Chapter 7 - I DID NOT WAIT FOR HIM AS A JOB
Sentencing happened seven months after Bruno died.
I did not attend.
Good.
I watched none of the live coverage.
Also good.
At ten that morning, I was in a meeting about linen loss.
That sounds ridiculous.
It wasn’t.
Lakeshore had lost eleven thousand dollars in sheets and towels over six months.
Guests took some.
Laundry vendor damaged some.
Staff discarded some without logging.
There.
A real problem.
My manager asked me to lead the audit.
So while Luca stood in federal court, I counted bath towels.
That was healthier than it sounds.
Then at 2:18 p.m., my phone buzzed.
A message from Luca’s lawyer’s office?
No.
Luca himself had been permitted to send one message before surrender arrangements.
Thirty months.
There.
Three years supervised release.
Restitution.
Forfeiture tied to specific proceeds.
No operational role in contractor collections or port-access businesses during supervision.
There.
I stared.
Thirty months.
Long enough to change a life.
Short enough that everyone would call it either too much or too little depending on what they wanted him to represent.
I did not know.
I was not the judge.
Then another message:
I will call tonight if you want.
I answered:
Yes.
There.
He called at eight.
His voice sounded normal.
That made it worse.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Then silence.
Finally:
“Are you okay?”
He laughed once.
“No.”
There.
Good.
Then:
“Are you?”
“I counted towels today.”
He laughed again.
Better.
Then he said:
“I surrender in six weeks.”
There.
I closed my eyes.
“What happens to the company?”
“Helen Park becomes CEO. The independent board approved her.”
There.
“Not interim?”
“No.”
Good.
He was actually leaving.
Then:
“And the house?”
“Mrs. Alvarez runs it.”
Good.
“As she already should.”
There.
I smiled.
Then I asked:
“What do you want from me?”
The same question from before.
Luca went quiet.
Then:
“I want to ask something I may regret.”
There.
“Ask.”
“Don’t wait for me.”
I stared at the wall.
“That’s not your decision.”
“I know.”
Good.
Then:
“I mean I am not asking you to.”
Different.
There.
“I don’t want two years of letters becoming a contract you never signed.”
Good.
My throat tightened.
Then I said:
“I’m not promising you anything.”
There.
“Good.”
“I may write.”
“I’d like that.”
“I may not.”
“I know.”
Good.
Then:
“I may date.”
A pause.
Long.
Then:
“I know.”
There.
That one hurt him.
Good.
Reality.
Then:
“Are we breaking up?”
I asked.
He took time.
“I don’t know what to call this.”
There.
Neither did I.
We had been dating less than a year.
He was going to prison.
I had a career.
Family.
A life.
Then I said:
“Call it unfinished.”
There.
He was quiet.
Then:
“Okay.”
Good.
No engagement.
No promise ring.
No waiting oath.
Then surrender.
I did not go.
Again.
Good.
His security did not bring me updates.
Mrs. Alvarez did not turn me into family spokesperson.
Good.
The Moretti house issued one public statement:
Mr. Moretti has surrendered as ordered and will serve the sentence imposed.
There.
No redemption essay.
Then prison.
Luca wrote first.
Two pages.
Approved mail.
He said the coffee was terrible.
Of course.
He said the first week taught him how often he had mistaken delay for disrespect.
There.
He wrote:
Waiting is different when nobody is afraid of making you wait.
There.
That line stayed with me.
Then he wrote about Bruno.
Not every letter.
One.
He said:
I keep reaching for the old leash when I wake up.
There.
I cried.
Then he added:
I know grief is not evidence that I deserved him.
Good.
That was Luca.
Learning.
Slowly.
I answered after two weeks.
I told him:
Lakeshore found the towel problem.
Laundry vendor had been undercounting damaged returns.
There.
Not romantic.
Then:
Mom’s rent subsidy renewed.
Ethan passed organic chemistry.
There.
Then:
I miss Bruno too.
Good.
No:
I miss you every second.
I did miss him.
Not every second.
That mattered.
Then I dated.
Yes.
One man.
Daniel Reed.
An architect I met through a hotel renovation meeting.
Four dates.
Nice.
Smart.
No spark.
We stopped.
Then another.
Marcus Hill.
Teacher.
Three months.
Kind.
Wanted children.
I did not know if I did.
There.
We ended before resentment.
Good.
I wrote Luca none of that.
Not because secret.
Because he had no right to a dating report.
Good.
Then promotion.
Operations Manager, Housekeeping and Guest Services.
There.
More money.
Real money compared with before.
Still not wealthy.
I built an emergency fund.
Paid off one credit card.
