Chapter 4 - A Delicate Truce
Over the next three days, the penthouse became a sanctuary suspended in a storm. I did not leave. I ordered my meetings to be held via encrypted satellite links from my study, delegating the physical hunt for Matteo to Marco while I remained the last line of defense for my family.
Living together again was a painful dance of memories and unspoken regrets. We were two people who had loved each other fiercely, torn apart by violence and secrets, now forced to navigate the fragile routine of caring for an infant.
I learned how to hold Willa without looking like I was holding an unexploded bomb. I learned that she liked to be bounced near the window where the afternoon sun warmed the glass. I learned how to warm a bottle to the exact temperature, and how to burp her without waking her up.
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At 2:00 AM on the fourth night, I woke up to the quiet sound of soft weeping from the nursery. I walked in, wearing grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, and found Sloan sitting on the glider chair, her head in her hands while Willa slept peacefully in her bassinet.
“Sloan?” I gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
