Chapter 9 - The Price of FreedomThe trial began 9 months later.
By then, Vincent Caruso had been charged with 27 federal offenses.
Kidnapping.
Racketeering.
Money laundering.
Conspiracy.
Multiple homicides.
Dante faced his own charges.
Money laundering.
Racketeering.
Tax fraud.
Bribery.
Harper sat behind him every day.
The newspapers called her the Mafia Queen.
She hated the name.
Leo thought it was hilarious.
Dante pretended not to.
Evelyn Price built the defense around cooperation.
Dante surrendered records.
Testified against corrupt officials.
Helped dismantle trafficking routes.
In exchange, prosecutors reduced several charges.
It was not absolution.
Dante had done terrible things.
Harper never pretended otherwise.
That mattered.
Love did not require blindness.
It required truth.
One evening during the trial, Harper visited him in federal detention.
Glass separated them.
Dante picked up the phone.
“You look tired.”
“You look incarcerated.”
“Accurate.”
Harper smiled.
“I sold the penthouse.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You what?”
“The government released it from seizure after the settlement.”
“And you sold it?”
“Yes.”
“I liked that penthouse.”
“You complained about the windows.”
“They were excellent windows.”
“They cost $40,000 a year to clean.”
Dante looked offended.
“What did you do with the money?”
“Started a company.”
He stared.
“What company?”
“Moretti-Reed Logistics.”
Dante laughed.
“You kept my name?”
“It has brand recognition.”
“For organized crime.”
“Recognition is recognition.”
“What does the company do?”
“Legal freight.”
Dante leaned toward the glass.
“Legal?”
“Entirely.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
Harper smiled.
“We hired 43 former dockworkers.”
Dante’s expression changed.
“From our crews?”
“Some.”
“Clean?”
“Completely.”
He looked down.
Harper understood.
For decades, Dante had believed men like him had only 2 exits.
Prison.
Or death.
Harper was building a third.
The verdict arrived 3 weeks later.
Vincent received life.
Dante received 7 years under a negotiated agreement, with credit for cooperation and time served.
Harper did not cry in court.
She waited until the bathroom.
Then she locked herself in a stall and cried until she could not breathe.
7 years.
Dante would be nearly 50.
Their life would wait behind concrete walls.
That evening, Evelyn called.
“There’s something else.”
Harper sat upright.
“What?”
“The government wants additional cooperation.”
“How much?”
“Enough to potentially reduce Dante’s sentence substantially.”
Harper closed her eyes.
“What do they want?”
“Everything he knows about the international network.”
“That could put him in danger.”
“Yes.”
“Does Dante know?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He wants to do it.”
Of course he did.
Not because he trusted the government.
Because he finally understood that dismantling the world that created him might be the only way to prevent it from swallowing someone else.
2 years later, Harper stood outside a federal correctional facility.
Spring rain fell softly.
She held an umbrella.
The gate opened.
Dante walked out carrying one duffel bag.
No suit.
No bodyguards.
No armored Mercedes.
Jeans.
A gray sweater.
A small scar beside his eye.
Harper forgot how to breathe.
He stopped.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Harper dropped the umbrella.
She ran.
Dante caught her.
The duffel hit the pavement.
Harper wrapped both arms around his neck.
“You’re late.”
Dante laughed into her hair.
“I was in prison.”
“Excuses.”
He kissed her.
2 years disappeared.
The loneliness.
The visits.
The letters.
The nights Harper slept alone.
Everything vanished.
Dante pulled back.
“You cut your hair.”
“You got gray.”
He looked offended.
“Prison.”
“Again with the excuses.”
Dante touched her face.
“Are you real?”
Harper’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
His expression changed.
“I don’t have one.”
Harper smiled.
“Yes, you do.”
Home was 2 hours north of the city.
A restored farmhouse.
40 acres.
No skyscrapers.
No armored glass.
No guards.
Dante stared from the driveway.
“You bought a farm.”
“I bought a house.”
“There is a barn.”
“The barn came with the house.”
“There are chickens.”
“They came separately.”
Dante stared at her.
“You bought chickens?”
“6.”
“I don’t know anything about chickens.”
“Neither do I.”
“This seems poorly planned.”
Harper laughed.
Inside, the house was warm.
Simple.
Books.
Wood floors.
Photographs.
On the kitchen counter sat a folder.
Dante opened it.
Moretti-Reed Logistics.
Annual revenue: $38 million.
Employees: 212.
Zero criminal investigations.
Dante stared.
“You built this?”
“We built it.”
“I was incarcerated.”
“You provided excellent motivational correspondence.”
Dante laughed.
Then he noticed another object.
A ring box.
His expression changed.
Harper opened it.
Inside was a simple platinum band.
“You proposed with a pharmacy ring.”
“I was under financial stress.”
“I upgraded.”
Dante looked at her.
“Are you asking me?”
“No.”
She slid the ring onto his finger.
“I’m reminding you.”
Dante pulled her close.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
His eyes widened.
“This Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“That’s 4 days.”
“I’ve had 2 years to plan.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Leo. Carter. Marco and Michael. Evelyn.”
“No politicians?”
“Absolutely not.”
“No capos?”
“You don’t have capos anymore.”
Dante smiled.
“No.”
He looked around the kitchen.
May you like
“No, I don’t.”
For the first time, those words sounded like freedom.
