Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO RAISED LUCA
Rocco Moretti was arrested six weeks later.
Not for murder.
Reality was messier than that.
Investigators could not prove he intended Sofia to die.
They could prove financial crimes, obstruction, intimidation, and that he ordered Croft to intercept her and take documents.
Croft pleaded guilty to charges connected to the confrontation and admitted his actions contributed to the circumstances preceding the crash.
No courtroom sentence could tell us what Sofia felt in her final minutes.
No verdict could return her.
Luca struggled with that.
“I wanted a clean answer.”
“There isn’t one.”
“He caused it.”
“He set events in motion.”
“That sounds like lawyer language.”
“It is.”
I sat beside him on the back steps.
“But you told me not to turn suspicion into certainty when my apartment was broken into.”
He looked at me.
“Annoying when people remember your principles.”
“I’m gifted.”
Rocco’s arrest shattered the Moretti family.
Some relatives blamed him.
Others blamed Luca for cooperating with investigators and auditors.
One aunt called Sofia disloyal.
I nearly drove to her house.
Luca stopped me.
“You said no revenge.”
“I said no murder.”
“That distinction is concerning.”
I laughed despite myself.
The legitimate businesses survived.
Freight.
Property management.
Restaurants.
Construction.
Luca hired outside executives.
Sold some companies.
Closed others.
Employees kept jobs wherever possible.
The parts tied to unlawful activity were surrendered, unwound, or abandoned under legal guidance.
No heroic mafia transformation.
Just ugly work.
Taxes.
Lawyers.
Compliance.
Consequences.
One evening Luca came home looking exhausted.
“You know what nobody tells you about leaving organized crime?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Is this going somewhere illegal?”
“Paperwork.”
I burst out laughing.
“Apparently redemption has spreadsheets.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Harder to look cool.”
He laughed.
Leo turned one.
We held a small party.
No hundred guests.
No dangerous-looking businessmen.
Just family members Luca trusted.
Elena.
Grace.
Janice.
Robert—
No, wrong story again.
Different names.
Luca’s older housekeeper Rosa.
Two cousins.
Greg from Aurelia, who nearly fainted when invited.
I brought Mom’s letters.
Not the stolen originals.
Those were recovered during a search tied to Rocco’s investigation.
Every page.
Every photograph.
I had cried when investigators returned the blue box.
On Leo’s birthday, I placed the picture of seventeen-year-old Claire holding newborn Sofia beside Sofia’s picture holding newborn Leo.
Three generations.
One missing middle.
It hurt.
But it was beautiful.
Leo smashed cake into his hair.
Luca stared.
“He looks ridiculous.”
I froze.
The phrase.
Not from this story.
No issue. I laughed.
“He’s one.”
“He has frosting in his ear.”
“Fashion.”
Leo reached for me.
I picked him up.
He immediately smeared icing across my blouse.
“Traitor.”
Luca laughed.
I looked at him.
Something had changed over the previous months.
At first, every conversation centered on Sofia.
Then Leo.
Then legal problems.
Gradually, Luca and I started talking about other things.
Movies.
Food.
Why he hated jazz.
Why I loved terrible reality television.
Why I had dropped out of college.
That surprised him.
“What were you studying?”
“Occupational therapy.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Mom got sick.”
“You never went back?”
“No money.”
He looked as though he wanted to offer.
I pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
His mouth closed.
“Good survival instinct.”
“You are terrifying.”
“I serve wealthy people food. I’ve seen darkness.”
A week later, Luca brought home brochures.
Community college.
Transfer programs.
Scholarships.
I stared.
“You said don’t offer money.”
“So I didn’t.”
“You researched?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Sofia would have liked occupational therapy.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Don’t make this about her.”
He stopped.
That mattered.
“You’re right.”
I waited.
“Why do you want to go back?”
That was the correct question.
I thought.
“Because I liked helping people solve practical problems.”
“Then go back.”
“What about work?”
“Keep working.”
“Rent?”
“Your apartment is still being repaired.”
I smiled.
“I’m not living here forever.”
Luca looked away too quickly.
My stomach did something irritating.
Neither of us addressed it.
I enrolled in two classes.
Paid tuition myself.
The Bennett family had no millions.
The Moretti family did.
I wanted the degree to belong to me.
Luca respected that.
Then came the trust.
The Silver Bird Trust contained more than money for Leo.
Sofia had left a personal investment account worth $1.2 million.
She divided it:
Eighty percent for Leo.
Twenty percent for a verified biological sibling if found.
Me.
I refused.
Elena Park expected that.
“Sofia predicted this.”
“What?”
Elena opened a letter.
If Avery refuses because she thinks accepting makes her a gold digger, please tell her I am already dead and therefore extremely difficult to impress.
I laughed through tears.
Definitely my sister.
The letter continued.
This is not payment for being family.
It is my share of what our mother never had the chance to give us together.
Use it.
Waste some.
Do something Claire would tell you was impractical.
I stared.
Two hundred forty thousand dollars.
More money than I had ever imagined possessing.
I accepted.
Not immediately.
Eventually.
I paid off Mom’s medical debt that had followed me through old obligations.
Fixed my car.
Then replaced it after the mechanic politely suggested burial.
Paid tuition.
I left most invested.
And I bought one impractical thing.
A piano.
I could not play.
Mom had always wanted one.
Grace stared when it arrived.
“You bought a piano?”
“Yes.”
“Can you play?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I smiled.
“Family instruction.”
Life became strange.
Then better.
The first time Luca kissed me happened eight months after Rocco’s arrest.
And I slapped him.
Not because I did not want him to.
Because I did.
We had been arguing in the kitchen.
About me moving back to my apartment.
It was finally repaired.
“You should go,” Luca said.
“I know.”
Neither of us sounded pleased.
“I don’t want Leo becoming dependent.”
“I know.”
“You need your own life.”
“I know.”
“Stop agreeing.”
“You’re making excellent points.”
He stared.
I laughed nervously.
“You joke when you’re nervous.”
My heart stopped.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything from Table Twelve.”
Silence.
Then he kissed me.
Soft.
Brief.
He stepped back immediately.
My body betrayed me by wanting him to do it again.
So I slapped his shoulder.
Not face.
Shoulder.
“Ow.”
“What was that?”
“A bad idea.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Excellent reasoning.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
We stared.
“That’s worse.”
“Yes.”
I walked out.
Moved into my apartment the next morning.
And avoided Luca for six days.
On day seven, he appeared at Aurelia.
Table Twelve.
Alone.
Greg looked at me.
“No.”
“He requested you.”
“Fire me.”
“I considered it.”
I walked over.
Luca looked up.
“I’m not asking you out.”
“Wonderful service interaction.”
“I’m asking if we can talk.”
“About?”
“Why kissing you felt like betrayal.”
My anger disappeared.
I sat.
“It did to me too.”
He nodded.
“I loved Sofia.”
“I know.”
“I still do.”
“I know.”
“And you’re her sister.”
“Half-sister.”
“That does not improve my argument.”
I almost smiled.
He continued.
“I don’t want grief choosing for me.”
“Neither do I.”
“So…”
“So nothing.”
I looked at him.
“We wait.”
“How long?”
“Until this isn’t about missing her.”
He nodded.
“And if that never happens?”
“Then it never happens.”
It hurt.
But it was clean.
Luca accepted it.
May you like
That was when I began to believe maybe someday we could become something without taking anything away from Sofia.
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