Chapter 7 - THE EIGHTEEN MONTHS SOPHIE COUNTED IN CRAYONS
Dominic served fourteen months before supervised release.
Good behavior.
Program credits.
No special miracle.
Still prison.
Mara never promised to wait.
That mattered.
They were not a couple.
Not yet.
She had stopped working at the estate permanently.
Using money from a wrongful-death settlement tied to Raven assets—not Sophie’s trust—Mara went back to school part-time.
Bookkeeping certification first.
Then forensic accounting courses.
Dominic laughed when she told him.
“You’re choosing accounting after Daniel died because of accounting?”
“Numbers didn’t kill him.”
Fair.
“People did.”
Better.
She later took a compliance job at a regional shipping company.
Not Valente.
Important.
Sophie started preschool.
Then kindergarten.
She wrote Dominic letters.
Mostly drawings.
Prison mail staff must have been confused by the quantity of rabbits.
Dominic kept every one.
Mara wrote less often.
Not cold.
Careful.
Her first letter:
I don’t know what we are to each other beyond family now.
Dominic read it three times.
You are Sophie’s uncle. That is permanent whether you like it or not.
He smiled.
Anything else has to wait until you are free and I am not dependent on you for housing, work, safety, or money.
Good.
He wrote back:
Agreed.
Nothing romantic.
No pressure.
Sophie visited twice.
Through glass first.
She hated it.
“Why no hug?”
Dominic answered:
“Rules.”
“Bad rules.”
“Sometimes.”
The second visit allowed a brief embrace in a family area.
She clung.
“Uncle Dominic skinny.”
Mara laughed for the first time inside a prison.
Dominic was offended.
Good.
Marco visited more often.
Their relationship changed too.
No longer silent second-in-command.
Marco became chief security officer for the legitimate Valente holding company during restructuring, reporting to an independent board committee.
No private enforcement.
No crews.
No hidden jobs.
At one visit, Dominic said:
“You could retire.”
Marco answered:
“You could stop telling me what to do.”
Progress.
Valente Maritime survived.
Smaller.
Clean.
Hundreds of millions in dirty assets were forfeited.
Legitimate shipping routes continued under new management.
Employees kept jobs.
The estate remained Dominic’s personally but half the grounds were eventually sold because maintaining an empire-sized house with fewer staff felt absurd.
He kept the main house.
Why?
Sophie’s chair, maybe.
He would never admit that.
When Dominic returned home, no party waited.
His choice.
Marco.
Mara.
Sophie.
That was all.
The car stopped beneath the front portico.
Dominic stepped out.
Sophie, now five, sprinted.
“UNCLE DOMINIC!”
He barely had time to brace.
She hit him.
He laughed.
Mara stood several feet away.
No uniform.
Dark coat.
Hair loose.
Different woman.
Same eyes.
Dominic hugged Sophie.
Then set her down.
He looked at Mara.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
Awkward.
Good.
No cinematic kiss.
No ownership.
Mara smiled slightly.
“You look older.”
“Everyone is cruel.”
“Prison gray.”
“Thank you.”
Sophie grabbed both their hands.
“Inside.”
The estate felt smaller too.
Many rooms closed.
Staff reduced.
No constant men in dark suits.
No meetings in the great hall.
The little chair remained outside the study.
Sophie saw.
“You kept!”
“Yes.”
She sat.
Too big now.
Knees higher.
Still hers.
Mara watched Dominic watch her.
Then:
“I thought you’d throw it away.”
“Apparently I notice things eventually.”
That night they ate in the kitchen.
Not formal dining room.
Mara insisted.
Dominic cooked nothing.
He knew his limitations.
Marco made pasta badly.
Everyone survived.
After Sophie slept in a guest room—Mara chose to stay one night only—Dominic and Mara walked outside.
Garden mist.
Same fountain.
Different silence.
Dominic said:
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I know.”
“I mean ever.”
“I know.”
“The estate.”
“I know, Dominic.”
He stopped.
She smiled.
“You still explain freedom like an order.”
Fair.
He laughed.
Then:
“What do you want?”
Mara looked toward the dark windows.
“I want Sophie to know you.”
“Yes.”
“I want Daniel remembered truthfully.”
“Yes.”
“I want my own life.”
“Yes.”
“And…”
She stopped.
Dominic waited.
Good.
“I don’t know yet.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
She looked surprised.
“That easy?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“But okay.”
They began dating six months later.
Dating.
A concept Dominic found inefficient.
Mara loved that.
First dinner:
Public restaurant.
No private room.
No bodyguards at the table.
Dominic asked:
“Can I pay?”
Mara laughed.
“You are learning.”
She let him.
Second date she paid.
He objected.
She ignored him.
Sophie knew nothing at first.
They wanted certainty before telling her.
Eventually Sophie noticed because children are not stupid.
“You like Mama.”
Dominic choked on coffee.
Mara laughed.
“Yes.”
Sophie considered.
“Good.”
Then:
“Still uncle?”
Dominic’s face changed.
“Yes.”
Important.
No title confusion.
He was already family.
Romance with Mara did not create his bond with Sophie.
That mattered.
Then a new complication arrived.
One of Salvatore Valente’s surviving relatives challenged Sophie’s right to the descendants trust.
Aunt Luciana.
Not villainous exactly.
She claimed Daniel’s paternity evidence entered under criminal proceedings and should not determine private trust rights without separate process.
Legally valid question.
Emotionally infuriating.
Mara wanted no public fight.
Dominic offered his lawyers.
She said no.
Good.
Independent counsel litigated.
DNA.
Documents.
Trust language.
Sophie’s rights upheld.
The ruling stated biological lineage, not social acknowledgment, controlled under the trust terms.
Luciana appealed.
Lost.
Then she did something unexpected.
She apologized.
Not for litigating.
For calling Daniel “an outsider” in one deposition.
She wrote Mara:
Whatever my dispute, Daniel was Salvatore’s son and Sophie is his child. I should not have made legal argument into family insult.
Mara accepted the apology.
Not friendship.
Enough.
Sophie’s money remained protected.
She still cared more about stickers.
Good.
One evening, Dominic found her in his study.
She opened his top drawer.
“Hey.”
She froze.
“Sorry.”
He looked.
Inside:
The original drawing.
Mama.
Sophie.
Mr. Dominic.
She smiled.
“You keep?”
“Yes.”
She studied the mouthless man.
Then laughed.
“Bad.”
“Your work.”
“I little.”
“You’re still little.”
“I five.”
“Ancient.”
She took out a pencil.
Dominic raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?”
She drew a smile on the man.
Crooked.
Huge.
Then wrote beneath his name:
UNCLE
Dominic stared.
Sophie looked proud.
“Better.”
May you like
He nodded.
Much.
