Chapter 9 - Dinner With the DevilElena did not cry.
That frightened Lorenzo more than tears would have.
She sat in the abandoned hotel kitchen while Dominic stood across from her.
Lucas had been sent upstairs with Alessandra.
Marco remained outside the door.
Lorenzo stayed beside Elena.
Maria Caruso had spent fourteen months dying.
Elena remembered every detail.
The hospital appointments.
The weight loss.
The vomiting.
The bruises.
The doctors telling them the cancer was aggressive.
The final weeks when Maria could barely speak.
“You knew?” Elena asked.
Dominic’s voice was low.
“I suspected.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
He looked at her.
“Yes.”
The slap came harder than the one at the cottage.
Dominic accepted it.
“Who?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You disappeared while someone murdered her.”
“I was trying to find proof.”
“For ten years?”
“I couldn’t come near you.”
“Stop saying you were protecting me!”
Her voice cracked.
Lorenzo put a hand on her shoulder.
Elena shook it off.
Not because she rejected him.
Because she needed to stand alone.
“What killed her?”
Dominic swallowed.
“Long-term arsenic exposure.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Chemistry.
Of course.
Her father’s world had found her mother in the end.
“Why did the doctors call it cancer?”
“Because someone altered the tests.”
“Thorne?”
“Possibly.”
Lorenzo thought of Ethel Guard.
Hospitals.
Medical systems.
“Meridian,” he said.
Dominic nodded.
“Maria knew too much.”
Elena opened her eyes.
“What did she know?”
“Where the first Meridian archive was stored.”
“Which was?”
Dominic looked toward the flash drive.
“Inside Antonio Moretti’s legitimate foundation.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“My father had no foundation.”
“Yes, he did.”
Dominic gave a bitter smile.
“He created it under Isabella’s maiden name.”
Lorenzo understood.
“Bellaforte Foundation.”
One of Chicago’s oldest private charities.
Schools.
Medical grants.
Housing programs.
Lorenzo’s mother had chaired its board for decades.
He had never cared about it.
“Meridian money is inside the charity?”
“No.”
Dominic shook his head.
“Evidence is.”
Elena stood.
“Then why are we going to dinner?”
“We’re not,” Lorenzo said.
“Yes, we are.”
“No.”
She turned.
“I’m tired of finding out everyone knows something about my life except me.”
“Hale expects you.”
“Good.”
“He may kill you.”
“Then keep him from killing me.”
Lorenzo stared.
Elena continued.
“You keep promising protection. Protect me while I get answers.”
He hated that logic because it was his own.
At eight p.m. the following evening, Lorenzo and Elena entered Le Théâtre, a French restaurant occupying the top floor of a restored bank building.
Victor Hale had reserved the entire restaurant.
No customers.
No visible staff except two waiters.
Dominic waited two blocks away with Marco.
Alessandra coordinated communications.
Lucas had been hidden at another Moretti property with four guards and strict orders not to touch any laptops.
Lorenzo wore a black suit.
Elena wore a dark green dress Alessandra had found.
“You look beautiful,” Lorenzo said in the elevator.
Elena looked at him.
“We’re walking into a trap.”
“I noticed.”
“And that is what you say?”
“I may die soon. Efficient communication.”
She almost smiled.
The elevator opened.
Victor Hale sat at a table beside the windows.
He was approximately sixty, silver-haired, elegant, and unremarkable in the calculated way powerful men often were.
He rose.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Hale.”
His gaze moved to Elena.
“Miss Caruso.”
“Vance.”
“Names are fascinating things. We change them and pretend history follows.”
Elena sat.
Lorenzo remained standing until she did.
Hale noticed.
“How romantic.”
“What do you know about Maria?” Elena asked.
“No drinks? Appetizers?”
“No.”
Hale sighed.
“Younger generations have lost patience.”
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“Answer her.”
Victor smiled.
“Maria Caruso was poisoned.”
Elena’s hands tightened.
“By whom?”
“A Moretti.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Which one?”
Victor looked directly at him.
“Isabella.”
Silence.
Elena turned toward Lorenzo.
He looked genuinely stunned.
“That’s a lie.”
“Is it?”
Hale placed a folder on the table.
Medical records.
Payments.
A signature.
Isabella Moretti.
Elena opened the file.
Lorenzo read beside her.
Payments to a private clinic.
Medication orders.
Arsenic compounds.
Authorization code tied to Isabella.
Elena’s face emptied.
“She loved my mother.”
Victor nodded.
“Love and murder are not mutually exclusive in your families.”
Lorenzo grabbed the folder.
“These could be forged.”
“They could.”
Victor smiled.
“But they aren’t.”
Elena stood.
Lorenzo touched her hand.
She pulled away.
“I need air.”
Victor said, “Sit down, Elena. You haven’t heard why.”
She froze.
“Why?”
“Maria wanted to expose Meridian publicly.”
“That sounds like a reason Meridian would kill her.”
“Yes.”
“Not Isabella.”
“Isabella believed exposure would lead to mass retaliation. Hundreds of people would die. Families. Witnesses. Children.”
Victor poured wine.
“She chose containment.”
Elena whispered, “She murdered her friend to save everyone else?”
“Sometimes leadership means choosing who dies.”
Lorenzo’s voice became ice.
