Chapter 9 - The Child of a New EmpireDante Marino became unbearable during Clara's pregnancy.
At six weeks, he hired an obstetrician.
At seven weeks, he hired another obstetrician to review the first obstetrician.
At eight weeks, Clara threatened divorce.
“You cannot divorce me.”
“I absolutely can.”
“We've been married three months.”
“Then consider this an early performance review.”
Dante stared.
Rosa laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea.
Clara pointed at him.
“No more doctors unless my doctor recommends them.”
“Fine.”
“No changing my food without asking.”
“Fine.”
“No following me into the bathroom because I was inside for six minutes.”
“That happened once.”
“Yesterday.”
“You were quiet.”
“I was brushing my teeth.”
“For six minutes?”
“I floss.”
Rosa laughed again.
Dante looked betrayed.
“Ma.”
“Leave the girl alone.”
“She's carrying your grandchild.”
“Exactly. She needs peace.”
Dante muttered something in Italian.
Clara kissed his cheek.
He immediately softened.
It was embarrassingly easy.
But beneath the humor lived genuine fear.
Clara knew.
Late at night, Dante sometimes woke and placed his hand against her back to make sure she was breathing.
The shooting had changed him.
Pregnancy intensified everything.
One night Clara woke and found him sitting beside the bed.
“Dante?”
“Go back to sleep.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She sat up.
He looked exhausted.
“Nightmare?”
He nodded.
“The garage?”
“Yes.”
Clara reached for him.
He lay beside her.
“I keep seeing it.”
“I know.”
“You're covered in blood.”
She touched his face.
“But I'm here.”
“I know.”
“And our baby is here.”
His hand rested on her stomach.
“I don't know how to be a father.”
“No one does.”
“My example wasn't exactly useful.”
“Then don't follow it.”
“That simple?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“But it's a start.”
Dante looked at her.
“What if there's something in me?”
“What?”
“Him.”
“Your father?”
Dante nodded.
Clara took his hand.
“Your father made choices.”
“So did I.”
“Yes.”
“Bad ones.”
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“You really don't soften anything.”
“You didn't marry me for dishonesty.”
“No.”
Clara kissed his knuckles.
“You aren't doomed to repeat him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you're afraid of becoming him.”
Dante frowned.
“That doesn't prove anything.”
“It proves you're looking.”
“At what?”
“Yourself.”
She rested his palm against her stomach.
“And as long as you keep looking honestly, our child has a chance to know a different Marino.”
Spring arrived.
So did legal trouble.
Dante received a federal summons.
This time it concerned his historical operations.
He could no longer avoid the past.
His attorneys offered strategies.
Delay.
Challenge.
Negotiate.
Dante listened.
Then asked one question.
“What happens if I tell the truth?”
The room went silent.
His lead attorney removed his glasses.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“You could expose yourself to serious criminal liability.”
“I know.”
Clara sat beside him.
“What would cooperation change?”
The attorney considered.
“It could substantially affect how prosecutors view his conduct, especially given the dismantling of the illegal operations and the evidence he has already provided.”
Dante nodded.
“Then we cooperate.”
Tommy stared.
“Boss.”
Dante looked at him.
“No more hiding.”
Tommy understood.
Years earlier, he would have followed Dante into war.
Now he followed him somewhere harder.
Accountability.
Dante spent three days answering questions.
He did not implicate people unnecessarily.
He did not invent innocence.
He admitted what he had done.
When he returned home, Clara was waiting.
“How bad?”
“I don't know.”
“Regret it?”
He looked at her.
“No.”
She hugged him.
“Good.”
“What if I go to prison?”
The possibility hung between them.
Clara did not lie.
“Then I'll visit.”
His expression broke.
“And the baby?”
“Will know who you are.”
“Which version?”
“All of them.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Clara continued.
“I won't tell our child you're a saint.”
“Thank God.”
“I'll tell them you made terrible choices.”
He opened his eyes.
“And then?”
“I'll tell them you chose differently when it mattered.”
Three months later, the agreement came.
Dante avoided prison.
He accepted financial penalties, relinquished several disputed holdings, and agreed to continuing federal oversight of Marino Atlantic.
The empire shrank dramatically.
Dante celebrated.
Tommy thought he had lost his mind.
“You just lost hundreds of millions.”
Dante poured sparkling water.
“I kept my freedom.”
“You're happy?”
“My wife is seven months pregnant and threatening to kill me if I miss another ultrasound.”
From the hallway Clara shouted:
“I heard that.”
Tommy laughed.
Dante smiled.
“Yes.”
He looked around the smaller office.
“I am.”
Clara went into labor during a thunderstorm.
Of course she did.
At 2:13 a.m., she woke Dante.
“Dante.”
He opened his eyes.
“My water broke.”
He stared.
“What?”
“My water broke.”
Dante jumped out of bed so quickly he hit the nightstand.
Clara would later insist the most feared man in New York spent the next five minutes running around the bedroom holding one shoe.
They reached the hospital safely.
Fourteen hours later, Dante stood beside Clara gripping her hand.
“You're doing beautifully.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“This is your fault.”
“I know.”
“Never again.”
“Whatever you want.”
The nurse tried not to laugh.
Then everything changed.
A cry filled the room.
Small.
Furious.
Alive.
Dante froze.
The doctor lifted their daughter.
“Congratulations.”
Clara began sobbing.
Dante could not move.
The nurse placed the baby against Clara's chest.
She was tiny.
Dark hair.
Red face.
Perfect.
“Dante.”
He approached.
Clara looked up.
“Meet your daughter.”
His hand trembled when he touched the baby's head.
“What do we call her?” Clara whispered.
They had argued about names for months.
Now Dante knew.
“Grace.”
Clara smiled.
“Grace Marino.”
Dante nodded.
“Because that's what you gave me.”
Clara cried harder.
“So dramatic.”
“I married you.”
“Fair.”
He kissed her forehead.
Then his daughter's.
May you like
For the first time, Dante Marino held something fragile without wanting to control it.
He simply wanted to deserve it.
