Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO SAID HE WAS A BAD FATHER
Cassandra spent the night in police custody.
Not because Alio demanded it.
Because investigators found enough evidence to question whether she had deliberately endangered Tommy.
By morning, her attorney had transformed her story.
The car incident was an accident.
She had placed Tommy in the rear seat while moving bags.
A phone call distracted her.
The door auto-locked.
She panicked.
She intended to get help.
She did not tell anyone because she feared Alio.
That final sentence irritated him because part of it could be true.
Fear complicates lies.
At the preliminary guardianship hearing, Cassandra’s lawyer attacked.
Not the car event.
Alio.
Photographs.
Business associations.
Security incidents outside Moretti—no, Baranti properties.
Old newspaper stories linking Alio to organized crime.
No convictions.
Plenty of suspicion.
Then Cassandra testified.
“Does Mr. Baranti love his son?”
Her attorney asked.
Cassandra looked toward Alio.
“I think he believes he does.”
That hurt.
“Has he personally cared for Thomas?”
“No.”
“Changed diapers?”
“I don't know.”
“Fed him?”
“Rarely.”
“Carried him outside the nursery?”
“Never that I saw.”
Each answer true enough to bleed.
Victor whispered:
“Stay still.”
Alio did.
Cassandra continued.
“After Elise died, he barely entered the nursery.”
Her own eyes filled.
For the first time, Alio saw something besides strategy.
Grief.
Cassandra lost her sister too.
She might have wanted Halver control.
Might also genuinely despise him for surviving when Elise did not.
Both could coexist.
Then the judge asked:
“Ms. Halver, why did you tell household staff Thomas was upstairs when you had placed him in your vehicle?”
Cassandra’s face changed.
“I was confused.”
“Why was an emergency guardianship filing drafted before the event occurred?”
Her lawyer objected.
The judge overruled.
Cassandra looked toward Martin Reeve.
Wrong move.
Everyone saw.
The emergency petition was not filed.
The guardianship case was temporarily suspended pending criminal investigation.
Tommy remained with Alio under court supervision.
But there were conditions.
Parenting evaluation.
Unannounced home visits.
No weapons accessible in caregiving areas.
Direct parental involvement.
Alio agreed to everything.
Outside court, reporters waited.
Alio ignored them.
Then a question came from behind the microphones:
“Mr. Baranti, is it true you had never carried your son downstairs?”
He stopped.
Victor whispered:
“Keep moving.”
Alio looked at the reporter.
“Yes.”
Everyone went quiet.
“Why?”
That was harder.
Because my wife died.
Because I was afraid.
Because powerful men prefer neglect to vulnerability when vulnerability terrifies them.
He answered:
“Because I failed him.”
Victor stared.
The cameras flashed.
Alio continued.
“That changes now.”
Then he left.
Not heroic.
Not absolved.
Just on record.
At home, Yolanda waited with Tommy.
So did Mercy.
The court had approved Tommy’s discharge after a final examination.
Alio entered the nursery.
Tommy was awake.
Gray-blue eyes.
Small fists.
Alio stopped three feet away.
Yolanda said:
“Wash your hands.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“Babies.”
Right.
He washed.
Then stood awkwardly.
Yolanda lifted Tommy.
“Support his neck.”
“I know.”
“Good. Then do it.”
Alio took his son.
His entire body stiffened.
Mercy sat on the rug watching.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Yolanda sighed.
“Mercy.”
“What?”
Alio almost smiled.
“How?”
Mercy stood.
Walked over.
Pressed both tiny palms against his forearm.
“Closer.”
He moved Tommy against his chest.
The baby settled.
Mercy nodded.
“Better.”
Alio looked down.
Tommy stared back.
No judgment.
No knowledge of petitions or empires.
Only his father’s shirt.
Then Tommy yawned.
Alio felt something inside him collapse.
Not violently.
Quietly.
The way walls sometimes come down when no one is pushing anymore.
He carried his son out of the nursery.
To the hall.
Then the stairs.
One step.
Another.
Mercy followed like an inspector.
At the bottom, Mrs. Ariyaga covered her mouth.
Yolanda looked away.
Alio reached the ground floor.
His first time carrying Thomas down.
No cameras.
No applause.
Just a baby against his chest.
May you like
That mattered more.
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