Will she fight me for custody?
We had an arrangement and a signed contract. But what will that matter if she blasts it to the media that I’m don, the head of the Barone family, a mobster?
* * *
There’s a strangeness between us. A stillness. The calm before the storm.
Olivia is released from the hospital, but Astrid hasn’t been given the all-clear yet. She’s doing well, thriving, but still not gaining enough weight and able to regulate her body temperature.
So, we wait.
I have work to be at, but I’ve taken leave and let Matteo handle office politics and mafia leadership while I’m at my daughter’s bedside. I’ve never counted on him as much as I do now.
Olivia is with me every day, every step of the way. I’ve insisted that she is free, but she doesn’t leave Astrid’s side, pumping and feeding, bonding with my daughter.
And it scares me.
I didn’t agree to co-parent.
Astrid is mine.
But biologically, Olivia is her mother.
I was warned about traditional surrogacy and advised against it that I should instead seek a gestational surrogate who had no legal rights to the child because her egg wouldn’t be used.
But I did what I wanted against advisement. And now I’m stuck facing the consequences of my actions.
It doesn’t help that I’ve slept with Olivia, formed an attachment to the woman who carried my daughter.
Do I want her to leave? No, but I’m also aware of the damage I’ve done, the pain she’s endured at my hand.
“I’ll pack up my things,” Olivia says.
It’s late, and staying at all hours of the night doesn’t help anyone. I’d consider booking a hotel room near the hospital, but Astrid is stable. The doctors assure us she is doing as well as expected, and we just have to give it time.
I take Olivia back to the compound, but I have no real plan. I should be interviewing nannies. Eventually, I’ll be expected to return to work, but the thought is furthest from my mind.
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” I say. My hands are on the steering wheel, tight.
We’ve barely said more than a few words over the past couple of days. Every conversation has been about Astrid.
Eventually, we’re going to have to talk about us. Or whatever it is that exists.
“Staying doesn’t seem like much of an option,” Olivia says. “I’m sure you want your own space and me out of your hair.”
I don’t tell her that the thought of her leaving tears me up inside.
“The house is plenty big,” I say, offering a reasonable excuse for her not to leave.
She exhales a heavy sigh. “I’ll leave when Astrid comes home with you,” Olivia says.
Silence fills the vehicle as we near closer to the compound.
“Is it true?” she asks.
“Is what true?” I want to steer clear of any conversation regarding Luka Caruso and her abduction. But we haven’t talked. The hospital wasn’t the appropriate venue for that conversation.
“You had my husband and son murdered.”