Chapter 10 - I LEARNED THAT LOVING SOFIA DID NOT GIVE ME THE RIGHT TO FIX HER LIFE
Dating Sofia was humiliating.
In useful ways.
The first time her refrigerator broke, she told me.
I bought one.
Had it delivered.
Top model.
Smart screen.
Cost more than her first car.
She stared at delivery men.
Then called me.
“Take it back.”
“What?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Your refrigerator broke.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“You said repair estimate was nearly—”
“Dante.”
I stopped.
Old instinct.
Problem exists.
Solve.
Simple.
Not simple.
“What do you want?”
“A refrigerator.”
I almost laughed.
“Then—”
“One I choose.”
“Within my budget.”
“I can help.”
“No.”
My jaw tightened.
She heard.
“You hate this.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I can fix it in ten minutes.”
“You can buy it.”
“That’s not same.”
Silence.
There.
I was learning.
She bought $700 refrigerator.
Ugly.
Worked.
I survived.
Another time Emma needed dental work insurance delayed.
I offered.
Sofia said:
“If delay risks health, I’ll accept loan with paper.”
“Loan?”
“Yes.”
“Interest zero.”
“Yes.”
“Repayment flexible.”
“Yes.”
We wrote one-page agreement.
Ridiculous.
Important.
She repaid in four months.
I never mentioned.
Love without invoice.
I was bad at it.
Improved.
My legitimate companies stabilized.
Independent boards.
Moretti Logistics passed federal monitorship after settlement? We can say entered five-year corporate compliance agreement due trafficking-related failures and paid $48 million civil penalty/restitution fund. I accepted.
Moretti Holdings paid forty-eight million dollars in civil penalties and survivor restitution related to oversight failures and benefits from tainted routes.
I hated amount less than truth.
Illegal gaming properties sold.
One club became worker-owned after sale.
Antonio left Chicago.
We remained cordial.
My net worth dropped.
No one at Sofia’s legal clinic cared.
Emma cared only that I still had garden.
At five, she started kindergarten.
She invited me to Grandparents and Special People Day.
“Special people?”
I asked.
“You.”
I nearly cried in parking lot.
Other dads/grandparents stared.
One man whispered:
“That’s Moretti.”
Emma grabbed my hand.
“Come.”
Inside, she showed drawing.
Three houses.
One hers.
One mine.
One heaven.
“Who lives heaven?”
“Daddy.”
“Elena.”
“Claire.”
I swallowed.
“They neighbors?”
“Yes.”
Children solve theology efficiently.
Then teacher asked each child say special person.
Emma:
“This is Dante. He’s Stone but not really.”
Room laughed nervously.
I did too.
Then:
“He knew my daddy.”
Not exactly.
But okay.
“And he has flowers.”
That was my biography.
Better than newspapers.
Sofia and I dated two years before I asked about marriage.
Not proposed.
Asked.
We were sitting on her balcony.
Emma asleep.
“Do you ever want to marry again?”
Sofia looked at me.
“Maybe.”
Not romantic.
Honest.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“To me?”
I deserved her glare.
“Eventually?”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“Conditions.”
“Of course.”
“Separate property.”
“Yes.”
“My settlement money stays mine.”
“Yes.”
“My work.”
“Yes.”
“No household salary.”
“Yes.”
“Emma keeps Romano.”
“Yes.”
“If she wants Moretti someday, her choice.”
“Yes.”
“No adoption unless she asks when old enough to understand.”
“Yes.”
“Gabriel stays her father.”
“Always.”
Sofia’s eyes filled.
“And Elena and Claire stay part of your house.”
“Yes.”
“Not competing ghosts.”
“No.”
She took my hand.
“Then maybe.”
I wanted ring next day.
Did not.
Waited.
Another year.
Because desire is not emergency.
During that year, Emma asked harder questions.
“Why did Daddy die?”
We told age six truth.
“Bad man caused accident because Daddy knew secret.”
“Did Dante know?”
“No.”
“Did Dante get bad man?”
“Police and court did.”
She looked at me.
“You didn’t punch?”
Sofia choked.
“No.”
I answered.
“Did you want?”
“Yes.”
Emma nodded.
“Mommy says wanting isn’t doing.”
Correct.
She kept Gabriel photo by bed.
New frame.
Brass key 317 was in evidence until case closed, then returned to Sofia.
She placed in shadow box beneath Gabriel’s photo.
Not hidden.
Truth no longer needed hiding.
One summer, we visited Gabriel’s grave.
My first time.
I stood back.
Emma talked to stone.
“Daddy, Stone is here.”
I nearly left.
Sofia took my hand.
Stay.
Emma continued.
“He’s not scary to me.”
Pause.
“He buys bad cereal.”
I had selected healthy brand once.
Never forgiven.
Then:
“He takes care Mommy but she takes care herself too.”
Sofia started crying.
So did I.
Emma patted headstone.
“I remember you.”
She had few actual memories.
Mostly photos and stories.
But remembering can be built carefully.
After cemetery, Sofia said:
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Never acting like Gabriel is obstacle.”
“He saved my life.”
“He saved Emma.”
“He saved women.”
“How could he be obstacle?”
Sofia kissed me.
First kiss? We had dating two years, of course already. But emotionally meaningful.
That fall, I proposed.
Not at mansion.
Not sunflower garden.
Not cemetery.
Kitchen in Sofia’s apartment.
Her ugly refrigerator humming behind us.
Emma at friend’s sleepover.
I had ring.
Simple by my standards.
Sofia stared.
“You’re shaking.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I have been shot three times.”
“Marriage scarier?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
I knelt.
Not because tradition required.
Because I wanted humility.
“Sofia Romano, will you marry me?”
She cried.
Then:
“Yes.”
I stood.
She kissed.
Then pulled back.
“Prenup before venue.”
“Mara already drafted.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You drafted before I said yes?”
“I said I’m improving.”
“Not cured.”
Fair.
Wrong word.
We laughed.
When we told Emma, she stared.
“Do I wear dress?”
“If you want.”
“Can Daisy?”
“Yes.”
“Does Dante become Daddy?”
Silence.
I let Sofia answer.
“No, sweetheart.”
“He becomes my husband.”
“You decide what you call him.”
Emma looked at me.
“Stone.”
Of course.
“Forever?”
“Apparently.”
I said.
She smiled.
May you like
“Okay.”
That was engagement blessing.
