They Toasted Her, so I Left the Moretti Family

Our three years of rotating through our families' businesses were almost over. Marco and I had spent the past two months trying to turn around my family's seaside restaurant on Long Island, which had been losing money for two years.

The restaurant stood at the eastern tip of Long Island, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the coast. When we'd first gone there to take inventory two years earlier, the terrace was a mess. The sea wind had bleached the wooden deck. Marco had stood by the windows and tossed me a ring of rusty keys.

"When our rotations are over, let's make something of this place."

I caught the keys and looked up at him. "What if our families say no?"

He smiled, so sure of himself. "Then we'll show them. At least this place will be the first thing we build together."

I'd held on to those words for two years.

To prepare for our project review, I'd stayed up several nights going through nearly six months of accounts. I'd replaced suppliers who'd been taking kickbacks for years, reworked the staff schedules, and brought liquor losses under control. Marco handled negotiations with outside businesses. We each knew our role, and we worked well together.

We'd agreed to settle on a price with our last seafood supplier the day before the review, then wrap everything up.

But when I came downstairs with a thick stack of paperwork, something else was waiting for me.

Marco stood in the entryway, his head lowered as he adjusted Sophia's coat. She had gone pale, her fingers clenched around a stack of rejected plans. Her Manhattan private club project hadn't even made it past the first review.

My father, Vito Moretti, sat on the living room sofa, grim-faced. His tone left no room for argument. "This is the first project she's run herself. We can't let it fail."

Then he turned to me. "Let her use your restaurant's cost model and supplier list."

I froze. A couple of seconds passed before I managed to answer. "Those are the key documents for our project review."

"Your project's in good shape. A short delay won't hurt it." My father didn't hesitate. "Sophia needs help now."

I instinctively looked at Marco. Surely he remembered we were supposed to finalize the supplier quotes today. We'd reached the most important stage of our preparations.

But he just came over and lowered his voice, his tone as gentle and persuasive as ever. "I'll go back to the suppliers with her. Give her the data. She can revise her proposal tonight and resubmit it tomorrow."

"I never agreed to give her the full model." I kept my voice level. This was where I drew the line.

"Elena." Marco touched my arm gently, still patient. "We've been working on this for two months. Our project is solid. One file isn't going to change that. If Lorenzo's daughter fails on her very first project, she'll be a laughingstock."

Lorenzo. Again.

For nine years, whenever Sophia was involved, that name had ended every argument. No matter how much I'd done or how sound my arguments were, I was expected to step aside.

In the end, I offered a compromise. "I can help her check and revise her figures. But she can't have the full file."

Marco didn't argue. I thought that settled it.

Then, that night, I went to the study to pull up my backup files. Someone had copied the entire cost model I'd worked so hard to build.

I went straight to Marco's room and turned my laptop toward him. I fixed him with a cold stare. "Did you give it to her?"

He looked up without a trace of guilt. "I combined the material from both projects."

"I told you she couldn't have the full file." I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice.

"I know." He closed his laptop, still speaking gently. "I went ahead without your permission. If you're angry, be angry with me. Don't take it out on Sophia."

Soft footsteps came from the hallway. Sophia appeared in the doorway, her eyes red. "Is this about me?" she asked timidly. "I didn't know it would affect your project. If it's too much trouble, I won't use the files."

Before I could answer, Marco hurried over and stepped in front of her.

"This isn't your fault." His tone made it clear he wouldn't let anyone blame her. "I gave you the files. I'll sort it out with Elena."

I stayed where I was, watching them as that familiar exhaustion settled over me. I was the one losing out. I was the one left with no choice. Yet Sophia was always the first person he thought of, the first person he comforted.

At the review the next day, Sophia's club proposal passed the first round. A business partner praised her in front of everyone. For someone running her first project, he said, she'd done a remarkable job sorting out such messy accounts.

Marco stood beside her and calmly supplied the key figures. He filled in every gap and made her look good.

I sat in the back row with the restaurant paperwork open in my hands. I hadn't turned a single page. At the front of the room, my father delivered his verdict, calm but final. "The seaside restaurant project will be put on hold for six months. Key materials were reassigned at the last minute, leaving the project inadequately prepared. You may resubmit in six months."

After the meeting, Marco caught up with me in the hall and grabbed my wrist.

"It's only six months. When we open, I'll make it up to you twice over."

I looked at him. "Do you remember what you promised me?" I asked quietly.

For a moment, Marco looked stunned, then confused. "What?"

I didn't remind him. There was nothing left to argue about.

Just then, my phone buzzed. Anna Costa, the Ferraro family's lawyer, had sent me a formal partnership offer. They'd officially chosen me as the sole outside partner for their West Coast project: a 30 percent stake, exclusive operating rights in San Francisco, and a protection agreement completely independent of the Moretti family.

I stared at the screen. My first instinct was still to hand Marco my phone.

All my life, he'd been the first person I told about everything that mattered. Every success. Every failure.

But as I raised my hand, Sophia spoke softly behind me. "Next time I have a problem like this, I can just come to you two, right?"

Marco smiled at her with such tenderness. "Of course."

"It won't cause trouble between you and Elena?" she asked quietly.

"She'll understand."

He said it so easily. Not a pause. Not a moment's doubt.

I lowered my hand and slipped the phone into my pocket. Once I'd turned the corner by the stairs, I calmly replied to Anna.

"Proceed with the contract as planned."