Chapter 10 - SOPHIA NO LONGER WORKED FOR ME WHEN I FINALLY KISSED HER
Our first real date happened at a restaurant in Lancaster where no one recognized me for almost twenty minutes.
Then a man near the bar stared too long.
Sophia noticed.
“You hate this.”
“What?”
“Not controlling the room.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
“Everyone enjoys my suffering.”
“It keeps you humble.”
“I was told humility was bad for negotiations.”
“Maybe that explains your career.”
I laughed.
That was another thing I liked about Sophia.
She was not impressed enough to perform deference anymore.
As my employee, she had called me Mr. Moretti.
As a fake girlfriend, she had struggled to call me Dominic.
Now she used my first name whenever I became annoying.
Frequently.
We ate ordinary food.
No private chef.
No tasting menu.
Sophia ordered pasta.
I ordered steak.
She asked about prison.
Direct.
“Were you scared?”
“Yes.”
“You looked calm on television.”
“Television lies.”
“What scared you most?”
I thought.
“Losing control.”
“Of companies?”
“No.”
“My future.”
She waited.
“I spent my whole life believing money and power meant I could always create another option.”
“And court took that away.”
“Yes.”
Sophia nodded.
“That’s probably good.”
“Again, everyone enjoys my suffering.”
She smiled.
Then:
“What about Vittorio?”
His case was still pending.
“Angry.”
“At him?”
“Yes.”
“At yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because parts of his system existed because I found them useful before they crossed lines I personally disliked.”
Sophia looked at me.
“That sounds important.”
“It is unpleasant.”
“Those usually travel together.”
I smiled.
Then:
“I knew we collected information.”
“Did you know about children?”
“No.”
“Did you know people used family debt?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you stop it?”
“Not always.”
There.
No heroic rewrite.
Sophia sat back.
“Thank you.”
“For making myself look terrible?”
“For not asking me to fall in love with a version of you that never existed.”
My chest tightened.
The word love entered the table and stayed there quietly.
We did not touch it.
Not yet.
After dinner, we walked.
Cold air.
Christmas lights still hanging from storefronts.
Sophia shoved her hands into her coat pockets.
“I have another rule.”
“Of course.”
“You do not buy me an apartment.”
“I hadn’t—”
“You thought about it.”
Maybe.
“No car.”
“Your car is terrible.”
“Dominic.”
“Fine.”
“No paying tuition.”
“Fine.”
“No hiring me into one of your hotels.”
“I could use competent management.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
She stopped.
“And if we keep dating…”
“Yes?”
“You cannot make Lily feel like she has to love you.”
That rule cut deeper.
“I wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
“But she already does.”
Sophia’s eyes filled.
“She talks about you constantly.”
“That seems unfortunate.”
“She calls every tall man in a suit Mister Dominic until he turns around.”
I laughed.
Then Sophia became serious.
“If this doesn’t work…”
“Yes.”
“She needs to know adults can leave relationships without leaving children emotionally wrecked.”
I understood.
Aaron.
Her father.
Margaret’s fear.
“I won’t promise something I can’t guarantee.”
“Good.”
“But I can promise I will not disappear from her life as punishment for whatever happens between us, if you believe continued contact is healthy.”
Sophia stared.
“That is a frighteningly mature answer.”
“Federal supervision.”
She laughed.
We reached her car.
The terrible one.
I looked at it.
“No comment.”
“Good.”
Sophia turned toward me.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she said:
“You can kiss me.”
My heartbeat changed.
There had been women before.
Beautiful women.
Easy arrangements.
Relationships negotiated around my schedule.
None of that prepared me for four words spoken beside a dented Honda.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I kissed her.
Slowly.
No performance.
No claim.
Her hands touched my coat.
My palm rested lightly against her cheek.
When we separated, Sophia looked surprised.
“What?”
“You asked.”
“Yes.”
“No one expects that from you.”
“Then no one knows me now.”
She looked at me for a long time.
“Maybe I’m starting to.”
We dated for two years.
Slowly.
That was not my preferred speed.
It became my necessary one.
Sophia finished her program.
Worked at a boutique hotel in Philadelphia.
Then moved into operations for a small hospitality group.
She earned her own salary.
Built her own savings.
Bought a better car.
I was not allowed to contribute.
Lily grew.
At four, she stopped calling me Mister Dominic and tried “Dommy.”
I objected.
She continued.
At five, she learned enough about surnames to announce that Moretti sounded “like spaghetti.”
I had no defense.
Henry warmed to me in increments.
The first time he asked me to help move hay without mocking my shoes, I considered it a breakthrough.
Emma and Daniel had a baby boy.
Lily became obsessed with being a cousin.
The criminal cases moved through courts.
Vittorio eventually pleaded guilty to several financial and conspiracy charges, including conduct related to the barn fire and planned coercion involving Lily.
He did not plead to every accusation.
Nico received a reduced sentence.
Sal was convicted.
Victor accepted a plea.
The leverage archive became evidence in multiple investigations.
Several victims obtained civil settlements.
I funded none secretly.
Company liability went through courts and insurers where appropriate.
My legitimate businesses became smaller.
Cleaner.
More boring.
Marco became chief risk officer of the remaining holding company.
He wore suits that looked exactly the same.
Only his title changed.
One evening, after two years of dating, Sophia and I sat on the Carter porch.
Lily was inside baking cookies with Henry.
“Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“Do you miss it?”
“What?”
“The old power.”
I thought.
“Parts.”
She looked surprised.
“What parts?”
“People answering immediately.”
“Doors opening.”
“Never being told no.”
Sophia laughed.
“You get told no constantly now.”
“Yes.”
“Mostly by Lily.”
“Yes.”
“Healthy.”
“Questionable.”
She touched my hand.
“Do you regret the promise?”
Margaret.
I looked toward the fields.
“No.”
“Even when you thought you might go to prison?”
“Yes.”
“Even when you lost companies?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because before the promise, I thought changing my world meant losing myself.”
“And?”
“I discovered most of what I lost was the part that made everyone around me afraid to tell me the truth.”
Sophia leaned against my shoulder.
“That’s very therapy.”
“Expensive therapy.”
She smiled.
Then:
“Mom would have liked you.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m not sure.”
“She would.”
“She barely knew me.”
“She knew people.”
I looked at Sophia.
“She knew you.”
“Yes.”
“And she knew something before I did.”
“What?”
Sophia smiled.
“That Lily was right.”
I groaned.
“Do not encourage her.”
“Too late.”
Inside the house, Lily shouted:
“MOMMY! DOMMY! COOKIES!”
I stood.
Sophia remained seated.
“What?”
I asked.
She looked at me.
“You’re happy.”
The observation stunned me.
Simple.
No question.
I realized she was right.
Not powerful.
Not feared.
Not victorious.
Happy.
I held out my hand.
May you like
Sophia took it.
And together we went inside because a five-year-old had decided cookies were more urgent than my existential realization.
