If he turned them away, it would look like he had something to hide.
If he let them in, Daniel would see a kitchen that ten minutes ago had been a disaster zone and a woman he could paint as unstable.
Serena’s hands started to shake.
“I can’t lose her,” she said, barely audible. “Please.”
Vittorio’s gaze held hers for one steady second.
Then he buzzed the gate.
“Let them in,” he told Mrs. Chen. “And bring me the security hard drive from last night.”
Daniel entered the kitchen like he owned it.
He didn’t look at the boys. He looked at Serena’s wet hair, her stained shoes, the mop still leaning against the fridge.
“Jesus, Serena,” he said, performing for the evaluator. “This is where you brought Lucia? Look at this place. Look at you. You drag our daughter from apartment to apartment and now you’re playing maid for some rich guy’s feral kids?”
The evaluator, Ms. Alvarez, stepped in, her expression neutral but her eyes taking in everything. The smeared cabinets Matteo hadn’t finished, the cereal boxes still stacked under the table, the wine glass with Vittorio’s fingerprints.
“I am Ms. Alvarez from Family Services,” she said quietly. “Mr. Reyes requested an emergency welfare check based on concerns about unstable housing and unsuitable environment. Mrs. Reyes—”
“Valente,” Serena corrected, her voice thin. “My name is Valente.”
“Ms. Valente, is your daughter Lucia currently residing on these premises?”
“Not yet,” Serena said. “She’s— she’s with a licensed neighbor tonight. I was just offered quarters. I haven’t moved her—”
Daniel cut in, flipping open his envelope.
“She lost our apartment in August because she couldn’t pay rent. She had an eviction notice. She bounces Lucia between neighbors. She has no stable job— this is day one of a job she clearly can’t handle. I have photos of the apartment. I have texts where she says she can’t afford food. I have—”
He slapped down printouts on the table beside the carbonara.
Photos of Serena’s old apartment, the empty fridge, a text screenshot.
Vittorio picked up one of the photos without asking.
His eyes narrowed.
“This eviction notice,” he said calmly. “It’s dated August 12th. But the building sale was recorded August 8th. Your landlord sold the building to a holding company that evicted everyone to renovate. That’s not non-payment. That’s displacement.”
Serena stared at him.
“How did you—”
“Because I bought that block last month,” Vittorio said flatly. “And Daniel, you sent these same photos to Mrs. Chen’s email three days ago when you pretended to be a reference checker. We logged the IP.”
Daniel’s face went slack.
Ms. Alvarez frowned.
“Mr. Reyes, did you contact the employer directly?”
“I was concerned for my daughter!” Daniel snapped, recovering. “She’s lying about stability! She— she even told Lucia to lie about where she sleeps!”
“That’s enough,” Serena whispered, but her voice broke.
Elio slid off his chair and pressed himself against her legs.
Matteo stood up, his small fists clenched, carbonara forgotten.
“Don’t yell at her,” Matteo shouted at Daniel. “She didn’t yell at us even when we were bad!”
Nico added, louder, “She made us food! You didn’t make anything!”
Ms. Alvarez looked down at the four boys, at Elio clinging to Serena, at the half-eaten plates that showed four children who had not eaten together willingly in months were now eating.
She looked at Vittorio, who was no longer the cold developer.
He was standing behind Serena’s chair, not touching her, but close enough that his presence was a wall.
“Mr. Reyes,” Ms. Alvarez said, her tone cooling, “you stated Ms. Valente had no suitable housing. Yet this employer is offering private, on-site family quarters, which I see is a two-bedroom suite off the kitchen with its own entrance. That’s more suitable than a one-bedroom apartment shared with a neighbor’s family.”
She turned to Serena.
“Ms. Valente, do you have proof of employment?”
Vittorio answered before Serena could.
He slid a signed contract across the table.
“Full-time, salaried, with benefits, housing included, starting today at 6:47 p.m. Witnessed by my housekeeper and four dependents. And Ms. Alvarez, if you want to see suitability, look at the table.”
Ms. Alvarez looked.
Four plates. Four forks. Four boys who had stopped throwing food and were defending the woman who fed them.
Daniel’s jaw worked.
“This is a setup,” he hissed. “She’s manipulating them. She manipulates everyone. Ask her about the money she took from my account—”
“You mean the joint savings you emptied the week you filed for shared custody?” Serena said, and suddenly her voice was not thin anymore. It was shaking, but clear. “I have the bank statements, Daniel. You took twelve thousand dollars and told the court I spent it. I have the transfer receipts. You forged my signature on the withdrawal slip. I didn’t show them because I didn’t want Lucia to know her father would steal from her.”
She pulled her phone from her blazer pocket with trembling fingers and held it out to Ms. Alvarez.
“Here. Look. Every text where he says he’ll drop the custody case if I agree to no child support.”