“That is Meridian philosophy.”
“Because it works.”
Victor took a sip.
“Your mother understood us better than she admitted.”
Elena looked sick.
“What does this have to do with the Bellaforte Foundation?”
Victor’s smile faded.
“There it is.”
Lorenzo realized they had revealed too much.
Victor leaned back.
“So Dominic told you.”
Lorenzo stood.
“We’re leaving.”
Victor did not object.
“That would be wise.”
Too easy.
Lorenzo looked toward the waiters.
Neither moved.
“Why invite us?”
“To give Elena the truth.”
“You don’t care about truth.”
“No.”
Victor smiled again.
“I care about what truth does to loyalty.”
Lorenzo understood.
The dinner was not a negotiation.
It was psychological warfare.
Victor wanted Elena to doubt Isabella.
To doubt Lorenzo.
To doubt Dominic.
“Come on,” Lorenzo said.
Elena walked toward the elevator.
Victor called after her.
“Elena.”
She stopped.
“Ask Dominic why he never killed Isabella after Maria died.”
Elena looked back.
Victor continued.
“A man like your father discovers who murdered his wife and does nothing?”
Dominic had known.
Or suspected.
Yet he worked with Isabella afterward.
Why?
The elevator doors closed.
Elena stood in silence.
Lorenzo did not touch her.
He wanted to.
He did not.
When they reached the street, Dominic approached.
Elena slapped the folder against his chest.
“Did Isabella poison Mom?”
Dominic looked at the records.
His face changed.
That was enough.
Elena whispered, “You knew.”
“I knew she ordered the medication.”
“And you kept working with her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Maria asked her to.”
Elena stared.
“What?”
Dominic opened the car door.
“We need to move.”
“Tell me.”
“Not here.”
“Tell me!”
Dominic looked around the street.
Then at his daughter.
“Your mother was already dying.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
“She had pancreatic cancer.”
“But you said arsenic.”
“She had both.”
Elena stopped.
Dominic continued.
“Maria discovered Meridian was dosing her to accelerate the disease and mimic complications. By the time Isabella found out, the damage was irreversible.”
“Then why would Isabella give her more poison?”
“Because Meridian wanted information.”
Dominic’s voice broke.
“They kidnapped you.”
Elena’s world stopped.
“What?”
“You were eight.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You were drugged.”
Lorenzo felt cold.
Dominic continued.
“They told Maria they would keep hurting you until she gave them the archive location. Maria begged Isabella to make it stop.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“No.”
“Isabella gave Maria a fatal dose so Meridian could no longer use her.”
Elena backed away.
“My mother asked to die?”
Dominic was crying now.
“Yes.”
For the first time, Elena saw her father cry.
“She made Isabella promise not to tell you. She wanted you to remember her as sick, not hunted.”
Elena could barely stand.
Lorenzo caught her.
This time she did not pull away.
She collapsed against him.
Dominic whispered, “Isabella didn’t murder Maria.”
He looked at Elena.
“She kept the last promise one mother made to another.”
A shot cracked from above.
Dominic’s body jerked.
Blood sprayed across the car.
Elena screamed.
“Dad!”
Dominic fell.
Lorenzo dragged Elena behind the vehicle while Marco’s men opened fire toward nearby rooftops.
“Sniper!”
A second round struck the pavement.
Elena crawled toward Dominic.
Lorenzo grabbed her.
“No!”
“He’s bleeding!”
“I know!”
Marco located the shooter.
“North roof!”
Gunfire erupted.
Dominic lay beside the curb.
Blood spread beneath him.
Elena reached him.
The bullet had entered high in his chest.
She pressed both hands over the wound.
“Stay with me.”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“You sound like your mother.”
“Don’t talk.”
“Listen.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“Stop.”
“The archive.”
His breathing became wet.
“Bellaforte Foundation.”
“We know.”
“Basement.”
“Dad.”
“Vault three.”
His hand found hers.
“Blue salt.”
Eleven.
Harbor.
The memory cipher.
“What’s in vault three?”
Dominic struggled for breath.
“The chair.”
“What chair?”
His eyes shifted toward Lorenzo.
“The Meridian chair.”
Lorenzo leaned closer.
“What about him?”
Dominic whispered a name.
Lorenzo’s face went still.
Elena did not hear.
“What did he say?”
Dominic smiled at her.
“I’m sorry, little bird.”
His hand went limp.
Elena screamed.
The city continued moving around them as Dominic Caruso died in his daughter’s arms.
Lorenzo stared down at the man he had hated, distrusted, and finally begun to understand.
Then he looked toward the roof where the sniper had already disappeared.
Marco approached.
“We have to go.”
Lorenzo nodded.
He lifted Elena.
She resisted.
“Dad.”
“We can’t stay.”
“Don’t leave him.”
“We won’t.”
“I left him before.”
“No.”
Lorenzo held her face.
“You were a child. You did not leave him.”
Tears finally came.
“Who did he say?”
Lorenzo did not answer.
Elena stared at him.
“Before he died. Who did he say is the chair?”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
Because the name Dominic whispered was impossible.
A person Lorenzo had trusted more than anyone.
Someone who had known the Moretti empire from the inside.
Someone believed dead.
May you like
He looked at Elena.
“He said my mother.”
