Chapter 4
Clara
Vincenzo was sitting by the window near the back. At the sound of our voices, his head snapped up, his eyes widening in pure shock.
"What are you doing here?"
His obvious confusion made me stop. A cold knot formed in my stomach.
Leo had been at this prep school for six months, and Vincenzo clearly had no idea this was his classroom.
But Leo was too thrilled to pick up on his father's tone. He practically ran to the desk. "Papa, you actually—"
Vincenzo's brow furrowed angrily. "What did you just call me?"
Leo's face fell, but he quickly caught himself. "Sir. You're in the wrong seat. Mine is up front."
He still looked at Vincenzo with desperate joy. Against all odds, his father had actually shown up.
But reality hit a second later. Vincenzo didn't even look at him.
"I'm not in the wrong seat," Vincenzo said flatly. "This is exactly where I'm supposed to be."
Leo blinked, confused. Before he could ask why, a small boy shoved roughly past him.
"Move! That's my dad!"
Maternal instinct kicked in. I lunged forward, pulling Leo against me.
Vincenzo jumped to his feet, too. But instead of checking on his own flesh and blood, he grabbed the other boy and tucked him protectively behind his legs. Then, he finally met my gaze.
He completely froze.
"Matteo didn't mean to push," Vincenzo said, his voice stiff. "I apologize."
Leo and I just stared at him. The fierce protection. The instinctive care. It was everything Leo had begged for his entire life, handed freely to a stranger.
"Who is he?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.
Vincenzo shifted. I caught a flash of actual guilt in his eyes. "A friend's kid."
"Right," I muttered.
I didn't need further explanation. This was the boy from the Instagram story. The boy Vincenzo had actually come to see.
Right on cue, Isabella walked into the classroom holding two bottles of water. She stopped short, blinking in surprise.
"Clara? You have a kid in this grade, too?" She smiled warmly, then glanced around the room. "Is Leo's dad here?"
I stared straight at Vincenzo. He immediately looked at the floor, completely dodging my gaze. The ruthless mafia boss was suddenly terrified I was going to expose him.
The truth finally hit me. The night he came home and hugged Leo... he hadn't been hugging his son. He was just riding the high of getting Isabella back. Any affection he gave us was just leftovers meant for her.
My grip on Leo's hand tightened. I opened my mouth to tell Isabella exactly who Leo's father was, but a small voice beat me to it.
"My dad is out of the country," Leo said evenly. "He's really busy with work, so we didn't want to bother him."
Isabella gave him a sympathetic sigh. Vincenzo looked absolutely stunned.
I looked down in disbelief. Leo's eyes were red-rimmed and watery, but he stared right at his father and forced a heartbreaking, polite smile.
"Let's go to our seats, Mama," he said.
My throat tightened. I turned to walk away, but Vincenzo grabbed my arm.
"What did he just say?" Vincenzo demanded in a low whisper. He stared at Leo's back with a sudden flash of panic. The son who had always worshipped him had just publicly disowned him
I let out a bitter, quiet laugh. "Nothing, Mr. Marchesi. The conference is starting."
I pulled my arm away and led Leo to the front row. For the rest of the hour, I felt Vincenzo staring at my back. But no amount of staring could fix a dead marriage.
The presentation began. For the first time, I prayed the teacher would speak louder. Anything to drown out the hushed, happy whispers of the "family of three" sitting a few rows behind us.
Halfway through, Mr. Davis beamed as he announced Leo as the new class president, inviting him up to accept the certificate.
Leo refused.
He wouldn't go to the front. He wouldn't speak. I knew exactly why. He couldn't stand up on that stage and look out at the audience, only to see his father sitting proudly beside another man's son.
As soon as the bell rang, I took Leo straight to the administration office. It took exactly ten minutes to sign the withdrawal papers. He wasn't coming back here on Monday. He was never coming back.
When we walked out to the parking lot, Vincenzo was leaning against his SUV. He was holding a huge swirl of blue cotton candy.
"What took you so long?" Vincenzo asked. He walked over and handed the candy to Leo. "Come on. Let's go home."
Let's go home.
For seven years, that was all I had ever wanted to hear. Now, it just made my stomach turn.
Leo slowly reached out and took the cotton candy. For a second, a real smile crossed his face.
I felt my heart soften for my boy. I was just about to tell him to get in the car, when Vincenzo spoke again.
"Leo," Vincenzo said, his voice dropping into the cold, authoritative tone. "Matteo is a transfer student. He didn't get a chance to run for any roles. Tell your teacher on Monday that you're stepping down. Give the class president title to Matteo. Be a team player."
The air instantly froze.
He wasn't acting like a father. He was a Don, taking territory from an unwanted subordinate to give it to someone he actually loved.
A suffocating silence fell over us. In Vincenzo's world, every gift had a price tag. Even a damn stick of cotton candy.
"Okay, Sir," Leo said quietly. His eyes were bright red, but he obediently took a bite of the sugar. He had accepted the buyout.
Vincenzo's expression relaxed, satisfied that his order had been followed. He reached out to pat Leo on the head—but his cell phone rang.
It was Isabella.
"Vince," her frantic voice bled through the speaker. "Matteo threw up. He's running a fever. Can you come help us?"
Vincenzo went on high alert instantly. "I'm on my way."
He turned his back on us and pulled open his SUV door.
Right as he went to slam it shut, Leo suddenly yelled out.
"Papa!"
Vincenzo froze. He looked back at his son's tear-filled eyes. For once, he didn't look annoyed by the word.
He hesitated for a long second. Finally, he gave a quick nod. "Get home safe."
He didn't make Leo correct the title.
But he also had no idea it was the absolute last time his son would ever call him that.
That night, we went back to the empty estate.
We packed our lives into two suitcases. We booked the red-eye flights. And for the first time in seven years, I didn't leave a single porch light on for him.
Strike three. You're out.
The next morning, Leo and I were standing at the international departure gate at JFK.
Right before the flight attendant instructed us to switch our phones to airplane mode, I attached a signed PDF to a text message and hit send to Vincenzo.
[The divorce agreement is attached. Don't look for us.]
Ten seconds passed in total silence.
Then, my screen exploded with incoming calls and texts.
[Clara, what the fuck is this?]
[Where are you?]
[Answer the goddamn phone, Clara!]
