Chapter 7 - Learning to Be a Father
The transformation of Luca Moretti over the next three months was something no one in Chicago’s corporate world could have predicted.
The man who used to work eighty-hour weeks and command global mergers was suddenly turning down international summits to attend five-year-old soccer games in Lincoln Park.
At first, the sight was hilarious. Luca would arrive at the community sports field in a three-piece suit, custom leather shoes, carrying two toddler-sized water bottles and a fold-out lawn chair. By the second week, he had traded the suits for casual jeans, polo shirts, and sneakers, sitting in the grass with dirt on his knees while cheering louder than any other parent on the sidelines.
"Go, Leo! Kick it to Maya!" Luca shouted one bright Saturday morning, cupping his hands around his mouth.
Leo kicked the ball straight into the tiny net, scoring a goal. He immediately turned around, raised his arms in the air, and looked straight at Luca.
"Did you see that, Daddy?!" Leo yelled.
Luca froze. The word hung in the crisp morning air like a golden ribbon. It was the first time Leo had called him 'Daddy'.
Luca’s breath hitched. He looked over at me, sitting beside him on the blanket. His eyes were shining with pure, unadulterated joy. He stood up, ran onto the field after the referee blew the whistle, and scooped Leo up into a tight hug, spinning him around while the little boy giggled wildly.
"I saw it, son!" Luca choked out, kissing Leo’s forehead. "It was the best goal I’ve ever seen in my life!"
Later that evening, Luca came over to my brownstone for dinner. He insisted on making dinner himself—a promise he had made to prove he could contribute to the household.
The kitchen was an absolute disaster zone. Flour covered the granite countertops, marinara sauce splattered against the backsplash, and Luca was standing near the stove with a smudge of tomato paste on his cheek, looking frantically at a recipe book on his tablet.
I leaned against the doorway, holding a glass of red wine, chuckling softly. "Need some help, Mr. Billionaire Chef?"
Luca turned around, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, looking utterly defeated by a pot of pasta. "I can run a company worth ten billion dollars, Nia, but this homemade gnocchi is trying to destroy my sanity."
I walked over, taking the wooden spoon from his hand and turning down the heat on the stove. "You're boiling it too hard, Luca. It needs a gentle touch."
"Like everything else in this house," Luca murmured softly.
He stepped up behind me, his hands resting gently on my waist. The warmth of his body pressed against my back, sending a shiver of familiar electricity down my spine. It was the first time he had been this close to me in a non-formal setting in six years.
"Nia," he whispered into my hair, his voice rich and low. "Thank you."
"For what?" I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the bubbling pasta sauce, though my heart was racing.
"For giving me a second chance," Luca said quietly, turning me around gently so I had to look into his eyes. "For letting me experience what real happiness feels like. I spent six years building an empire, but I was living in a graveyard until I saw you and the kids in that restaurant."
"It wasn't easy letting you back in, Luca," I admitted, looking up at his handsome face. "I was terrified you would hurt us again."
"I would cut off my own arm before I ever let harm come to you or our children," Luca vowed fiercely. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "I love you, Nia. I never stopped loving you. Not even when I was stupid enough to let you go."
My breath caught in my throat. The guard rails around my heart, built out of six years of protective isolation, finally crumbled away. I reached up, my hand cup-ping his sharp jaw, feeling the light stubble beneath my fingers.
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"I loved you too, Luca," I whispered back. "I always did."
Luca gasped, his lips closing the distance between us in a deep, passionate, and desperate kiss that tasted of sweet reunion and long-awaited forgiveness.
