Chapter 13 - The Man Beside the Bride
A federal investigator stood beside Sophie.
Not a threat.
Not a stranger.
He was returning her father's recovered belongings.
For one irrational second, jealousy had arrived before reason.
Sophie saw my face.
“You thought I was being kidnapped again?”
“Something like that.”
The investigator wisely left.
Sophie stepped out of the elevator.
“You shouldn't run through hospitals.”
“You resigned.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this house—your house—became my whole life.”
“You don't have to clean it.”
She almost smiled.
“That's not what I mean.”
I knew.
“You need distance.”
“Yes.”
I hated the answer.
But loving someone, if that was what this had become, could not mean turning protection into another cage.
So I nodded.
“Okay.”
She blinked.
“Okay?”
“I'll have a car take you wherever you want.”
“I can get a cab.”
“Sophie.”
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The man who thinks every problem needs six security vehicles.”
“Four.”
She laughed.
I would miss that sound.
I gave her my father's sealed envelope.
“This is yours.”
She read the front.
Her hands trembled.
“What is it?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't open it?”
“No.”
That mattered to her.
I saw it.
“Thank you.”
She left.
I didn't stop her.
Three months passed.
The arrests became indictments.
Carlo faced murder charges for Thomas Bennett's death.
Damian faced conspiracy, fraud, attempted murder, and corruption charges.
Vivian's attorneys tried to claim coercion.
The surveillance footage made that difficult.
Cole lost his medical license before his criminal trial even began.
Keane pleaded guilty and agreed to testify.
Richard cooperated.
The Moretti name appeared in newspapers for weeks.
This time, I didn't suppress stories.
I released records.
Every one.
My legitimate businesses underwent independent audits.
Anything tied to the old corruption network was dismantled.
Marco complained that transparency gave him headaches.
I told him to buy aspirin.
Lucia recovered.
Slowly.
She moved into a smaller house on the estate because, according to her, the mansion contained “too many people pretending not to listen.”
The Thomas Bennett Restitution Foundation opened in Manhattan.
Sophie accepted the role of executive director.
Not because I offered it.
An independent board did.
She insisted on that.
We saw each other occasionally.
Board meetings.
Court hearings.
Lucia's dinners.
Nothing happened.
Which was harder than danger.
Then came Carlo's trial.
Sophie testified.
She spoke about her father.
The recording played.
Tell my Sophie I didn't leave her.
Half the courtroom cried.
Carlo did not.
The jury convicted him.
Afterward, Sophie stood on the courthouse steps.
Reporters surrounded her.
I stayed back.
This was her moment.
She saw me anyway.
Later, she walked over.
“You didn't come rescue me.”
“You looked like you were doing fine.”
“Growth.”
“Painful.”
She smiled.
“Coffee?”
I stared.
“With me?”
“No, Massimo. The courthouse statue.”
“Just checking.”
We had coffee.
No guards at the table.
No surveillance monitors.
No crisis.
I learned Sophie hated olives.
She learned I secretly watched terrible cooking shows.
I learned her mother had kept every birthday card Thomas had written.
She learned I couldn't cook anything except eggs.
We had a second coffee the following week.
Then dinner.
Then another.
Six months after the wedding that never happened, I kissed her.
Slowly.
No cathedral.
No cameras.
No audience.
She kissed me back.
Then pulled away.
“If you ever install a hidden camera in my apartment, I'll kill you.”
“Fair.”
“And no buying the building.”
“I hadn't—”
“You were thinking it.”
I was.
She knew me too well.
A year passed.
The foundation returned millions to families damaged by Carlo's network.
Lucia volunteered twice a week.
Mostly she bossed everyone around.
She loved it.
One evening, Sophie and I entered the old surveillance room.
Most monitors had been removed.
The room was being converted into an archive for evidence from the restitution cases.
She looked at the blank wall.
“Strange.”
“What?”
“This is where everything started.”
“No.”
She turned.
“No?”
“It started when you stepped between Vivian and my mother.”
Sophie looked down.
“Anyone should have.”
“But you did.”
I took a small box from my pocket.
Her eyes widened.
“Massimo.”
I opened it.
Not my grandmother's diamond lily.
Sophie already owned that.
Inside was a simple ring.
“I don't want an answer tonight.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“I spent most of my life forcing outcomes. I'm trying something different.”
“That sounds medically concerning.”
I smiled.
“Take it. Think about it. Say no if that's your answer.”
Her eyes filled.
“And if I say yes?”
“Then we plan something small.”
“How small?”
“Twenty people.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Ten.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twelve.”
“Done.”
She laughed through tears.
Then a knock came at the door.
Marco entered holding an evidence box.
“Sorry.”
He looked at the ring.
Then backed out.
“Very sorry.”
Sophie laughed harder.
But Marco's expression changed before he left.
“Massimo, there's something you need to see.”
He placed the evidence box down.
Inside was an unopened letter recovered from Damian's safe.
The recipient's name was Lucia Moretti.
May you like
The return address belonged to Thomas Bennett.
And the postmark was dated three days after Thomas supposedly died.
