Chapter 13 - THE LAST OFFER
Carlo Moretti requested a meeting from federal custody.
I refused.
Then he sent a letter through his attorney.
Rebecca read it first.
Her expression hardened.
“What?” I asked.
“He wants to negotiate.”
“About what?”
“The trust.”
I laughed.
“He's still trying?”
Rebecca nodded.
“He claims he has information about your father's death.”
The room went silent.
My father had died in a car accident nine years earlier.
The police report said his vehicle lost control during heavy rain.
I had never questioned it.
Now I looked at Luca.
He looked as shocked as I felt.
“What information?” I whispered.
“Carlo says he'll reveal it if you agree to a financial settlement.”
I felt sick.
Even from custody, he was trying to use my family against me.
“No.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“Sophia—”
“No negotiations. If he has information about my father's death, he can give it to investigators.”
Luca nodded.
“She's right.”
Rebecca closed the letter.
“I'll notify the appropriate authorities.”
Two days later, investigators questioned Carlo about the accident.
He refused to cooperate without concessions.
But the ledger contained enough information to reopen the inquiry.
And a former driver came forward.
He admitted that someone had tampered with my father's vehicle.
I sat in Rebecca's office when she told me.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered:
“My father was murdered?”
“The evidence suggests his death may have been deliberately caused. The investigation is ongoing.”
I covered my face.
For years, I had imagined my father alone on a rainy highway.
I had imagined him frightened.
I had imagined him calling for help.
Now I understood why Luca had never stopped investigating.
He hadn't simply been trying to clear our father's name.
He'd been trying to find the people who killed him.
Luca sat beside me.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered.
I shook my head.
“You didn't do this.”
“I should have found out sooner.”
“No.”
I took his hand.
“You came back. That's enough.”
He began crying.
For the first time since his return, my brother let himself grieve.
Not as a fugitive.
Not as a man carrying secrets.
As a son who had lost his father.
That night, I went to the nursery.
All four babies were sleeping.
I stood beside them and thought about my parents.
They would never meet Grace.
Never hold Oliver.
Never hear Benjamin laugh.
Never watch Lily take her first steps.
The grief was enormous.
But so was the love.
I realized then that I had spent weeks thinking survival was the end of my story.
It wasn't.
Survival was the beginning.
The next morning, I called Rebecca.
“I want to create a foundation.”
She smiled.
“What kind?”
“One that helps mothers and premature babies who don't have money, connections, or powerful attorneys.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Tell me more.”
“I want families to have access to emergency legal help, safe medical transport, and support during complicated births.”
She began taking notes.
“And the name?”
I looked at a photograph of my parents.
“The Romano Family Foundation.”
Rebecca smiled.
“I think that's perfect.”
That afternoon, Dante came to see me.
“I heard about your father,” he said.
I nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“There's something I want to give you.”
I stiffened.
“Dante—”
“Not money.”
He handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a letter.
Written in his handwriting.
I opened it.
It began:
Sophia, I spent three years believing that loving you meant keeping you inside my world. I was wrong. Love should never require someone to surrender their freedom.
I read the rest in silence.
He didn't ask me to come back.
He didn't ask me to forgive him.
He promised to respect the children's medical needs, follow the court's orders, and support their relationship with both parents.
At the bottom, he had written:
I hope someday they know I became a better man because their mother refused to let me remain the man I was.
I folded the letter.
“Thank you.”
Dante nodded.
Then he removed something from his pocket.
My wedding ring.
I stared.
“You left it at the hospital,” he said.
I took it.
For a moment, the diamond caught the sunlight.
Three years of memories lived inside that small circle.
Some beautiful.
Some terrible.
I closed my fingers around it.
Then I looked at Dante.
“I think it's time we both let go.”
His eyes filled.
May you like
He nodded.
“I think you're right.”
