My Boss, My Babydaddy

Chapter 48

Zayden’s POV

Seventy-two hours—that's how long it takes for the world to feel fundamentally wrong.

Three days of Eli jumping at every sound, sleeping in my room because his own feels too exposed.

Three days of Jocelyn coming by every morning and staying until bedtime—making Eli breakfast, checking his homework, sitting with him while he draws because a scared child doesn't deserve to pay for his father's mistakes.

She's there for the kids, not for me. We orbit the same rooms without speaking, communicate through logistics and grocery lists and the careful choreography of two people who can't stand to be close but refuse to let a child feel the distance.

Three days of knowing Friday's deadline crawls closer with every breath.

Landon calls Tuesday morning. "We need to meet. Neutral location. Bring Jocelyn."

"Why—"

"Just do it. Federal Plaza, Building 26, fourth floor. Noon."

He hangs up before I can ask what the hell is happening at Federal Plaza.

***

The address doesn't register until we're in the elevator. Federal Plaza. The FBI field office.

Jocelyn and I exchange a look in the hallway—the first real eye contact in days. Her expression mirrors mine: confusion sharpening into dread.

"Why are we here?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know."

"Landon said neutral location. Does he even know what neutral is?"

We don't get to finish the thought. An agent escorts us through security, past glass doors and badge readers, into a conference room that smells like government-issue coffee and bureaucratic tension.

Landon's already inside. And he's not alone.

Two people in suits flank him—a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a man who looks like he bench-presses government witnesses.

"What is this?" I ask.

"Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe, I'm Special Agent Sarah Chen, FBI Organized Crime Task Force." The woman gestures to empty chairs. "Please sit."

Jocelyn's hand finds mine instinctively. Her grip is tight, scared.

"Landon?" Her voice cracks. "What's going on?"

He won't meet our eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner, but…"

"Mr. Reyes has been cooperating with our investigation for the past eight months," Agent Chen interrupts. "Providing information on the Caruso family's operations, including their financial ties to Wolfe Holdings."

The room spins.

"You're a fucking informant?!" I'm on my feet before conscious thought. "How long?"

"Since last March." Landon finally looks at me. "After your father died and I found the offshore accounts, the construction deals—twenty years of laundered money that you inherited without knowing."

"You went to the FBI instead of telling me?"

"I went to the FBI to protect you!" His voice rises to match mine. "Your father built a criminal empire, Zayden. Every Brooklyn property, every union contract, every deal he made—tainted. I couldn't fix it quietly. The only way to extract you was cooperation."

Jocelyn's still in her chair, frozen. "How much do they know?"

"Everything." Agent Chen opens a folder thick enough to be a novel. "Harrison Wolfe's partnership with Dante Caruso. The money laundering. Giuliana's pregnancy used as collateral. Your husband's attempts to extract himself from family obligations."

"Then arrest Dante," I say. "You have evidence."

"Circumstantial. Spreadsheets, offshore transfers, testimony from a lawyer who never witnessed crimes directly." She taps the folder. "What we need is concrete evidence: wire transfers happening in real-time, recorded conversations, Dante explicitly ordering illegal activity."

The implication lands like a grenade.

"You want us to wear wires," Jocelyn says quietly.

"We want you to facilitate the transaction Dante demanded." Chen leans forward. "Fifty million, laundered through Brooklyn real estate. But we monitor every step, record every conversation, build a case that doesn't crumble in court."

"That's insane," I say. "Dante threatened our children. He has armed men who break into homes. You're asking us to antagonize him further?"

"We're asking you to help us arrest him." The male agent speaks for the first time. "Agent Marcus Torres, by the way. And yes, it's dangerous, but it's also your only option."

"We could refuse—“

"And then what?" Torres cuts me off. "Dante takes what he wants through violence. You lose custody of Mia through judges he owns. Your company gets exposed for historic money laundering. Federal charges for every dirty deal your father made that you benefited from."

"I didn't know about the deals."

"Ignorance isn't a defense when you inherited the profits." Chen's expression is sympathetic but firm. "Your father's crimes became yours the moment probate cleared. Unless you cooperate."

"And if something goes wrong?" I ask. "If Dante finds the wires, if his men search us?"

"Then we have agents staged within thirty seconds of your location." Torres slides photos across the table. "Surveillance teams, tactical units, every exit covered. The moment you're in danger, we extract."

I look at the photographs—armed agents, sniper positions, tactical vans disguised as delivery trucks.

"This is a military operation."

"This is how we take down organized crime families." Chen closes the folder. "With cooperation from people inside their operations. People like you."

Landon finally speaks. "I wouldn't ask if there was another way, but Dante won't stop. He'll keep escalating until he owns you completely or destroys you trying."

"What about Lucia?" Jocelyn's voice is steady despite her white-knuckled grip on my hand. "The girl. If Dante goes to prison…"

"She'll be placed with family—vetted family without mob ties." Chen's expression softens. "If she's yours biologically, you can petition for custody after Dante's conviction. But that's secondary to keeping you and your children alive right now."

Silence fills the conference room.

I look at Jocelyn. She looks back, and I see everything in her eyes—the fear, the anger at Landon's betrayal, the desperate calculation of a mother weighing impossible choices.

"If we do this, if we wear your wires and help you arrest Dante—you guarantee both children stay safe." She says slowly, "Mia and Eli. No custody challenges, no social services intervention, no collateral damage to kids."

"You have my word." Chen pulls out documents. "Immunity agreements, protection orders for the entire family—everything in writing."

Jocelyn picks up a pen, stares at the immunity agreement like it's a death warrant.

"What do you think?" I ask her quietly.

"I think we're out of options." Her voice cracks. "I think Dante will keep threatening our children until we're destroyed or dead. And I think… I think I'd rather fight back than keep running."

She signs. I watch her hand move across legal documents, committing us to a path that could end in federal witness protection or shallow graves.

Then I sign too.

Because Landon's right. Because Dante won't stop, because my father's sins are eating us alive and cooperation is the only knife sharp enough to cut free.

Agent Chen collects the paperwork. "Friday noon. Brooklyn Commerce Building, fourth floor. Wear business attire. The recording devices will be invisible—built into buttons, watches, jewelry. Natural conversations only. Let Dante incriminate himself."

"What if he doesn't?" I ask. "What if he's careful, doesn't explicitly order crimes?"

"He will." Torres sounds certain. "Dante's arrogant, believes he's untouchable. That arrogance makes him sloppy."

Chen stands. "We'll be in touch tomorrow with technical details. Until then, maintain normal routines. Don't discuss this operation anywhere except secure locations. Assume Dante has eyes on you."

We leave Federal Plaza in silence that weighs like concrete. Outside, Jocelyn stops on the sidewalk, sun too bright for the darkness we're carrying.

We’re almost in the parking lot when my phone rings—Mount Sinai. The hospice wing.

My stomach drops before I even answer.

"Mr. Wolfe, this is Dr. Patricia Morrison from Mount Sinai Hospice." Her voice is professionally gentle, the tone reserved for delivering bad news. "I'm calling about Natasha Reeves. You're listed as an emergency contact for her son."

"What's wrong?" But I already know.

"Ms. Reeves was transferred to our facility this morning. Her condition has deteriorated significantly. We're looking at weeks now. A few at best."