Chapter 7
“Miss Bradford, Mr. Moretti Senior’s condition is deteriorating,” the doctor said over the phone.
“He told us… If he doesn’t get to see you one last time, he won’t be able to die in peace.”
I froze for a moment, stunned by the weight of the words.
Renato Moretti-stern, powerful, commanding. A man who once held Stonehaven’s underground economy in the palm of his
hand.
Ruthless and resolute in the eyes of the world, yet in my darkest hour, he had quietly draped a coat over my shoulders.
“Don’t be afraid,” he had said.
“You’re part of the Morettis now. No one can touch you.”
He had been the true head of the mafia and the only one who ever made me feel safe.
I didn’t hesitate. I went to see him.
When I reached the hospital room and saw him lying there, frail and unconscious, my chest tightened.
The doctors said his awareness was fading fast, and he could pass at any moment.
“Before he lost consciousness,” the nurse whispered, “he kept calling for you.’
>>
I took a seat at his bedside and gently wrapped my fingers around his aged, cool hand.
“Renato… It’s me. Isabella.”
His hand twitched, ever so slightly, as his eyelids fluttered.
He tried to open his eyes.
“…Isa…bella…” he stuttered.
His lips moved in what could’ve been a smile or perhaps a final apology.
“I… failed you… I meant to protect you for life, but instead… I dragged you into this mess…”
My eyes stung.
“It wasn’t your fault. I chose this road myself.”
“Isabella… if there’s a next life… don’t ever walk through the doors of the Moretti family.”
I nodded.
His lips trembled one last time. He tried to speak, but no words came.
Then came the long, flat tone of the monitor-a single piercing sound that sliced through the silence.
He was gone.
Renato Moretti-the true king of a fallen empire-was gone.
His funeral was held with solemn grandeur.
The oldest mafia families in Stonehaven gathered in full black suits, their expressions carved in stone.
Every man bowed his head with silent reverence.
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The final chapter of a legacy had closed.
I stood apart from the crowd, no black veil, no bouquet in hand, just a plain white blouse beneath the tree’s quiet shadow, silently saying my goodbye.
By evening, I walked along the far end of Fifth Avenue.
Police sirens, the hum of tires, and the bustle of the city echoed around me.
My phone rang.
It was Vincenzo.
I didn’t answer.
Then came the messages- One after another, frantic and broken:
[My father’s gone.
[I saw you at the funeral. You were in the corner. Why didn’t you wait? Why wouldn’t you even look at me?
[Are you that heartless?
[Isabella, I swear… I finally understand. I know I was wrong…]
I didn’t reply. Until the next message appeared:
[Father left a letter for you in his will. You’re the only one allowed to open it.]
I stopped in my tracks.
Two days later, I showed up at the lawyer’s office and signed the release forms to receive the letter.
I opened the envelope.
On the paper was strong, bold script, unmistakably Renato’s:
[Isabella, you are the purest soul I have ever known.
[The Morettis owe you more than words can express.
[Vincenzo wasn’t born cold. Power and desire turned him into what he is. He betrayed you, and he failed me,
[If one day he truly repents, would you be willing to give him another chance?
[I ask not for an answer. I only wonder…
[Would you still be willing to believe in love, one more time?]
I stood frozen for a long time as I held the letter in my hands.
Only when night fell did I whisper to the empty room:
“I’m willing to give myself another chance, but not him.”
This time, I finally understood-Letting go didn’t mean we would never meet again.
It meant I could see clearly and still walk away with peace in my heart.
I was finally free.
too.
