Chapter 19
Dinner was a disaster. Nico clung to Luc, refusing to sit with anyone else, his small arms wrapped tightly around his father’s neck as though letting go would make him vanish. Guilia’s patience was wearing thin.
“Nico, come say hello to everyone!” she ordered, but Nico buried his face deeper into Luc’s shoulder, refusing to even look at her.
“NICO!” Guilia’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and impatient. Luc felt the tension rising in his chest.
“Maa, let him be!” Luc’s voice was cold, a warning. He had had enough of this night. Enough of watching his son be judged, of hearing the whispers behind his back about Amber, about Nico.
But the real blow came during dinner.
As they sat down, Nico still refusing to leave his father’s side, Guilia started again. “Really, Luca, his *puttana* mother has spoiled him rotten. He doesn’t listen to anyone, throws tantrums like a wild animal, and you—you let him wrap you around his little finger! You’re doing him no favors, Luca.”
The words hit like daggers, each one slicing deeper. Luc fought the urge to explode, to shout at her to stop, but his anger was silenced by years of learned restraint.
Mrs. Forentino, Carlotta’s mother, looked at Nico with disdain, her lips curling in disgust. “A word of advice, Luca. Children need boundaries. Letting them rule the household is a mistake. You should put a stop to this immediately.”
Luc felt like he was drowning. His son was being torn apart in front of him, judged, humiliated—and there was nothing he could do.
The atmosphere at the dinner table was suffocating. The clink of silverware, the quiet murmurs of conversation—it all felt distant, like white noise in the background of Luca’s mounting despair. He sighed heavily, the weight of the moment crushing him as he muttered, “He’s just feeling down today.”
Mrs. Forentino wasn’t satisfied with his explanation. Her lips tightened, her eyes hard and judgmental. “But that shouldn’t excuse his behavior to be rude and do as he pleases, does it?” Her voice was cold, clipped with authority. The entire room seemed to fall silent, every word hanging in the air like an accusation.
Carlotta, always the peacemaker, smiled softly, but it only served to irritate Luca more. “Maybe the housekeeper could take him for a while,” she suggested, her voice sweet and calm. “We can finish dinner in peace.”
The suggestion, though seemingly practical, made Luca's stomach churn. Sending Nico away, hiding him from the very people who should have understood his distress, felt like an admission of failure. But what choice did he have? He looked down at his son, clinging to him, terrified and confused, while the cold stares around the table screamed for him to fix it, to make everything neat and acceptable again. Maybe it *was* best for Nico to be away from this cruelty. But even the thought filled him with dread.
“Gabriella,” Chiara called sharply, summoning the housekeeper. The middle-aged woman appeared instantly, her apron still tied around her waist, her face expressionless as she stood by, waiting for instructions.
“Will you watch Nico for a while, while we finish dinner in peace?” Chiara asked, her tone brokering no argument.
Luca could feel the tension building in Nico’s small body as Gabriella stepped forward. The little boy immediately tightened his grip on his father, his arms like a vice around Luca’s neck. His breathing hitched, and Luca could feel the tremor in his son’s chest, the prelude to the storm he knew was coming.
“No, no, no!” Nico whimpered, his small voice breaking as Gabriella reached out for him. Luca felt the panic in his son rise like a tidal wave, and then it hit—Nico’s cries burst forth, loud and raw, echoing through the room like a wounded animal.
“Please, baby, listen to me,” Luca pleaded, his heart breaking with every sob that tore from Nico’s throat. “Go with Gabriella now, and I’ll come get you in five minutes, okay? We’ll go together and look for Mummy. I promise.”
But no promises would soothe Nico now. His cries became frantic, desperate, as he clung even tighter to Luca, his small hands gripping his father’s shirt as though letting go would mean losing everything. The terror in his voice was unbearable.
Luca felt utterly helpless, torn between the judgmental eyes of the adults around him and the gut-wrenching cries of his son.
“Oh, here he goes again,” Guilia’s voice sliced through the air, filled with disdain. “He’s completely spoiled by his mother, just like I said.”
Nico’s sobs intensified as Guilia’s words struck him like blows. Luca could feel the rage bubbling up inside him, but he forced it down, too exhausted to fight. Not now. Not in front of Nico.
Guilia stood. “Listen here, boy,” she said, her voice sharp. “We don’t live like hippies here, do you understand? This is dinner time. You either sit here properly and have dinner, or you go with Gabriella. Understood?”
Nico’s small body shuddered under the weight of her words, his little hands shaking as they released their grip on Luca.
Finally, intimidated and terrified, Nico let go. His legs wobbled as he slid down from Luca’s lap, standing on his own, but barely. His cries had quieted into soft, broken sobs, but the pain in his eyes was undeniable
Nico didn’t wait for anyone to guide him. He ran.
His small feet pounded against the marble floors, his sobs echoing through the house as he bolted up the stairs. Luca called after him, “Nico, wait!” but the boy didn’t stop. He ran straight to his room, slamming the door behind him.
The dinner was over. For Luca, at least.
He didn’t even want to think about what was being said downstairs now. The judgment, the whispers—it all blurred into the background as he followed his son, his heart heavy with guilt. Every step felt like he was walking toward another failure, another moment where he wouldn’t be enough.
When he reached Nico’s room, the door creaked open quietly, but the sight inside broke him completely.
There was a lump under the bedsheet, small and trembling, muffling the sounds of quiet whimpers. Nico had curled up into a tight ball, hiding from the world. Each soft, broken sound that escaped him twisted the knife in Luca’s chest further.
“Nico, baby, come talk to me,” Luca whispered, kneeling beside the bed. He gently placed his hand on the lump, feeling his son’s small body shudder beneath the covers.
Nico didn’t respond. He stayed hidden, his little body curled tighter into itself, his sobs soft but unrelenting.
Luca’s voice cracked as he tried again, “Please, Nico. Let me help. I’m so sorry, baby.”
But then, Nico’s voice, small and broken, pierced through the sheets. “Mummy *has* left me here, hasn’t she, Daddy? She left me. Didn’t she?”
Luca felt his throat tighten, his heart breaking all over again. He reached for the covers, slowly pulling them back to reveal Nico’s tear-streaked face, his eyes red and swollen from crying.
“No, no, baby,” Luca whispered, his voice shaking. “Why would Mummy leave you here? She loves you.”
But Nico shook his head violently, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. “No! I heard her talking to her friend! She’s going to leave me here with you. In Italy!” His small body trembled as he cried harder. “She doesn’t love me anymore! She doesn’t want me, Daddy!”