Chapter 8 - THE DAY I VISITED DANTE IN PRISON, HE FINALLY TOLD ME WHY HE HATED SOFIA’S FOUNDATION
I waited eleven months before seeing Dante.
By then, he had been sentenced to thirty-two years.
No parole guarantee.
Federal facility.
His lawyers had negotiated cooperation in several cases.
He turned over accounts.
Names.
Distribution routes.
The government recovered enough money to return most of what he stole from Sofia’s foundation.
Not everything.
The rest came from Dante’s seized personal assets and my voluntary contribution.
I insisted the foundation’s loss be made whole before any Moretti family distribution reached me that year.
Luca said:
“You’re paying for Dante.”
“No.”
“I’m paying the children.”
Important.
When I finally visited, Dante looked smaller.
Prison does that.
Not physically only.
No tailored suit.
No men hovering.
No family dining room where everyone waited for his mood.
He sat across from me behind a table bolted to the floor.
“Vince.”
“Dante.”
He smiled faintly.
“You took your time.”
“Yes.”
“Still angry?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Means you haven’t turned me into a funeral yet.”
That was probably the closest he could come to gratitude.
I said nothing.
He asked:
“How’s Clara?”
“Not your concern.”
“Ellie?”
“Not your concern.”
His face tightened.
“I never hurt the kid.”
“You frightened her.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“Three years old.”
“She saw more than I thought.”
“Children do.”
“I learned.”
We sat.
Then I asked the question I had carried for months.
“Why did you hate the foundation?”
He looked surprised.
“I didn’t.”
“You mocked it.”
“On Marco’s recording.”
“I mocked you.”
“Why?”
His expression hardened.
“Because Sofia died and suddenly everyone thought you were holy.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You were a criminal before.”
“After she got sick, newspapers photographed you beside hospital beds.”
“Donors shook your hand.”
“Politicians called you brave.”
“You were the grieving father.”
“The foundation became proof Vincent Moretti had a heart.”
My jaw tightened.
“And you?”
“I sat beside you too.”
“I loved her too.”
“No one cared.”
That was childish.
And honest.
Dante continued.
“You got softer publicly and harder privately.”
“You stopped coming to meetings.”
“Then walked into rooms twice a month and everyone stood like God arrived.”
“I handled everything else.”
“So you stole.”
“Eventually.”
“Yes.”
“Was it revenge?”
“At first?”
“No.”
“It was opportunity.”
“Then maybe resentment made it easier.”
I looked at him.
“You could have left.”
He laughed.
“Leave Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“You never thought that was possible until Clara.”
That landed.
He had known me too.
Maybe better than I liked.
“She asked you to become good?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“She asked questions I couldn’t answer without hearing myself.”
Dante smiled sadly.
“You love her.”
I did not respond.
“That obvious?”
“Yes.”
“Does she love you?”
“Not your concern.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“Do not make her into Sofia.”
My blood turned cold.
“What does that mean?”
“You build shrines.”
I almost stood.
Then stopped.
“Explain.”
“You loved Sofia.”
“She died.”
“You froze her at nine forever.”
“Perfect.”
“Every memory sacred.”
“You did something similar with Elena after she died.”
“You remember the good woman.”
“Not the fights.”
“Not her anger.”
“Not her addiction before Sofia.”
My jaw tightened.
Some of that was true.
Dante continued.
“Clara is alive.”
“She will disappoint you.”
“Argue.”
“Choose things you hate.”
“She may leave.”
“If you love her like a dead person, you’ll crush her.”
I stared at my brother.
Of all the things he had ever said, why did prison make him wise now?
Maybe because he no longer needed to win.
“Thank you.”
His eyes widened.
“For what?”
“That.”
He looked away.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“Not asking forgiveness.”
Good.
“For Marco.”
“For Clara.”
“For Ellie.”
“For Sofia’s name.”
“I am sorry.”
I held his gaze.
“I believe you.”
He looked relieved.
“I don’t forgive you.”
Relief disappeared.
Then he nodded.
“Fair.”
I stood.
“Vince.”
I stopped.
“Do you ever bring the coins?”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Sofia’s pirate coins.”
“How do you know?”
“She showed me them once.”
“Asked me what I’d wish.”
I looked at him.
“What did you say?”
Dante smiled sadly.
“That I already had everything.”
He looked around the prison visiting room.
“Turns out that was the problem.”
I left.
Outside, winter air hit my face.
I called Clara.
Not because I needed comfort.
Maybe because I wanted her voice.
She answered:
“Hello?”
“I saw Dante.”
Silence.
“Okay.”
“He apologized.”
Longer silence.
“How do you feel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good answer.”
I laughed.
Everyone.
Then:
“He told me not to turn you into Sofia.”
Clara went quiet.
“What does that mean?”
“He thinks I idealize dead people.”
“And?”
“I think he may be right.”
She surprised me.
“Good.”
“That is all?”
“No.”
“I’m offended on behalf of dead people.”
I laughed.
Then she said:
“Vincent.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to be Sofia.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to replace Elena either.”
“I know.”
“And Ellie does not need you to replace Marco.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then:
“So what do you want?”
There it was.
No child wish.
No memorial.
No guilt.
Me.
“I want dinner.”
She laughed.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Answer.”
I closed my eyes.
“I want to love you without turning it into rescue.”
The words came slowly.
“I want to know what your bad days look like.”
“I want you to tell me no and not be afraid.”
“I want Ellie to know I will show up without believing showing up makes me her father automatically.”
“I want…”
My throat tightened.
“I want something alive.”
Clara did not speak for several seconds.
Then:
“Dinner sounds good.”
I smiled.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Your place?”
“Yes.”
“No security inside.”
“I know.”
“Bring dessert.”
“What kind?”
“Anything.”
I almost said I would send someone.
Then stopped.
“No.”
“What?”
“I’ll buy it.”
She laughed.
“Progress.”
I went to a bakery myself.
Waited in line.
No one moved for me.
A woman cut in front.
I almost forgot how society worked.
Then I bought chocolate cake.
At Clara’s apartment, Ellie opened the door.
“Extra!”
I sighed.
“Still?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the cake.
“Wish work?”
I looked at Clara.
She stood behind her daughter.
No fear.
No maid uniform.
No apology.
Beautiful.
“Maybe.”
I said.
Ellie nodded.
“Slow wish.”
“Very.”
May you like
She accepted that.
For now.
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