Chapter 6 - The First Steps
The early morning sun broke through the storm clouds, casting a pale golden light over the private grounds of the Rossi estate.
Inside Matteo’s spacious bedroom, the atmosphere was quiet, calm, and filled with a new sense of hope.
Clara stood beside two parallel wooden exercise bars that Dominic’s team had installed near the window. Matteo sat in his wheelchair at the end of the bars, wearing his soft blue shirt and comfortable dark trousers.
"You don't have to do it all today, Matteo," Clara said gently, placing her hands supportively beneath his elbows. "Just as much as you feel comfortable with."
Matteo looked at the wooden bars, then up into Clara’s dark-brown eyes. For fourteen months, his body had felt like a prison. But looking at Clara’s calm, unyielding expression, he felt a spark of determination he thought had died in the fire.
Matteo gripped the wooden bars with his small hands. His knuckles turned white, his breath catching in his throat as he pushed himself upward.
His legs trembled violently under his weight. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as pain and exhaustion washed through his muscles.
"I've got you," Clara whispered, holding his waist securely, her voice full of absolute faith. "You're doing it, Matteo. You're standing."
Matteo took a slow, agonizing breath, then shifted his weight forward, taking one small, trembling step.
Standing silently in the doorway of the bedroom was Vincent.
He had returned from an all-night security briefing, still wearing his dark brown suit, his gray-blue eyes wide with absolute, stunning disbelief. He watched his eight-year-old son take a second small step along the parallel bars.
Tears welled up in the feared crime lord's eyes—tears he hadn't allowed himself to shed in over a year. He leaned against the doorframe, his chest heaving with an overwhelming surge of pride and emotional release.
Matteo looked up, spotting his father standing at the door. A tiny, triumphant smile touched the boy's lips.
"Dad..." Matteo wheezed softly. "Look."
Vincent walked across the room in three fast strides, dropping to his knees beside the exercise bars, pulling both Matteo and Clara into a warm, powerful embrace.
"I see you, son," Vincent choked out, his deep voice cracking with pure emotion. "I see you."
Clara felt the heat of Vincent’s broad chest against her shoulder, his hand gently resting against the back of her neck as they held the boy together. The invisible wall that had separated the grieving father and his traumatized son was finally shattered.
After a few moments, Vincent stepped back, looking deeply into Clara’s dark-brown eyes.
"Thank you, Clara," Vincent whispered softly, his voice full of a profound, unspoken devotion. "You gave me my son back."
Before Clara could answer, Dominic walked briskly into the bedroom, his expression severe.
"Boss," Dominic said in a low voice. "Our scout team at Pier 17 just confirmed the identity of the buyer who met with Julian last night."
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Vincent stood up, his posture instantly transforming back into the formidable sovereign of Chicago. "Who is it?"
Dominic pulled a photograph from his jacket, handing it to Vincent. "It’s Sir Arthur Sterling—the head of the Sterling Syndicate in London. And according to the shipping manifests, his men are moving a tactical unit toward this estate right now."
