Sofia Met Rosa’s Neighbor Before She Met the Moretti Board
Chapter 08 - Sofia Met Rosa’s Neighbor Before She Met the Moretti Board
The proffer was scheduled for three weeks later.
In those three weeks, Sofia did something Luca did not expect.
She went to Joliet.
To Rosa’s house.
Not the mansion.
Rosa had a small brick bungalow with tomatoes, basil, two ceramic saints, and a neighbor named Mrs. Alvarez who knew everybody’s business before breakfast.
Sofia brought pastries.
Rosa said they were too expensive.
They ate all of them.
I know because Rosa called me that night.
“You should come next Sunday.”
“Why?”
“Sofia likes you.”
“She barely knows me.”
“She likes that.”
I went.
Not with Luca.
He was not invited.
That mattered.
Rosa’s house felt like the opposite of the mansion.
Nothing matched.
The kitchen table had one chair from a different set.
A plastic bag of grocery coupons sat beside a ceramic bowl filled with tomatoes.
Gianni’s old radio lived on top of the refrigerator even though it only picked up two stations clearly.
The wooden box was not on display.
Rosa had put it inside a cabinet above the microwave, between a pressure cooker and a stack of holiday tins.
That placement told me something.
At the mansion, objects became symbols the moment a Moretti name touched them.
Here, the box was important and still allowed to share space with kitchen clutter.
Sofia sat at Rosa’s kitchen table reading old photo albums.
No mafia drama.
Rosa’s late husband.
Lena as a teenager.
Maria at a Christmas party.
Carlo holding a baby bottle like it was an unexploded device.
Sofia laughed.
Then cried.
Quietly.
Rosa did not touch her until Sofia reached first.
I watched and understood something.
The mansion had made every fact feel like governance.
Here, Sofia was looking for her mother’s face.
Not voting units.
Then she showed me a photograph.
Lena and Maria together at a park picnic.
Maria stood beside Lena while a young Luca, maybe four, slept across Maria’s lap.
Sofia was an infant in Lena’s arms.
Two women.
Two children.
Carlo taking the picture, probably.
Sofia looked at me.
“My mother never showed me this.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Rosa did.
“Because Lena worried you would spend your childhood trying to find a family that had agreed not to enter yours.”
Sofia absorbed that.
Then:
“Was she right?”
Rosa looked at her.
“Sometimes mothers are right for the wrong number of years.”
That was all.
Later Sofia asked me about Luca.
Not his crimes.
Him.
“Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
“Trying to solve people.”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
“Does he know?”
“More now.”
She looked toward Rosa’s garden.
“I don’t want a brother who thinks twelve percent bought access to me.”
“He doesn’t think that.”
“How do you know?”
I took time.
“I don’t.”
Then Sofia said something that surprised me.
“I want to know him.”
Not become Moretti.
Not join holidays.
Know him.
Slowly.
She invited Luca to coffee the next week.
Public place.
One hour.
No lawyers.
No security inside.
He accepted.
According to him, it was harder than any board meeting.
What do you ask a sister you did not grow up with?
They started with work.
Speech pathology.
Hotels.
Then parents.
Sofia asked:
“Did Carlo love Maria?”
“Yes.”
“Did he love my mother?”
Luca could not answer.
“Rosa thinks once.”
Sofia nodded.
Then:
“Did Maria hate me?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The letters.”
“That’s not the same as knowing.”
“No.”
Then Luca asked:
“Do you hate him?”
“Carlo?”
“Yes.”
Sofia thought.
“I dislike being managed by dead people.”
He laughed.
Then stopped.
“That sounds familiar.”
They met again.
Not every week.
No forced montage.
The second meeting lasted thirty-five minutes because Sofia had a patient cancellation and Luca had a board call.
The third was dinner.
Public restaurant.
Sofia chose it.
Luca arrived early.
She arrived eight minutes late and did not apologize.
He noticed himself wanting to text.
Did not.
According to him, they spent twenty minutes arguing about whether Carlo’s habit of paying everyone’s bills counted as generosity when the money also made disagreement harder.
Sofia said:
“Money can be generous and controlling at the same time.”
Luca said:
“That sounds convenient.”
She answered:
“So does calling every payment love.”
They both left irritated.
Then scheduled coffee again two weeks later.
That was probably the healthiest sign.
Then the proffer.
Dana sat beside Luca.
Prosecutors asked about gambling operations.
He admitted what he knew.
Asked about Crescent Event Services.
Admitted he knew illegal cash entered some legal accounts.
Asked about collection pressure.
He separated what he ordered from what he suspected.
One recorded call hurt.
Borrower behind on payment.
Luca said:
Make him feel the cost everywhere, not just on paper.
What did that mean?
Business pressure.
Vendor relationships.
Lease leverage.
Could employees interpret more broadly?
Yes.
Did he want physical violence?
No.
Evidence did not show it.
Still potential extortion-related exposure.
Then prosecutors asked about Sofia.
Not because she was involved.
Because Northlight’s audit led to the records.
Luca said:
“She has nothing to do with my criminal businesses.”
Dana backed that with documents.
Important.
Sofia’s trust stayed clean.
Then the government asked:
“Why did your staff keep details from you?”
Luca almost answered:
Because they were afraid.
Instead:
“Because I rewarded it.”
That was the line.
After seven hours, no arrest.
No deal yet.
Waiting.
Then Rosa called me.
Not about Luca.
Her doctor wanted her to stop driving at night.
She was furious.
“Can you take me to Sofia’s clinic Thursday?”
“Yes.”
No Luca.
No Moretti car.
My own old Honda.
On the way, Rosa said:
“You two dating?”
“Who?”
She looked offended.
“Pope.”
“Yes.”
“One dinner?”
“Three.”
“Good.”
I groaned.
Then:
“Do not confuse being chosen by a powerful man with becoming powerful.”
“I know.”
“No one knows before it happens.”
I glanced at her.
“Did that happen to Maria?”
Rosa looked out the window.
“Yes.”
Then she said:
“And to me, a little.”
That surprised me.
Before I could ask, we reached Sofia’s clinic.
Rosa got out carefully.
Held my arm.
Then:
“I kept Carlo’s secrets too.”
The sentence stayed between us.
May you like
Because the next secret in the wooden box was not Carlo’s.
It was Rosa’s.
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