My Son No Longer Calls the Godfather "Dad"

The night my son's fever climbed to 104°F, his father had him removed from the only high-security private suite in the Moretti family hospital. "Noah fell down the stairs. He's shaken up badly." Dante Moretti stood at the foot of the bed, the chill from outside still lingering on his black overcoat. "Bianca can't handle him alone. You and Leo can move to the sixth floor for tonight. I'll have everything switched back tomorrow morning." The two medical reports in the nurse's hands trembled slightly in the draft. Noah Mill only had a scraped knee. My son, Leo Moretti, however, was fighting a persistent high fever from severe pneumonia. His blood oxygen level had already dropped to 91%. "The sixth floor doesn't have bulletproof windows." I kept my voice steady. "The Cassano family sent a death threat against the heir three days ago." Dante's eyes rested on the reports briefly before moving away. "I'll send more guards. Elena, you and Leo have the entire Moretti family protecting you. Bianca and Noah have no one." Leo slowly opened his eyes. Fever had left his lips pale, and the IV remained taped to the back of his hand. He didn't cry. He simply stared at the boy Bianca Mill was holding outside the door. "Dad, this is my room." Dante bent down and brushed a hand through his hair. "He's only staying here for one night. You're a Moretti. You should know how to protect those who need it." Leo turned to look at me. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to stand up for him. But the arguments from the past 29 days came rushing back. Every time, Dante told us he was only fulfilling his responsibilities. Every time, Leo and I were the ones expected to understand. I was tired. The nurse removed the monitor, and the gurney was slowly pushed out of the room. Bianca apologized quietly as she placed her coat in the bedside cabinet. Meanwhile, Noah pointed at the star projector and asked Dante if he could stay the night. I tucked Leo's blanket around him and lowered my voice. "Say good night to Dad." Whenever Dante left us for Bianca and her son, I would tell Leo to call him "Godfather" instead. The first time, Leo had cried and refused. Later, he would bite his lip and hesitate for a long time before saying it. Tonight, he only went quiet for two seconds. "Good night, Godfather." Dante's hand tightened around the side of the gurney. For a brief moment, panic flashed across his face. Then Noah's voice came from inside the private suite. "Daddy Dante, I'm scared." Slowly, Dante released his grip. And in that moment, I remembered the night Leo was born. Dante had stood beside my hospital bed, the same man who never bowed his head in front of anyone. Yet when he held our newborn son, he supported his tiny neck with the utmost care, barely daring to breathe. He had told me that a Moretti child didn't have to inherit power. But he should never have to question whether his father would protect him. Now, Leo's father had chosen not to protect him. As the elevator doors began to close, I saw Dante return to the room and take that woman's son into his arms. Leo saw it too. He closed his eyes and reached for my hand with feverish fingers. His voice was barely audible beneath the hum of the elevator. "Mom... can we leave him?" I bent down and kissed his hand. "Yes." I had spent 29 days waiting to give him that answer. My attorney had already filed for an emergency custody order. All I needed were the remaining hospital security records by tomorrow night. Then I could take Leo and leave Coral Bay.