“Could You Be My Dad Just Until They Call My Name?” — The Mafia Boss Couldn’t Walk Away

Sophie appeared on May’s porch the following Saturday carrying a small backpack.

She stood behind May for several seconds before approaching.

Luca remained seated.

He didn’t reach for her.

She stopped a few feet away.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Sophie.”

She studied him.

“You look different.”

“I’ve had a difficult few months.”

“Nana said you had to tell the truth about some things.”

“Yes.”

“Even when it made people mad?”

“Yes.”

She shifted the backpack strap.

“Were you scared?”

“Very.”

“Did you still do it?”

“I did.”

She looked down at her shoes.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I understand.”

“And I miss you.”

Luca felt his throat tighten.

“I missed you, too.”

Sophie looked toward May.

May nodded gently.

The girl took one small step closer.

“Are you going away again?”

Luca considered the question.

He could not promise that investigations, legal restrictions, or future circumstances would allow him to visit whenever he wanted.

But he could promise not to vanish without explanation.

“There may be times when I can’t come,” he said. “But if that happens, I’ll tell Nana and May what I can. I won’t simply disappear because things become difficult.”

Sophie nodded slowly.

Then she reached into her backpack.

She took out the blue ribbon she had worn at graduation.

The stitching had begun to loosen at one corner.

June had repaired it twice.

Sophie held it toward him.

“Can you keep this for me?”

Luca stared at it.

“Are you sure?”

“Until I ask for it back.”

He accepted the ribbon carefully.

“I’ll keep it safe.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”

“I know.”

“And you can’t lose it.”

“I won’t.”

She considered him for another moment.

Then she asked, “Did you ever get better at making pancakes?”

Luca smiled.

“A little.”

“That’s good. Because yours were terrible.”

May laughed from the doorway.

For the first time in months, Luca laughed with them.

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It was something smaller.

And perhaps more honest.

A beginning that hadn’t been promised.

The next year was nothing like Luca had imagined.

For a man who once measured success in acquisitions, properties, and contracts, his life became strangely ordinary.

Some Saturdays, he visited Sophie for an hour.

Other Saturdays, June said no because Sophie had homework, a birthday party, or simply wanted a quiet afternoon.

Once, Sophie decided she would rather visit the library with May than spend time with him.

Luca told her to enjoy the library.

He didn’t pretend not to be disappointed.

But he didn’t make the disappointment her responsibility.

He gradually learned the difference.

At Moretti Logistics, the independent investigations continued. Luca cooperated through legal counsel, supplied documents when required, and remained separated from business decisions he no longer had authority to make.

There were financial losses.

There were people who distrusted his motives.

There were uncomfortable meetings in rooms where he could no longer control the conversation.

And there were questions about unlawful practices from years earlier that he could not answer simply by pointing to Dominic Vale.

Dominic remained under investigation for his handling of the warehouse records and related financial matters.

Neither man’s future had been fully determined.

Luca had spent his entire adult life believing that uncertainty was something rich men could eliminate.

Now he lived with it.

He learned to make appointments.

He learned to wait for people to return his calls.

He learned that an apology was not a transaction.

He learned that consequences could remain even when a person was genuinely trying to change.

Some lessons came in courtrooms and lawyers’ offices.

Others arrived in June Bell’s kitchen.

One Saturday in November, Sophie taught him to make pancakes properly.

“Not too much batter,” she instructed.

Luca poured a small circle into the skillet.

“Like that?”

“Better.”

She watched the edges begin to bubble.

“Now wait.”

He reached for the spatula.

“Not yet.”

He put it down.

June, seated nearby with her tea, smiled.

“She’s getting good at giving orders.”

“She has excellent teachers,” Luca said.

Sophie looked over her shoulder.

“Nana says being loud doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“Your nana is right.”

“Then how do you know when someone is right?”

Luca thought for a moment.

“You listen to what they’re saying. You look at what actually happened. And sometimes you have to admit you were wrong even when you don’t want to.”

Sophie considered this.

Then she pointed at the pancake.

“You’re wrong if you flip it now.”

Luca laughed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

May watched him from the counter.

He was wearing an inexpensive blue sweater instead of a tailored suit. Flour dusted one sleeve. His hair had gone slightly gray at the temples.

He looked like an ordinary middle-aged man trying to make breakfast.

May knew he wasn’t ordinary.

The ongoing investigations ensured that nobody in the Bell household forgot the harm connected to his former life.

But watching him wait patiently for a child to finish explaining how to cook reminded her that people could develop habits different from the ones they had practiced for years.

Whether those habits would last was a question only time could answer.

For now, he was waiting for a pancake.

And he waited until Sophie said it was ready.

In January, a snowstorm closed Sophie’s school.

She spent the afternoon with June and May building a snowman in the backyard.

Luca had planned to visit, but June called to say the roads were unsafe.

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he spoke with Sophie on the phone.

“We made a snowman,” she announced.

“Did you give him a name?”

“Mr. Pickles.”

“An excellent name.”

“He has your eyebrows.”

Luca touched his forehead.

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

“As a compliment.”

“I’ll try.”

She giggled.

Then her voice softened.

“Do you still have my ribbon?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In an envelope in my desk.”

“Can you send me a picture?”

He hesitated.

June had rules about photographs and privacy.

“I’ll ask Nana first.”

Sophie sighed dramatically.

“You always say that.”

“She’s usually the person I should ask.”

“Okay. But don’t lose it.”

“I won’t.”

After the call ended, Luca took the envelope from his desk.

The ribbon lay inside, carefully folded.

It was not expensive.

It had no resale value.

It wouldn’t impress a banker or persuade a business partner to do anything.

Yet it had become the most important thing he owned.

He placed it back in the drawer.

Then he looked around his small apartment.

There were no security guards outside the door.

No assistants waiting to anticipate his wishes.

No rooms full of expensive furniture he never used.

On the refrigerator hung a drawing Sophie had made of Mr. Pickles.

His eyebrows were indeed rather impressive.

Luca smiled to himself.

Then he made dinner.

In early spring, June suffered another period of fatigue.

Her condition was being managed, but she had begun thinking more seriously about the years ahead.

She had raised Sophie since Clare’s death, and she intended to continue as long as she could.

But love alone wasn’t a contingency plan.

May had been part of Sophie’s life since infancy. She knew the child’s school, medical needs, routines, and favorite foods. Her house was familiar, and Sophie already had a room there.

After receiving independent legal advice, June worked to formalize arrangements for May to assume responsibility if June ever became unable to care for Sophie.

Luca knew about the discussions.

He offered no opinion about who should become Sophie’s guardian.

One afternoon, June asked him why he hadn’t.

They were sitting on the porch while Sophie played in the yard with May.

“Why haven’t you offered to take her?” June asked.

Luca looked toward the child.

“Because she has people who have loved her all her life.”

“And you don’t love her?”

The question surprised him.

“Of course I do.”

June waited.

Luca took a moment before answering.

“But loving her doesn’t give me the right to replace those people. And my legal situation isn’t settled. I couldn’t offer her the stability she deserves.”

June studied him.

“That’s a very different answer from the one you gave me the first day.”

He remembered offering to buy her a safer house.

To arrange medical care.

To solve everything with money.

“I thought helping meant taking control,” he said.

“And now?”

“Now I think it means knowing when not to.”

June looked toward the yard.

Sophie was crouching beside a flowerbed, showing May a beetle.

“She’s going to ask hard questions as she gets older,” June said.

“I know.”