Chapter 9 - The Life Sophie Chose for Herself
The collapse of the Russo organization did not happen overnight.
Nothing real did.
Vittorio's arrest triggered investigations that lasted months.
Several captains cooperated.
Others disappeared.
Businesses changed ownership.
Lawyers became wealthier.
Newspapers discovered enough material to fill Sunday editions for weeks.
Sylvio pleaded guilty to multiple federal charges after learning Dominic intended to blame everything on him.
Dominic was extradited to the United States.
Evidence surrounding Carlo Moretti's poisoning reopened an old murder investigation.
Antonio Vitale's official record was corrected in Italy.
His name was publicly cleared.
For Sophie, that mattered most.
She returned to the olive grove once more before leaving Sicily.
This time alone.
She carried two things.
Her father's journal.
And one newspaper.
She placed the paper beneath the old stone wall.
"Everyone knows now."
Wind moved through the trees.
Sophie felt foolish talking to someone who had been dead ten years.
She continued anyway.
"I spent a long time thinking I had to hate them for you."
Her fingers traced the notebook.
"But you didn't ask me to."
She cried.
Not violently.
Quietly.
The kind of grief that had waited too long.
"I miss you."
There was no answer.
There did not need to be.
When Sophie returned to New York, she did not move into Lorenzo's house.
This disappointed Teresa.
It confused Mateo.
It amused Sophie enormously.
"You're dating the most powerful man in—"
"We are not dating."
Mateo stared.
"You kissed him."
"Once."
"Twice."
"The second one barely counted."
"It was forty-three seconds."
Sophie stopped walking.
"Why were you timing it?"
"I wasn't. It was horrifyingly difficult not to notice."
She threw a napkin at him.
The truth was that Sophie and Lorenzo were moving carefully.
Painfully carefully.
Their first kiss happened three weeks after Vittorio's arrest.
Lorenzo had taken her to a small restaurant in Brooklyn.
No bodyguards at the table.
No private room.
No Mafia associates.
Halfway through dinner, Sophie realized something.
"Is this a date?"
Lorenzo looked offended.
"I made reservations."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"I wore a tie."
"You always wear ties."
"This one is blue."
She laughed.
At the end of the night, he walked her home.
He stopped outside her apartment.
Did not ask to enter.
Did not reach for her.
Sophie surprised both of them by kissing him.
Then she went upstairs without explanation.
Lorenzo stood on the sidewalk for several minutes.
Mateo, waiting in the car, lowered the window.
"Did she just—"
"Drive."
By spring, Sophie had enrolled in architecture school.
Part-time.
She also left Leveta permanently.
Marco complained he was losing his best waitress.
Then admitted he had always suspected there was something strange about her.
"You threatened to throw me into the Hudson."
"Affectionately."
She hugged him goodbye.
Gianna cried.
Lorenzo anonymously purchased Leveta's building six months later.
When Sophie learned, she confronted him.
"You bought my former workplace?"
"Investment."
"Why?"
"The location is excellent."
"Why?"
He looked uncomfortable.
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
"Lorenzo."
"The owner planned to increase rent."
"And?"
"Marco couldn't afford it."
She stared.
"You saved Leveta?"
"I made an investment."
"You sentimental criminal."
"Former criminal."
"Debatable."
He kissed her forehead.
She pretended not to notice how much she loved him.
Lorenzo's transformation was slower.
He could dismantle businesses.
He could change policies.
Changing himself was harder.
He still assumed control when frightened.
Still gave orders when questions would work better.
Still struggled to apologize.
Sophie called him on every failure.
Once, after Lorenzo assigned two security men to follow her without telling her, she appeared at his office furious.
"You had men follow me."
"Protection."
"Surveillance."
"Protection."
"One followed me into a bookstore."
"Books can be dangerous."
She stared.
He sighed.
"I'm sorry."
"No."
"What?"
"That apology was only one syllable away from sounding painful enough."
He rubbed his forehead.
She smiled.
"You don't get to protect me by taking away my choices."
Lorenzo looked at her.
The lesson reached deeper than the argument.
"You're right."
She stopped smiling.
He meant it.
"Thank you."
The security detail changed.
Sophie selected who accompanied her when needed.
Often no one did.
Two years after Leveta, she completed her first major architectural project.
A community center in Queens.
The Antonio Vitale Center for Trades and Design.
It offered scholarships for young people interested in construction, engineering, architecture, and skilled trades.
Half the funding came from the legitimate Moretti Foundation.
The other half came from assets recovered from Dominic's accounts.
On opening day, Sophie stood beneath a sign bearing her father's name.
Teresa cried.
Father Gabriel blessed the building despite Sophie pointing out it was not a church.
"It has walls," he said. "God likes walls."
Mateo claimed that statement was theologically questionable.
Gabriel threatened him with holy water.
Lorenzo stood away from the crowd.
Sophie noticed.
She approached.
"Why are you hiding?"
"I don't want this to become about me."
She looked back at the building.
"My father would have liked you."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
"Your father hated Morettis."
"No. He hated stupid Morettis."
"Comforting."
She slipped her hand into his.
"He wrote about Carlo."
Lorenzo looked at her.
"In the journal?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Sophie smiled.
"Carlo was stubborn, arrogant, impossible, and loyal."
Lorenzo sighed.
"I see the family resemblance."
"He also said Carlo's son had a good heart."
Lorenzo stopped.
Sophie had never told him.
"What?"
"Apparently you once gave me your jacket when I fell into a fountain."
He stared.
"You remember?"
"No."
"I do."
"You were what? Ten?"
"Eleven."
"I was seven."
"You cried."
"I did not."
"You absolutely cried."
"I was wet."
"And dramatic."
She smiled.
Lorenzo looked at her.
Something in his expression became serious.
"Sofia."
She knew that tone.
"What?"
He reached into his jacket.
She immediately stepped back.
"No."
His hand stopped.
"You haven't even seen it."
"If that's a ring, no."
People nearby began noticing.
Teresa gasped.
Mateo covered his face.
Lorenzo looked genuinely confused.
"You don't want to marry me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then—"
"You are not proposing during my father's building opening."
He looked around.
"I thought it was meaningful."
"It is meaningful."
"Then?"
"Today belongs to Antonio."
Lorenzo slowly put the box away.
Mateo whispered loudly, "This is the greatest day of my life."
Sophie pointed at him.
"Quiet."
Lorenzo looked at her.
"When?"
She smiled.
"Try again when you're not using my dead father as production design."
He stared for one second.
Then laughed.
Months later, on an ordinary Tuesday morning, Sophie woke to find Lorenzo making coffee in her apartment.
Badly.
He burned toast.
There were no flowers.
No photographers.
No family.
No bodyguards.
She sat at the kitchen table wearing an old sweatshirt.
Lorenzo placed a mug in front of her.
She tasted it.
"This is terrible."
"I know."
"Why are you smiling?"
He pulled out the chair opposite her.
Then placed the ring on the table.
No speech.
Sophie stared.
Lorenzo looked suddenly more nervous than she had ever seen him.
"No Sicily."
"No."
"No buildings named for dead people."
"No."
"No kidnapping."
"Strong start."
He exhaled.
"Sofia Vitale, would you marry me?"
She looked at the man who had once mistaken silence for weakness.
The man who had learned that love was not ownership.
The man who had stood with her in the olive grove and chosen not to become the people who came before them.
Sophie picked up the ring.
"One condition."
He closed his eyes.
"Of course."
"Never insult a waitress in a language you think she doesn't understand."
Lorenzo looked at her.
"That rule feels extremely specific."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes."
May you like
She smiled.
"Then yes."
