twenty-seven and she has a lawyer of her own and she's been corresponding with a family court judge in Cook County for the past six weeks." He said it evenly.
"My own lawyer told me this morning."
"What does she want?"
"Access.
Not full custody — she's not asking for that.
She wants to be part of his life." He looked at Leo.
"She wants to know him."
"What do you want?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"I want him safe," he said.
"I want him to grow up without someone in his own family calculating what he's worth." He paused.
"Whether Elena is part of that — I don't know yet.
But I know that the document she signed was not fair.
And I know that Leo is going to ask questions someday."
"He will," I said.
"So." He shifted slightly, careful not to wake Leo.
"I've asked my lawyer to reach out to Elena's representation.
To discuss what access might look like.
Without a court fight."
I looked at him.
"That's the right thing to do," I said.
"It's the thing I should have done four months ago." He paused.
"Or four years ago, before any of this."
Leo stirred.
His small hand opened and closed against Alessio's shirt.
"He looks like her," Alessio said quietly.
"Elena.
Around the eyes."
He said it simply, without grief or complication.
Just a fact he had been carrying and had finally put down somewhere.
"What happens to Giada?" I said.
"The DA will decide what they can charge.
Carver's documentation gives them the physical evidence.
Mrs.
Ferrante's statement gives them premeditation.
The recording—" He stopped.
"The recording gives them her own words."
"And Sutter?"
"Sutter is a lawyer who knew his client was planning something and said nothing.
That's a different conversation for a different office." He looked at me.
"But it will happen."
I nodded.
"And after all of it," I said, "what does this house look like?"
He thought about that.
"Smaller," he said.
May you like
"Quieter." He looked at Leo.
"Better."
