Chapter 14 - The Night He Let Her Walk Away Again
Nico called me before the news reached the internet.
“There was an incident.”
Those words once would have ruined my entire day.
This time I sat at my desk.
“What kind?”
“A window was broken.”
“That’s it?”
“A message mentioned you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did it say?”
He told me.
I closed my eyes.
“Rallo?”
“Probably.”
“What are you doing?”
“Police report.”
I waited.
“And?”
“Security footage.”
“And?”
“Insurance claim.”
I almost laughed.
“Nico Moretti is filing an insurance claim?”
“Mocking my personal development seems unnecessary.”
I smiled despite the fear.
“You’re not going after him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he wants that.”
Nico’s voice hardened.
“He wants proof I’m still Carlo’s son.”
Something in me relaxed.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“You need temporary security.”
“Nico—”
“Ask Claire.”
“I don’t need Claire to make every decision.”
“Fine. Ask Evelyn.”
I sighed.
“Visible?”
“No.”
“Two people maximum.”
“Yes.”
“For one week.”
“We reassess after one week.”
“Nico.”
“One week.”
“Fine.”
He exhaled.
Negotiation.
Not command.
That evening, I went to his new house for the first time.
The golden retriever Arthur had joked about truly did live two doors away.
It barked from behind a fence as I walked up.
Nico opened the door.
“No gate.”
“No.”
“No guard station.”
“Security is inside.”
“Normal mailbox.”
“I’m particularly proud of that.”
I laughed.
The house surprised me.
Warm wood floors.
Books.
Not enough furniture.
Photographs.
One of Nico with Arthur years ago.
Another of his mother.
I stopped.
“You found her?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
Nico looked at the photograph.
“I don’t know.”
That honesty again.
We cooked.
Talked.
Then his phone rang.
Rallo.
Nico stared at the screen.
“Answer,” I said.
He did.
Rallo’s voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“You’ve become difficult to reach.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“We’re talking.”
“Face-to-face.”
“No.”
Rallo laughed.
“Your father never hid behind lawyers.”
“My father died believing people feared him enough to love him.”
Silence.
Nico continued.
“I’m not interested.”
“You think the woman respects this version of you?”
Nico’s eyes moved toward me.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“She made you weak.”
“No.”
His answer was calm.
“She made me notice I already was.”
Rallo hung up.
I stared.
“What?”
“That was almost emotionally intelligent.”
“Don’t tell Dr. Greene. He’ll raise his rates.”
I smiled.
Later we sat outside on the back steps.
Cold air.
Quiet street.
No skyline.
No penthouse.
I leaned against Nico’s shoulder.
He froze slightly.
Then relaxed.
“I missed this,” I whispered.
“So did I.”
“Not the house.”
“I know.”
“You.”
His breath caught.
For a while, we stayed that way.
Then my phone rang.
Claire.
I answered.
Her voice was urgent.
“Norah, Rallo’s been arrested.”
“What?”
Nico sat straighter.
“Police picked him up after he threatened a former Moretti employee.”
“Good.”
“There’s more.”
I put the phone on speaker.
“Investigators recovered messages from his phone,” Claire said. “Several reference you.”
Nico’s face hardened.
“What kind of references?”
“Surveillance. Your apartment. Work. Mr. Moretti’s house.”
My skin went cold.
“They were watching us?”
“Yes.”
Claire continued.
“Rallo appears to have planned an intimidation campaign. No evidence he intended physical harm, but you should take precautions.”
After the call ended, Nico stood.
“You’re staying here.”
Old words.
Old tone.
My body reacted instantly.
“Nico.”
He stopped.
I could see realization hit.
“Sorry.”
The room became painfully quiet.
He tried again.
“Would you consider staying here tonight?”
“I want to go home.”
“Norah—”
“My apartment.”
“They watched it.”
“They watched this house too.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m here.”
There it was.
The old equation.
Nico equals safety.
Norah equals person being protected.
I stood.
“I’m going home.”
Fear flashed across his face.
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“You don’t have to.”
He stared at me.
For one moment, I saw the man from the penthouse.
The one who would have called six men.
Blocked the door.
Decided for me.
His hands tightened.
Then slowly relaxed.
“I’ll have someone drive you.”
“I can take a cab.”
“Please.”
The please mattered.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
At the front door, Nico handed me my coat.
He looked miserable.
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“Then why let me go?”
His eyes held mine.
“Because fear doesn’t turn you into property.”
My throat closed.
Nico opened the door.
Cold air rushed in.
I stepped outside.
Then turned.
“I love you.”
His expression broke.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“I love you too.”
I left.
Again.
But this time he did not send men to bring me back.
Did not call twenty times.
Did not punish me with silence.
At 11:14, he texted once.
Let me know when you’re safely inside.
I replied.
Inside. Goodnight.
He answered.
Goodnight.
That night, lying in my own bed, I finally understood the difference between the two times I had walked away from Nico.
The first time, I left because staying meant losing myself.
The second time, I left knowing he could let me go without making me prove I loved him.
And strangely, that freedom made returning possible.
But before we could decide what returning actually meant, Nico received an unexpected letter.
No threats.
No Rallo.
No Salerno.
The return address was from Arizona.
The sender’s name was Elena Moretti.
His mother.
May you like
And after eighteen years of silence, she was asking to see her son.
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