Chapter 3 - THE STORM AT THE DOOR
"Nia! Open the damn door!"
Luca’s voice thundered through the thick oak of my front door, accompanied by heavy, rhythmic pounding that rattled the glass panes of the entryway windows.
Marcus immediately stood up, looking toward the door with a grim expression. "I’ll handle him, Nia. Go stay with the kids."
"No," I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks and hardening my jaw. "This is my house. I’ll face him."
I walked to the front door, unlatched the deadbolt, and swung it open.
Luca stood on my porch under the dim streetlights, his tie loosened, his dark hair messy as if he had been running his hands through it continuously for hours. His charcoal coat was unbuttoned, exposing the rapid, erratic rise and fall of his chest. Behind him, parked crookedly against the curb, was his black Bugatti, its engine still idling.
"Luca," I said coldly, standing firmly in the doorway. "You are making a scene in a quiet neighborhood."
Luca didn't care about the neighborhood. He didn't care about the city. He pushed past me into the foyer, his towering frame instantly occupying the space, his eyes hungrily scanning the hallway as if searching for any sign of our children.
"Where are they?" he rasped, his voice raw and raspy. "Where are my son and daughter, Nia?"
"They are upstairs, sleeping," I lied, stepping into his path to block him from the staircase. "And they are my children, Luca. You relinquished all rights to any future offspring or family claims when you signed our divorce papers seven years ago."
"Don't talk to me about papers!" Luca roared, taking a step toward me, his dark eyes blazing with an unholy mix of anger, guilt, and desperation. "You lied to me! You let me walk away! You let me believe I had no children while my son and daughter were growing up in this city without their father!"
"I lied to you?!" I screamed back, stepping right into his space, my chest pressed against his suit jacket as I stared up into his furious face. "You left me, Luca! You stood in our kitchen, looked me in the eye, and told me you didn't love me anymore! You listened to whispering snakes like the Shaws and decided I was broken! You treated me like garbage for six months before tossing me out!"
Luca flinched as if I had thrown boiling water in his face. The fury in his eyes flickered, replaced by a deep, hollow agony.
"I was a fool," Luca choked out, his shoulders slumping as he looked down at me, his breathing ragged. "I was a blind, arrogant fool, Nia. I hated myself for not being able to fix what was wrong. I thought... I thought leaving you was giving you a chance to be happy without the pressure of my legacy."
"That's a convenient lie you tell yourself to sleep at night," I said, refusing to back down. "You didn't leave to spare me, Luca. You left because your ego couldn't handle the idea of not having an heir. And now you come barging into my home demanding rights to children you didn't want to fight for?"
"I wanted them!" Luca shouted, tears finally breaking free and streaming down his sculpted cheeks. "I wanted them every single day of my life! I wanted your babies, Nia! I wanted us!"
"Then you should have trusted me!" I yelled, my voice breaking as the seven-year-old pain burst through my defenses. "You should have stood by me when everyone was whispering that I was defective! But you didn't! You married Evelyn Shaw!"
The mention of Evelyn’s name caused a heavy, suffocating silence to drop over the foyer.
Marcus stepped forward from the living room, resting a hand on Luca’s arm. "Luca. Calm down. You’re going to terrify the children."
Luca turned his head, realizing for the first time that Marcus was in the house. He looked at Marcus, then at the manila folder sitting on my coffee table, and finally back at me.
"You know," Luca whispered, his eyes wide with realization. "Marcus told you about Dr. Harrison."
"Yes," I said quietly, wiping a tear from my eye. "I know that Evelyn's family destroyed us. But that doesn't change the fact that you let them do it, Luca. You didn't believe in me."
Luca looked toward the top of the staircase. A tiny shadow was visible near the banister.
Leo was standing at the top of the stairs, clutching his stuffed bear, looking down at the tall man crying in our foyer.
Luca froze. His entire body trembled as he looked up at our son. Slowly, deliberately, Luca sank to both knees on the foyer rug, looking up at the seven-year-old boy who carried his blood.
"Leo..." Luca whispered, his hands hovering in the air, terrified that touching him might make him disappear like a dream. "I’m sorry... I'm so sorry, my boy..."
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Leo looked at me, then back at Luca. "Are you the man from the restaurant? Why are you crying?"
Luca buried his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking uncontrollably as loud, agonized sobs tore from his chest. The most powerful man in Chicago was broken on my foyer floor, weeping for the seven years he had lost.
