Chapter 9 - THE NIGHT I CHOSE SOMETHING ELSE
I did not sleep.
But this time, nobody had drugged me.
That distinction mattered.
At 1:06 a.m., I got out of bed and walked through the mansion.
For three years, I had filled sleepless nights with work.
Contracts.
Security reports.
Threat assessments.
Numbers.
Anything that stopped memory.
That night, I walked into the kitchen and found Mrs. Ricci making tea.
She looked at me.
“No coffee.”
“Apparently everyone in this house has opinions now.”
“Yes.”
She poured a second cup.
“You let them leave.”
“Sophia wanted to.”
“Good.”
I stared at her.
“You wanted them gone?”
“No. I wanted you to understand you could not keep them because you were afraid.”
That irritated me because it sounded like something a therapist would say.
Mrs. Ricci had known me since I was eleven.
She was allowed to irritate me.
“I can protect them better here.”
“You said the same thing about everyone you love.”
The words stopped me.
She softened.
“Dante, protection is not the same as possession.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked into the tea.
“I’m learning.”
For the next six weeks, my life changed in ways newspapers never reported.
Russo was indicted.
Antonelli surrendered his medical license and cooperated.
Gabriel survived surgery and accepted a deal that ensured he would spend years answering for what he had done.
I visited him once.
Only once.
He sat behind reinforced glass.
“You look rested,” he said.
“I’m sleeping.”
It was not completely true.
But I was reaching three hours some nights.
Four on good ones.
Without poisoned coffee.
Without ten specialists hovering.
Without pretending grief had disappeared.
Gabriel stared at me.
“Do you hate me?”
“Yes.”
He nodded as if relieved.
“Will you ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer surprised us both.
He lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry about Isabella.”
I nearly stood.
Then remained seated.
“You don’t get to use her name to make yourself feel better.”
His eyes filled.
For once, I did not rescue my brother from discomfort.
I left him there.
Two days later, I drove to the address Sophia had given the payroll department.
A small brick apartment building in Oak Park.
No convoy.
No armed men visible.
Kane called that irresponsible.
I called it progress.
Sophia opened the door.
Her expression shifted from surprise to concern.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I need to speak to Lily.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“To Lily.”
“Yes.”
“About?”
“A rabbit.”
She stared at me for several seconds.
Then called down the hallway.
“Lily?”
Tiny feet ran across hardwood.
Lily appeared wearing purple overalls.
She stopped.
Her face exploded into a smile.
“Mr. Moretti!”
She ran at me.
I caught her automatically.
Sophia’s expression softened before she hid it.
“I brought something.”
I set Lily down and handed her a paper bag.
She opened it.
Inside was Bernard.
Not replaced.
Repaired.
The missing half of his left ear had been sewn back with fabric that did not quite match.
Lily gasped.
“You fixed him.”
“Mrs. Ricci did.”
“You helped?”
“I supervised.”
Sophia laughed.
It was the first time I had heard her laugh without fear inside my house.
The sound did something dangerous to me.
Lily hugged Bernard.
“Do you sleep now?”
“Sometimes.”
“Because of my stories?”
“Partly.”
She looked pleased.
“Do you still need one?”
“Yes.”
Sophia’s smile faded slightly.
I met her eyes.
“I’m not here to ask you to return to work.”
“Good.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“You fired me.”
“To protect you.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make it less cruel.”
“No.”
I took a breath.
“I’m sorry.”
Sophia went still.
Men had begged me for mercy with less tension than I felt saying those two words.
“I used authority because I didn’t know how to explain fear.”
She folded her arms.
“That sounds almost self-aware.”
“I’ve had an irritating six weeks.”
Lily tugged my sleeve.
“Can you stay for spaghetti?”
Sophia looked at her.
“Lily.”
“What?”
“You can’t invite people to dinner without asking.”
She turned to me.
Then paused.
“You can stay.”
Dinner was spaghetti with jarred sauce.
The table had one leg shorter than the others.
Every few minutes it rocked.
Lily spilled milk.
Sophia apologized.
I looked at the milk spreading toward my sleeve.
Then at her.
“It’s fine.”
She laughed again.
I realized I wanted to hear that sound for a very long time.
After dinner, Lily brought out three books.
“One story,” Sophia said.
“Three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
Sophia looked at me.
“Do not undermine me.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Lily whispered loudly, “He looks scared of you.”
“I am.”
Sophia smiled.
One story became two.
Halfway through the second, Lily fell asleep against my side.
Her head rested beneath my arm.
I stopped reading.
Sophia sat opposite us.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she said quietly, “She missed you.”
“I missed her.”
“I know.”
I looked down at Lily.
“I missed you too.”
Sophia’s eyes lifted.
There.
The truth.
No command.
No transaction.
No reason she had to answer.
“I was angry with you,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’m still a little angry.”
“Fair.”
“But I missed you too.”
The room became very still.
I reached across the couch slowly.
Not touching.
Just offering my hand.
Sophia looked at it.
Then placed hers in mine.
No explosion.
No gunshots.
No dramatic promise.
Just warmth.
Her thumb moved once across my knuckles.
An ordinary gesture.
Maybe that was why it nearly destroyed me.
I looked at Lily sleeping between us.
“Mrs. Ricci says protection isn’t possession.”
“She’s smart.”
“She enjoys being right too much.”
Sophia smiled.
“What are you trying to say?”
“That I don’t want to ask you to come back because I can protect you.”
“Good.”
“I want to ask whether I can be part of your life even if you never work for me again.”
She studied me.
“That sounds complicated.”
“My life has historically been complicated.”
“That’s an understatement.”
I almost smiled.
“Dinner again?”
She waited.
“Saturday.”
“Saturday.”
“And no security team in my hallway.”
“Across the street?”
She gave me a look.
“Half a block.”
“Deal.”
At 10:30, I drove home.
At 11:08, I got into bed.
At 11:16, my eyes closed.
When I opened them again, sunlight covered the room.
The clock read 5:41.
Six hours.
Twenty-five minutes.
I sat up.
For years I had believed sleep would return when I stopped remembering Isabella.
I had been wrong.
Sleep returned when remembering stopped being the only thing I had left.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from Sophia.
Lily wants to know if lions eat pancakes Saturday morning.
May you like
I looked at the sunlight.
And for the first time in three years, I laughed alone in my bedroom.