Helped Ethan with a textbook bill.
My mother started contributing a little more to her own rent after a benefits adjustment.
There.
Good.
I stopped treating my paycheck as the only wall holding everyone up.
That was healthier.
Then one mistake at work.
I approved a new chemical supplier because pricing was excellent.
Two attendants developed skin irritation.
There.
No hospitalization.
Still.
I had relied too heavily on safety data sheets and not enough on actual product trial with glove compatibility.
We suspended.
Occupational health.
Vendor review.
Then I apologized to staff.
Good.
No perfect heroine.
Then one attendant said:
“You always say verify authority. You should verify products too.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Fair.”
There.
We added pilot testing.
Good.
Then Luca’s prison life.
I knew only what he told me.
Work assignment.
Library.
Classes.
Therapy.
No heroic prison king nonsense.
Good.
He had money in commissary within legal limits.
No secret empire.
He complained about noise.
Then wrote:
I used to believe privacy was something money purchased.
Now I think it is something rules distribute.
There.
I liked that.
Then one problem.
An article claimed:
MORETTI STILL RUNNING EMPIRE FROM PRISON.
There.
I read.
Sources anonymous.
Company denied operational contact beyond permitted shareholder communications through counsel.
I did not call Luca demanding truth.
Good.
His lawyer released documented governance:
Helen Park CEO.
Independent board.
Luca no management directives.
Restricted communications reviewed.
There.
Could there still be influence?
Of course.
Names do not disappear.
But evidence mattered.
Then later a board report showed something concrete.
Senior managers had stopped routing daily decisions to Luca.
There.
Company performance continued.
Some divisions improved.
That had to hurt.
It probably did.
Then one letter from Luca:
They had the best quarter in five years.
There.
Then:
I am proud and offended.
I laughed aloud.
Good.
Then restitution.
Independent claims administrator.
Contractors submitted evidence.
Some claims approved.
Some denied.
Some reduced.
There.
No everyone-gets-a-check fantasy.
Luca’s forfeited proceeds and company settlement reserve funded payments.
Good.
One contractor appealed and won partial additional compensation.
There.
That impressed me.
A system that could reverse itself.
Then nineteen months into Luca’s sentence, my mother fell.
There.
Not dramatic.
Bathroom.
Fractured wrist.
No hip fracture.
Thank God.
She needed help for six weeks.
Ethan came home weekends.
I adjusted work schedule with formal family-leave options and paid time.
There.
No Luca money.
No Moretti doctor.
Good.
I wrote him after.
Mom broke her wrist.
She is furious at the cast.
He replied:
I am glad furious is the main problem.
Good.
Then he asked:
Do you need anything?
I stared.
Old Luca would have sent something.
New Luca asked.
I wrote:
No.
There.
He replied:
Okay.
Good.
That was all.
Then twenty-four months.
Luca moved to residential reentry under federal rules after credits and placement review.
There.
No miracle early release.
No political favor.
Then phone calls became easier.
We still did not define us.
Good.
One evening he asked:
“Are you seeing anyone?”
There.
I stopped.
Then:
“Do you want the answer?”
He took time.
“No.”
Good.
“That’s probably not my business yet.”
Exactly.
Then I asked:
“Are you?”
He laughed.
“Emma.”
“Fair.”
Good.
Then his release date.
He told me.
I said:
“I won’t be there.”
There.
“I know.”
“Do you want me there?”
Long pause.
“Yes.”
There.
“Are you angry I won’t be?”
“No.”
Good.
Then:
“Disappointed?”
“Yes.”
There.
Honest.
I liked that more than pretending.
Then release morning came.
I went to work.
Again.
At 11:03 a.m., my phone buzzed.
Out.
There.
One word.
I stared.
Then typed:
Good.
Nothing more.
Because release was not reunion.
Not yet.
He still had supervision.
I still had a life.
And if we were going to find each other again, it would have to happen without a prison sentence deciding the shape for us.
The sparse letters helped because they never became a second employment relationship.
Luca did not assign me emotional tasks.
He did not ask me to call lawyers.
He did not ask me to check on the mansion.
He did not ask me to keep his name alive with anyone.
Good.
Once he wrote:
I am having a bad week.
Then nothing else.
I answered:
I’m sorry.
There.
Not:
How do I fix it?
That was enough.
Another month, I had a bad week.
A manager above me blamed housekeeping for a room-release failure caused partly by engineering delays.
I wrote Luca none of it.
I handled it at work.
Documented timelines.
Escalated.
The review split responsibility correctly.
Good.
May you like
My life did not become a correspondence course in his sentence.
That mattered more than romance.
