Chapter 14 - The Suit Lorenzo Chose for Himself
Vittorio’s arrest became public two days later.
Boston exploded with rumors.
Some were true.
Most were not.
Newspapers described financial crimes, conspiracy investigations, construction fraud, and the reopened investigation into Alessandro Moretti’s death.
Lorenzo’s name appeared everywhere.
Some articles called him heir.
Others called him informant.
Some suggested he was cooperating.
Others suggested he had engineered his uncle’s downfall to seize power.
Meline read three stories before Lorenzo took her phone away.
“Stop.”
“Give that back.”
“No.”
“Control.”
“Medical intervention.”
“I’m perfectly healthy.”
“You called a reporter an illiterate raccoon.”
“Privately.”
“On social media.”
“That was Nina.”
Nina called from across the shop.
“I stand by it.”
Hayes Bespoke reopened partially three weeks after the fire.
Customers returned slowly.
Some avoided the shop because of the Moretti attention.
Others came specifically because of it.
Meline hated both reactions.
She wanted people to buy suits because she made excellent suits.
Not because her boyfriend’s family appeared on evening news.
Boyfriend.
The word still felt strange.
At forty-one she had believed certain kinds of beginnings belonged to younger women.
Lorenzo repeatedly proved otherwise.
Not with grand gestures.
He had learned.
Instead he brought lunch.
Carried damaged fabric boxes.
Asked before changing security arrangements.
Once, he spent forty minutes repairing a loose drawer badly.
Meline discovered him staring at crooked screws.
“You own construction companies.”
“Yes.”
“And you cannot install a drawer.”
“I employ people.”
“Clearly for survival.”
One morning he entered carrying an old garment bag.
“What is that?”
“My father’s funeral suit.”
Meline’s smile disappeared.
“Why bring it here?”
“I don’t want it.”
“Then donate it.”
“I want you to make me something new.”
“For what?”
“Court.”
Vittorio’s preliminary hearing was scheduled in six weeks.
Lorenzo would testify regarding financial records.
He could have purchased any suit in the world.
Instead he stood in Hayes Bespoke.
“What do you want?” Meline asked.
He looked surprised.
“You’re asking me?”
“You’re the client.”
“Usually you tell me.”
“Today I’m asking.”
Lorenzo considered.
“No black.”
Meline nodded.
“No charcoal.”
“Interesting.”
“No clothes that make me look like my father.”
That hurt.
She softened.
“What do you want to look like?”
Lorenzo stood before the mirror.
For a long time he said nothing.
“Me.”
Meline smiled.
“Good answer.”
She chose deep midnight navy.
Not Alessandro’s blue.
Lorenzo’s.
Soft construction.
Less armor.
Open chest.
Clean lines.
“Stand straight.”
“I am.”
“You’re compensating.”
“For?”
“Your ribs.”
“They healed.”
“Your body disagrees.”
He sighed.
Meline worked.
Around them, Hayes Bespoke lived again.
Nina sewing.
Steam rising.
Phones ringing.
Rain against glass.
Normal.
Beautifully normal.
While Meline measured his shoulders, Lorenzo asked, “Would you ever leave Boston?”
She paused.
“For vacation?”
“Life.”
“Why?”
“Just asking.”
“That sounds like a dangerous prelude.”
He smiled.
“I’ve considered selling the estate.”
“Good.”
“Most businesses too.”
“All?”
“Keeping construction.”
“You like buildings.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted architecture.”
He looked at her.
“You remembered.”
“I notice bodies and conversations.”
“Terrifying woman.”
“What would you do?”
“Redevelop old properties.”
“That sounds suspiciously respectable.”
“I’m experimenting.”
Meline smiled.
“And the Moretti name?”
“I can’t sell that.”
“No.”
“Do you think people ever stop seeing what your family was?”
“No.”
His expression dropped.
“But they might eventually see what you choose to become.”
He looked at her.
“That line was better than any of mine.”
“Professional.”
He caught her hand.
“Dinner tonight?”
“Maybe.”
“With me?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether the theoretical woman is available.”
Lorenzo groaned.
“You’re never letting that die.”
“Never.”
Six weeks later, the suit was finished.
Lorenzo stood before the mirror.
No black.
No armor.
Navy wool.
White shirt.
No tie until court required it.
He looked younger.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Meline adjusted his cuff.
“How do you feel?”
“Exposed.”
“Good tailoring should not make you feel exposed.”
“It’s not the suit.”
She understood.
Tomorrow he would testify.
Publicly.
Against Vittorio.
Against parts of his own father’s legacy.
“You can still be afraid,” Meline said.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t make you weak.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know when I’m trying to be wise.”
“Sorry.”
She smiled.
Then Lorenzo reached into his pocket.
Meline narrowed her eyes.
“If that is jewelry, put it away.”
He laughed.
“It isn’t.”
He removed a handwritten note.
“What?”
“I found it in my father’s desk.”
Meline unfolded it.
Alessandro’s handwriting.
Lorenzo was always the softer boy. Vittorio thinks softness is a flaw. I think perhaps it is the only thing that might save him from becoming us.
Meline’s eyes filled.
“When did your father write this?”
“Years ago.”
“He knew.”
“Maybe.”
She looked at Lorenzo.
“Tomorrow, don’t testify as Alessandro’s son.”
“Then who?”
She straightened his jacket.
“The man wearing this suit.”
Lorenzo smiled faintly.
“My tailor is extremely bossy.”
“Your tailor charges by the hour.”
His eyes remained on hers.
“My tailor is also the first place I ever wanted to come home to.”
Meline forgot how to breathe.
“Practice line?”
“No.”
He touched her face.
“Never again.”
The following morning, cameras filled the courthouse steps.
Lorenzo emerged from the car wearing Meline’s navy suit.
Reporters shouted.
Questions flew.
He stopped only once.
A reporter asked:
“Mr. Moretti, are you trying to save your family name?”
Lorenzo looked toward the courthouse.
“No.”
He continued walking.
“I’m trying to stop needing it.”
May you like
Meline watched from inside the lobby.
And for the first time, Lorenzo Moretti entered a room full of powerful men without wearing his father’s shadow.
