Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Chicago
The rain began to fall in heavy, rhythmic sheets as my crossover pulled up to our brownstone in Lincoln Park. I carried Maya upstairs while Leo marched ahead, clutching his drawing of a dinosaur.
After tucking them into bed, reading two storybooks, and assuring them that the "strange man at the restaurant" was just someone Mommy used to work with, I walked down to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa.
My phone on the coffee table began to vibrate.
It was an unknown number, but I knew who it was. Then came a text message:
Nia. I know you’re living in Lincoln Park. I know you run Carter Design Studio. I didn't come looking for you, but now that I’ve seen them, I will not stop until you talk to me. I’m outside.
I rushed to the front window, parting the sheer white curtains just enough to look down at the tree-lined street.
Parked directly beneath a streetlamp was a sleek, black Maybach. The engine was idling quietly, dark exhaust curling into the cool night air. Standing beside the rear door, completely ignoring the rain soaking through his bespoke suit, was Luca.
He was staring up at my second-floor window.
My blood ran cold, but a fiery rage quickly replaced the fear. I grabbed my jacket, walked down the stairs, and opened the front door before he could step onto my porch.
"Get inside before my neighbors call the police," I hissed, stepping aside.
Luca moved past me into the warm entryway. Rainwater dripped from his dark hair onto the hardwood floor, but he didn't seem to notice. The moment the door clicked shut, he turned to face me, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
"Seven months," Luca whispered, his voice cracking. "I did the math in the car, Nia. Seven months after our divorce was finalized, you gave birth to twins in a private clinic in Evanston. You were pregnant when I signed those papers."
"I was," I admitted coldly, folding my arms across my chest like a shield.
Luca stumbled back half a step, hitting his back against the wall. A low, choked sound escaped his throat. He covered his face with both hands, his shoulders heaving once, twice, as if he were fighting off a physical blow.
"My God," he choked out, dropping his hands to reveal a face twisted in agonizing regret. "They are mine. Leo and Maya... they’re my children."
"They are my children, Luca," I corrected him sharply. "You made your choice six years ago. You decided I wasn't worth fighting for. You decided that because I couldn't give you an heir on your timetable, our marriage was broken."
"I was an idiot!" Luca shouted, his voice echoing in the hallway before he caught himself and lowered it to a fierce, desperate whisper. "I was an arrogant, blind idiot! I thought... I thought you were keeping things from me. I thought you didn't want a family with me! People were talking, Nia! Consultants, doctors—"
"People?" I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Who, Luca? Your high-society friends? Your mother? Or was it Evelyn Shaw, who happened to slip into your bed six months after I walked out the door?"
Luca went rigid. "Evelyn had nothing to do with—"
"I don't care about Evelyn!" I stepped toward him, towering in my fury despite being a foot shorter than him. "When I realized I was pregnant, three weeks after you told me you didn't love me anymore, I picked up the phone to call you. Do you know what I saw on the news that morning, Luca? A picture of you at a gala in New York, smiling with Evelyn Shaw, looking like the happiest man alive."
Luca looked as if I had driven a dagger straight into his chest.
"I decided right then," I continued, tears finally burning my eyes, "that my children would never grow up in a world where their father’s love was conditional. They would never wonder if they were 'enough' for the great Luca Moretti. So I raised them alone. And I did a damn good job."
Luca took a slow, agonizing breath, stepping closer to me until I could smell the familiar rain and cedar scent of his cologne.
"You had every right to hate me, Nia," he said softly, tears glistening in his dark eyes. "You had every right to leave and never look back. But they are my blood. They have my eyes. And as God is my witness, I will not let another day go by without being their father."
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"You think you can just buy your way into their lives?" I asked, glaring at him. "You think a billionaire's last name makes up for six years of absence?"
"No," Luca said, bowing his head in total humility—a sight I had never witnessed in all our years together. "I don't think it makes up for anything. But I will spend every dollar I own and every breath I have left proving to you and to them that I am worthy of being in their lives."
