Chapter 24
Lucy turned eighteen and changed the household reporting policy.
Not because she had authority over the estate.
Because Vittorio asked her to review it before she left for college.
The system built after Bianca still allowed any caregiver responsible for Lucy to contact Vittorio directly about safety.
Lucy stared at the page.
“Caregiver?”
“You had nannies.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“I know.”
“Then why exists?”
Vittorio looked at Leah.
She smiled.
Old policies survived because nobody noticed the child inside them had become an adult.
The language was removed.
Not ceremonially.
Administrative revision.
Lucy’s personal assistant, if she ever hired one, would report to Lucy.
Not Vittorio.
Security had emergency obligations.
Not parental access.
Medical information belonged to Lucy unless she authorized sharing.
That last part was difficult.
Vittorio hated it.
“You have allergies.”
“Two.”
“Serious ones.”
“I know.”
“What if hospital?”
“You emergency contact.”
“What if you change?”
“I tell doctors.”
“That is not same.”
Lucy looked at him.
“It’s adulthood.”
He disliked that word.
Everyone used it when taking information away from him.
Her college was six hours away.
That was worse.
Vittorio offered a security apartment near campus.
Lucy refused.
He offered two agents.
She agreed to one discreet professional after negotiation.
Not because she believed danger was imaginary.
Because being a Romano still carried real risks.
The difference was proportionality.
She chose what was visible.
What was shared.
What triggered intervention.
Vittorio signed the arrangement.
Then immediately asked for location access on her phone.
Lucy stared.
“No.”
“For emergencies.”
“No.”
“Limited.”
“No.”
“What if you disappear?”
The word stopped them both.
Disappear.
Emma had almost disappeared from Lucy’s life because adults made employment decisions around her.
Lucy’s distress had disappeared behind breakfast-room doors.
Complaints disappeared into Marcus’s system.
Now Vittorio was trying to solve his own fear by making Lucy permanently visible.
She spoke quietly.
“If I don’t answer, call.”
“I do.”
“If emergency, security has protocol.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t need dot.”
He hated the phrase.
The dot.
A small location marker on a screen.
Simple.
Comforting.
Controlling if used wrong.
He agreed.
College move-in was terrible.
Vittorio carried boxes nobody asked him to carry.
Lucy’s roommate watched him with obvious fascination.
At the door, he said:
“Call me.”
“I will.”
“How often?”
Lucy smiled.
“Not contract.”
He frowned.
She hugged him.
Then:
“I’ll call Sunday.”
That was enough.
He drove home without tracking a dot.
Sunday, she called.
At 8:17.
Seventeen minutes later than the time Vittorio had invented in his head even though she had never given one.
He did not mention it.
Mostly because Leah was sitting across from him and would have noticed.
Lucy talked for forty minutes.
Classes.
Bad dining-hall eggs.
A professor she liked.
A roommate who snored.
Nothing dramatic.
Before hanging up, she said:
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I ate breakfast.”
Vittorio smiled.
“That is usually how mornings work.”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Dining hall.”
He understood.
Different room.
Different table.
Hundreds of people.
No Romano staff.
No father nearby.
No one watching what she left on the plate.
“Good?” he asked.
“Terrible eggs.”
He laughed.
May you like
That was all.
A breakfast could finally be bad without becoming dangerous.
