Chapter 4 - The Baby’s Father Returned With a Terrifying Confession—and the Mafia Boss Had to Choose Between Revenge and AbigailNathan Cole was found in Milwaukee.
He did not resist.
He asked to speak to Abigail.
Matteo hated the idea.
Abigail insisted.
They met inside a secure conference room with attorneys and investigators nearby.
Nathan looked older than Abigail remembered.
Tired.
Ashamed.
He stared at her pregnant stomach.
“Is the baby okay?”
Abigail nearly laughed.
“You don’t get to ask that first.”
He lowered his eyes.
“You’re right.”
“Did Richard Sinclair pay you to date me?”
Nathan closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The word hurt more than Abigail expected.
“How long?”
“From the beginning.”
She looked away.
Every birthday.
Every dinner.
Every whispered promise.
A job.
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Find the records Elaine left.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever love me?”
Nathan began crying.
Matteo, standing behind the observation glass, clenched his fists.
Nathan whispered, “Eventually.”
Abigail’s eyes hardened.
“That might be worse.”
“I know.”
“When I got pregnant, why did you leave?”
“Mercer ordered me to.”
“And you obeyed.”
“Yes.”
“You left me alone.”
“I thought that would keep you safe.”
“Don’t make yourself heroic.”
“I’m not.”
Nathan wiped his face.
“I’m a coward.”
For the first time, Abigail agreed with him.
“What does Richard still know?”
Nathan hesitated.
Then looked toward the mirrored glass.
“He has another copy of the Romano ledger.”
Matteo entered.
“Where?”
Nathan stiffened.
“You must be Matteo.”
“Where?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
“Bank?”
“No. Private vault company. Lakeview Depository.”
“Number?”
“614.”
Matteo turned.
Nathan called after him.
“There’s something else.”
Matteo stopped.
“Richard ordered Lorenzo Romano killed.”
Silence.
Matteo slowly turned.
Abigail saw the change in him.
Not rage.
Something colder.
Nathan continued.
“Mercer arranged it. Richard thought Lorenzo had copies of Elaine’s evidence.”
Matteo stepped closer.
“Can you prove it?”
Nathan nodded.
“Mercer recorded everything. Insurance.”
“Where?”
“I can take investigators to it.”
Matteo stared at him.
Abigail knew exactly what he wanted.
Revenge.
Eight years of grief.
His father.
Isabella’s crash.
Abigail’s mother.
Every thread led to Richard Sinclair.
Matteo could make Richard disappear.
Everyone in Chicago knew it.
Abigail walked toward him.
“Matteo.”
He did not look at her.
“Remember the tape.”
His eyes closed.
His father’s voice.
Don’t become the kind of man anger wants you to become.
Matteo opened his eyes.
Then stepped away from Nathan.
“Give everything to the investigators.”
Nathan exhaled.
Matteo looked at him.
“And if you ever approach Abigail or her child without her permission, there will be legal consequences.”
Nathan nodded.
It was not the threat everyone expected from Matteo Romano.
That was the point.
He had chosen.
Not weakness.
Control.
The evidence destroyed Richard Sinclair’s defense.
Mercer agreed to cooperate.
Financial crimes became conspiracy charges.
The investigation into Lorenzo Romano’s death reopened.
Richard’s board removed him.
Donors fled the Sinclair Foundation.
Hospitals and charities filed civil claims seeking restitution.
Vanessa surrendered control of several family trusts and agreed to redirect millions toward the programs her father had defrauded.
For the first time, Abigail believed the nightmare might end.
Then, at thirty-four weeks pregnant, her water broke.
She was standing inside Romano Hospitality reviewing a restitution spreadsheet.
She looked down.
Then at Matteo.
“Matteo.”
He glanced up.
“What?”
“I think we have a problem.”
He saw the floor.
The famously unshakable Matteo Romano went white.
“Oh.”
Abigail stared.
“Oh?”
He grabbed his phone.
“Car.”
“Matteo.”
“Hospital.”
“I know.”
“Doctor.”
“Yes.”
“Isabella!”
“She’s in New York.”
“Plane.”
Abigail began laughing.
“What?”
“You’re panicking.”
“I am not panicking.”
“You just tried to send a private jet to get your sister while I’m in labor.”
“That seems reasonable.”
A contraction hit.
Abigail grabbed his hand.
Every trace of humor vanished.
Matteo drove with her to the hospital.
He stayed.
Through every contraction.
Every frightened moment.
Every time Abigail insisted she could not do it.
“You can,” he whispered.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
Hours later, a tiny cry filled the delivery room.
Abigail began sobbing.
The nurse placed a baby girl against her chest.
Matteo stood beside the bed.
Silent.
Overwhelmed.
Abigail looked at him.
“Would you like to meet her?”
His eyes lifted.
“Me?”
“You’re already here.”
He approached slowly.
The baby opened dark blue eyes.
Matteo smiled.
It was the first completely unguarded expression Abigail had ever seen on his face.
“She’s tiny.”
“That is generally how babies work.”
He laughed.
“What’s her name?”
Abigail looked down.
“Elaine Isabella Foster.”
Matteo’s eyes filled.
“My mother and your sister.”
“Yes.”
He bent and kissed Abigail’s forehead.
“Welcome, Elaine Isabella.”
The baby wrapped tiny fingers around one of his.
And Matteo Romano—the man newspapers feared, rivals avoided, and prosecutors watched—stood motionless because a six-pound baby refused to release his finger.
Two weeks later, Abigail received a letter from Nathan.
She did not open it immediately.
Eventually she did.
He relinquished any immediate claim for custody and agreed to communicate only through attorneys unless Abigail chose otherwise.
He wrote that he would spend the rest of his life regretting what he had done.
Abigail folded the letter.
She did not forgive him.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
But she also refused to let hatred become an inheritance for her daughter.
Matteo found her by the apartment window.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the letter.
“Nathan?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He turned to leave.
“Matteo?”
He stopped.
“Stay.”
He did.
Abigail rested her head against his shoulder.
“I spent so much of my life believing being strong meant needing nobody.”
Matteo looked down at her.
“And now?”
“Now I think maybe strength is choosing carefully who gets to stand beside you.”
He kissed her hair.
“I can work with that.”
She smiled.
“But there’s something you need to understand.”
“What?”
“I’m going back to school.”
“Good.”
“I’m paying for it.”
He sighed.
“Abigail—”
“Matteo.”
“Fine.”
“And I’m keeping my job.”
“You’re very good at it.”
“And nobody gives me special treatment.”
“I never do.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You bought an entire restaurant’s breakfast.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was hungry too.”
She laughed.
Then kissed him.
Outside, Chicago moved beneath them.
Inside, their daughter slept.
And for one fragile moment, everything felt safe.
But the final reckoning was still coming.
May you like
Richard Sinclair’s trial was scheduled for spring.
And Abigail Foster would be the witness who could finally give her mother the voice she had lost.
