Chapter 7 - The Resignation Letter
Three days after Carlo Moretti was arrested, Sophia resigned.
Alexander read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
“No.”
Sophia sat across from his desk.
“No?”
“No.”
“That is not generally how resignations work.”
“I don’t accept it.”
“You don’t have to.”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
“Because of what happened?”
“Because of what happens next.”
Alexander stared.
Sophia had spent three nights thinking.
Carlo was in federal custody. Malcolm Price had survived surgery and begun cooperating. Elena and Gabriel were safe.
For the first time in weeks, Sophia had room to consider herself.
And Alexander.
That was precisely the problem.
“I don’t want to spend another four years wondering whether every look means something,” she said.
His expression shifted.
“I don’t want to be jealous of women who sit beside you at charity dinners because your business requires appearances. I don’t want you sending men after my dates and calling it security.”
“Sophia—”
“And I don’t want to wonder whether you want me because somebody threatened to take me away.”
He stood.
“That is not why.”
“Then why?”
Silence.
There it was again.
Alexander Moretti could order a room full of dangerous men into silence.
But three words terrified him.
Sophia smiled sadly.
“That’s why.”
She stood.
Alexander came around the desk.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Leave.”
“Give me a reason.”
He looked at her.
Sophia waited.
He could not say it.
So she walked away.
The elevator doors closed between them.
For the first time in four years, Alexander did not follow.
Sophia rented a small office in Lincoln Park and launched a consulting company she had secretly dreamed about for years.
Bennett Strategic Management.
Her first client arrived four days later.
Dominic.
Sophia stared at him.
“You do understand what strategic management means?”
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Alexander fired three assistants this week.”
Sophia tried not to smile.
“That sounds like Alexander’s problem.”
“It became everyone’s problem yesterday when he scheduled two meetings at the same time and threatened the printer.”
“The printer?”
“It jammed.”
“Understandable.”
Dominic placed a check on her desk.
Sophia pushed it back.
“What is this?”
“Consulting fee.”
“For what?”
“Fix him.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
Dominic sighed.
“I have been shot twice for that man. This is worse.”
Sophia laughed.
But she did not return.
Alexander needed to decide what he wanted without her standing beside him making it easy.
Two weeks passed.
Then Nathan Cole called.
Sophia nearly declined.
Instead, she agreed to coffee.
Nathan met her near the lake.
“I heard you left Moretti.”
“News travels.”
“You look happier.”
“I am.”
“Would it be inappropriate to ask whether you’re also single?”
Sophia smiled.
“It would be accurate.”
Nathan nodded.
“But?”
“But my heart is apparently an idiot.”
“Moretti?”
She laughed softly.
“Moretti.”
Nathan accepted defeat gracefully.
“I suspected.”
“How?”
“The man looked at me like he was calculating how much concrete my body would require.”
“That was one of his friendlier expressions.”
Nathan smiled.
They parted as friends.
Sophia returned to her apartment that evening and found no bodyguards.
No black Bentley.
No Alexander.
Only a small paper bag hanging from her doorknob.
Inside were two cannoli.
And a note.
Chicago still makes them wrong.
She smiled despite herself.
The next day came an umbrella.
The day after that, a newspaper.
Then nothing.
For a week.
Sophia wondered whether he had given up.
On Friday evening, she attended the opening of a hotel owned by her newest client.
She wore the black dress.
The same one.
Perhaps deliberately.
She was speaking to investors when the room suddenly quieted.
Alexander entered.
White dinner jacket.
Black shirt.
Silver hair swept back.
No entourage.
No Dominic.
No visible weapon.
Just Alexander.
Sophia’s heartbeat betrayed her.
He approached.
His eyes traveled briefly over the dress.
“You kept it.”
“You survived it.”
“Barely.”
She almost smiled.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited.”
“By whom?”
“I purchased the hotel yesterday.”
Sophia stared.
“You bought a hotel to attend a party?”
“It seemed efficient.”
“That is insane.”
“I’ve had a difficult month.”
She laughed.
Then became serious.
“Alexander.”
“I know.”
He reached into his pocket.
Not a ring.
Her resignation letter.
Folded.
He handed it back.
“I was wrong.”
“About?”
“You.”
Sophia waited.
“I spent four years believing that keeping distance protected you. Then I spent six weeks trying to control everything because admitting I cared about you frightened me more than any enemy ever has.”
Her breath caught.
Alexander continued.
“I don’t want you back as my secretary.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
The room seemed to disappear.
“No conditions. No employment contract. No security excuse.”
He stepped closer.
“I love you, Sophia.”
Finally.
The words were quiet.
Almost rough.
But real.
Sophia’s eyes burned.
“You took your time.”
“I’m fifty-one.”
“You’re fifty-three.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Who told you?”
“I handled your passport renewal.”
He laughed.
Sophia touched his jacket.
Then kissed him.
It was brief.
Soft.
Nothing like four years of suppressed emotion should have been.
Which somehow made it more powerful.
When they separated, Alexander rested his forehead against hers.
“Dinner?”
Sophia smiled.
“With who?”
His eyes narrowed.
She laughed.
“You really hate that question.”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She took his hand.
“Dinner.”
Neither noticed the photographer across the ballroom.
Not until the next morning.
When a photograph of their kiss appeared on every major Chicago gossip page.
And beside it was a headline neither expected.
MORETTI MISTRESS OR FUTURE MRS. MORETTI?
Sophia stared at the screen.
Then her phone rang.
Her mother.
May you like
She closed her eyes.
“Oh, no.”
