Chapter 8 - The Woman Who Refused His Name
Sophia’s mother did not care that Alexander Moretti frightened half of Chicago.
Margaret Bennett was seventy years old and had raised three children after her husband died.
Very little frightened her.
“Bring him Sunday,” she ordered.
Sophia stared at her phone.
“Mom.”
“Six o’clock.”
“You understand who he is?”
“A man who kissed my daughter in a hotel where photographers could see him.”
“That isn’t exactly—”
“Six o’clock.”
She disconnected.
Alexander looked amused.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
“You won’t when she asks about your intentions.”
His amusement vanished.
Sophia smiled.
Sunday dinner became the strangest negotiation Alexander Moretti had ever attended.
Margaret served pot roast.
Sophia’s brother Daniel asked Alexander whether he had ever killed anyone.
Sophia kicked him under the table.
Alexander calmly drank water.
“Daniel.”
“What? Everyone’s thinking it.”
Margaret pointed her fork.
“Nobody is discussing murder while I’m serving potatoes.”
Alexander nodded respectfully.
“A reasonable rule.”
Sophia nearly choked.
Later, Margaret cornered him in the kitchen.
Sophia listened from the hallway.
“My daughter doesn’t need your money.”
“I know.”
“She doesn’t need your name.”
“I know.”
“She certainly doesn’t need a man telling her where she can go in a dress.”
Alexander went silent.
Sophia covered her mouth.
Apparently her mother had read everything.
Margaret continued.
“So what exactly are you offering her?”
Alexander’s answer came without hesitation.
“Whatever part of my life she chooses to share.”
Sophia stopped smiling.
“I spent years thinking protection meant deciding things for people,” he said. “Sophia has made it painfully clear that I was wrong.”
“Painfully?”
“She has excellent aim with office supplies.”
Margaret laughed.
Sophia stepped away before they caught her listening.
The relationship changed after that.
Not dramatically.
In small ways.
Alexander asked instead of ordered.
Sophia stopped calling him Mr. Moretti when she wanted to annoy him and began doing it when she wanted to flirt.
Gabriel became part of their weekends.
Elena slowly rebuilt her life in Chicago.
Dominic apologized to Alexander so many times that Alexander finally threatened to shoot him if he apologized again.
“See?” Dominic told Sophia. “We’re healing.”
But Alexander faced a larger problem.
Carlo’s arrest exposed decades of corruption inside Moretti businesses.
Sophia expected Alexander to protect the empire.
Instead, he began dismantling it.
Illegal operations were shut down.
Legitimate holdings were separated.
Evidence was given to prosecutors through attorneys.
It cost him millions.
It also cost him allies.
One evening Sophia found him alone in his office.
“What are you doing?”
“Becoming boring.”
She looked at the paperwork.
“Tax compliance?”
“Humiliating.”
“Human resources policy?”
“Worse.”
She smiled.
“You’ll survive.”
Alexander pulled her between his knees.
His hands rested carefully at her waist.
The black marble desk behind her reflected the city lights.
It reminded Sophia of the first night in the dress.
Alexander noticed her expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Lie.”
“I was thinking about the night you asked where I was going.”
He groaned.
“I was hoping we could erase that memory.”
“Never.”
“I behaved badly.”
“You behaved like a jealous teenager trapped inside a terrifying middle-aged man.”
“That description feels unnecessarily specific.”
She laughed.
Alexander looked up at her.
Then became serious.
“I knew that night.”
“Knew what?”
“That I loved you.”
Sophia stopped.
“Before the restaurant?”
“The second you walked into my office.”
“You looked angry.”
“I was furious.”
“At me?”
“At myself.”
She touched his face.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you deserved choices.”
“And you thought loving you would take them away.”
“Yes.”
Sophia understood.
For all Alexander’s power, the thing he feared most was becoming like Carlo—a man who treated love as ownership.
“You’re not him.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
Alexander looked at her.
“Because when you left, I let you.”
Sophia kissed his forehead.
A month later, Alexander took her to the Moretti family home outside Lake Forest.
The property had been empty since Matteo’s death.
Gabriel ran through the garden while Elena watched from the terrace.
Alexander led Sophia toward an old greenhouse.
Inside, hundreds of white roses bloomed beneath glass.
“My mother planted them,” he said.
“They’re beautiful.”
“She hated jewelry.”
Sophia smiled.
“That sounds ominous.”
Alexander reached into his pocket.
Her heart stopped.
He held a ring.
Not enormous.
Not theatrical.
An antique diamond set in platinum.
“My mother’s.”
Sophia stared.
Alexander did not kneel.
Not yet.
Instead, he said, “I need to ask you something first.”
“What?”
“If I ask, will you believe this isn’t about possession?”
Sophia’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Will you believe I want a partner, not someone who stands behind me?”
“Yes.”
Only then did Alexander lower himself to one knee.
Gabriel spotted them from outside.
“Oh my God!”
Elena grabbed him before he could charge into the greenhouse.
Alexander laughed.
Sophia was already crying.
“Sophia Bennett.”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t asked.”
“I know.”
“You are terrible at this.”
“Ask faster.”
He smiled.
“Will you marry me?”
Sophia looked at the man who had once demanded to know where she was going in a black dress.
The man who had learned that love was not an order.
“Yes.”
Alexander slid the ring onto her finger.
Outside, Gabriel cheered.
Dominic appeared from behind a hedge with champagne.
Sophia stared.
“You were hiding there?”
Dominic shrugged.
“Security.”
Alexander looked at Sophia.
She laughed.
And for one perfect moment, everything was exactly where it belonged.
Then Elena’s phone rang.
Her smile disappeared.
“Alexander.”
He turned.
“What?”
She held out the phone.
“The prosecutor says Carlo made a deal.”
Alexander’s face hardened.
“What kind of deal?”
May you like
Elena swallowed.
“The kind that could put you in prison.”
