Chapter 14
The divorce took fourteen months.
Bianca refused to turn it into a war over furniture, jewelry, or humiliation.
The marital property was divided through attorneys.
Victor kept what the law said was his.
Bianca kept what was hers.
The harder issue was Anthony.
Victor completed supervised visits.
At first, Anthony was too young to understand who he was.
Victor sat in a monitored room and held him for short periods.
A professional supervisor documented behavior.
No Marcella.
No private family home.
No taking the baby away from Bianca.
Over time, the court considered whether contact could expand.
Bianca found the process emotionally brutal.
Part of her wanted Victor to fail.
Another part hated herself for wanting that because Anthony might someday ask why his father disappeared.
Rachel reminded her:
“You don’t need to hope Victor succeeds for Victor’s sake.”
“Then whose?”
“Anthony’s.”
Bianca understood.
A safe father would benefit her son.
An unsafe father would need continued restrictions.
Her feelings did not have to decide the evidence.
Marcella’s future contact remained far more limited.
She had shown less insight during treatment and continued describing the plan as an attempt to “protect Victor’s rights.”
Bianca refused to debate her.
Rights had legal processes.
Shoving a pregnant woman did not become a right because someone feared losing control.
The Vitale estate changed too.
Lorenzo removed informal family authority from security procedures.
No spouse, aunt, uncle, or senior relative could restrict another competent adult’s movement through verbal instructions.
Camera maintenance requests required technical verification and independent logging.
Household staff were told explicitly that senior family rank did not create authority over another adult.
One capo laughed when he read the policy.
“You need a handbook to tell grown people they can leave the house?”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“My daughter almost learned why we do.”
The man stopped laughing.
Bianca eventually returned to the estate for Sunday lunch.
Not to live.
Not yet.
She carried Anthony herself.
When Lorenzo automatically reached for the car seat, she gave him a look.
He stopped.
Then asked:
“May I?”
Bianca smiled slightly.
May you like
“Yes.”
Progress, in Lorenzo’s world, sometimes consisted of three words.
