Chapter 7 - The Price of Becoming MorettiBy sunrise, New York was burning without a single building on fire.
Three judges resigned.
A deputy police commissioner disappeared.
Two executives were arrested at JFK.
Senator Crane held a press conference and denied everything.
Nobody believed him.
Sophia sat in a federal interview room beside Dante.
Across from them sat Special Agent Rebecca Sloan.
Forty-five.
No wedding ring.
No patience.
She placed photographs across the table.
“You two have created the largest public corruption crisis this city has seen in decades.”
Sophia folded her hands.
“You’re welcome.”
Sloan stared at her.
Dante almost smiled.
Sloan turned toward him.
“Mr. Moretti, I can arrest you before lunch.”
“You could have arrested me yesterday.”
“I was busy stopping snipers from turning a restaurant into a cemetery.”
“Fair.”
Sloan looked at Sophia.
“Your dead-man release created problems.”
“It also created evidence.”
“It created panic.”
“Panic is what powerful people call accountability when it arrives unexpectedly.”
Sloan studied her.
“I see why he married you.”
Dante’s smile disappeared.
Sophia said, “Where is Gabriel Vale?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then we’re wasting time.”
Sloan leaned back.
“You want a deal.”
“I want Vale.”
“And what are you offering?”
Sophia looked at Dante.
This was the conversation they had avoided.
The price.
Dante’s criminal empire had survived because the ledger protected it.
Now the protection was gone.
If they wanted Vale, they would need law enforcement.
If they wanted law enforcement, Dante would have to surrender something.
Possibly everything.
Dante spoke.
“Ports.”
Sloan’s expression changed.
“What?”
“I give you the port network. Smuggling routes. Shell companies. Warehouses.”
Sophia turned sharply.
Dante did not look at her.
“In exchange?”
“Protection for my mother and wife.”
“And you?”
“Nothing.”
Sophia stared at him.
“No.”
Dante finally looked at her.
“This is my decision.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Sophia.”
“You don’t get to trade yourself like a piece on a chessboard and call it love.”
Sloan stood.
“I’ll give you two minutes.”
She left.
Sophia turned on Dante.
“You planned this.”
“I considered it.”
“When?”
“After the restaurant.”
“You were going to prison without telling me?”
“If necessary.”
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“You learned absolutely nothing.”
“I learned everything.”
Dante stood.
“You wanted honesty? Here it is. My world almost killed you. Twice. It kidnapped my mother. It killed your father. It turned your mother’s life into a prison. If ending it costs me twenty years, I’ll pay.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Live.”
The word hurt.
Sophia stepped closer.
“Without you?”
“If that keeps you alive.”
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the interview room.
Dante did not move.
Sophia’s eyes filled with tears.
“Do not romanticize abandoning me.”
His face softened.
“I’m trying to save you.”
“No. You’re trying to control the ending.”
That struck him.
“You want to decide that you sacrifice yourself, I survive, Elena survives, and everyone remembers Dante Moretti as the man who finally did the noble thing.”
“That isn’t—”
“Yes, it is.”
Sophia wiped her eyes.
“You still think love means standing in front of bullets.”
“I would.”
“I know.”
She touched his chest.
“But sometimes love means standing beside someone while they face consequences.”
Dante looked at her.
“I married you knowing who you were.”
“You didn’t know everything.”
“Neither did you.”
She took his hand.
“We stop Vale. Then we decide what comes next together.”
Sloan returned.
Sophia looked at her.
“No deal yet.”
Sloan frowned.
“You’re negotiating?”
“Yes.”
“With the FBI?”
“With everyone.”
Three hours later, they reached an arrangement.
Dante would provide financial records, trafficking routes, and evidence against corrupt officials.
In return, prosecutors would consider reduced charges based on cooperation.
No immunity.
No promises.
Just a path.
For Dante, it was more mercy than his world usually offered.
Then Sloan received a message.
“We found Vale.”
“Where?”
“Not him. His aircraft.”
A private jet registered through a Luxembourg shell company had filed a flight plan from Teterboro to Switzerland.
Departure: 8:30 p.m.
“He’s running,” Enzo said.
Sloan shook her head.
“Maybe.”
Sophia understood.
“It’s too obvious.”
“Yes.”
Sloan showed them another photograph.
A surveillance camera had captured a man matching Vale’s height entering a limousine.
But the face was hidden.
Dante looked at the route.
“He wants us at the airport.”
“Why?” Sophia asked.
“To move something else.”
Elena, who had refused medical observation after her rescue, entered the room carrying coffee.
Everyone stared.
“What?”
“Mama,” Dante said, “you’re supposed to be resting.”
“I rested for seventy years. It was boring.”
She placed a coffee in front of Sophia.
Then she saw the flight plan.
“Teterboro.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
Elena sat down.
“Carlo had a house.”
Dante frowned.
“What house?”
“In Connecticut.”
“You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
Dante stared at his mother.
Sophia almost laughed despite everything.
Elena continued.
“Carlo and Maria met there.”
Sophia became still.
“My mother?”
Elena looked at her.
“I knew.”
Sophia’s throat tightened.
“You knew about them?”
“Yes.”
“Was Carlo my father?”
Elena’s eyes filled with sadness.
“I don’t know.”
Sophia searched her face.
“Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth.”
Elena reached for her hand.
“Maria never told me. Carlo never asked me to ask.”
“Why?”
“Because Frank raised you.”
Sophia looked away.
Elena squeezed her hand.
“Blood is not always the most important truth.”
The irony almost hurt.
Frank had raised her.
And betrayed her.
Dante had begun by using her.
And eventually risked everything for her.
Family was complicated.
Elena gave Sloan the address.
An estate outside Greenwich.
Federal teams moved immediately.
But Sophia knew Vale.
“He expects the FBI.”
Dante nodded.
“So we don’t go with them.”
Sloan heard him.
“You absolutely go with them.”
Dante smiled.
“Of course.”
Sloan pointed at him.
“I know that expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one criminals make immediately before ignoring federal instructions.”
“I’m offended.”
“You should be incarcerated.”
“Possibly tomorrow.”
Sloan left to coordinate the raid.
Sophia looked at Dante.
“What are you thinking?”
“That Vale doesn’t care about the black book anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s public.”
“So what does he want?”
Dante looked at her.
“Revenge.”
Sophia felt cold.
Against whom?
Dante?
Elena?
Her?
Then Enzo’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Pierre.”
Sophia stood.
“What happened?”
“He’s missing.”
Her stomach dropped.
A photograph arrived.
Pierre was tied to a chair inside Veluto’s kitchen.
Behind him stood Gabriel Vale.
Vale held a knife.
The message beneath the image contained an address.
Not Connecticut.
Veluto.
COME HOME, SOPHIA.
Sophia stared at the photograph.
Vale had returned to where everything started.
Table 9.
The kitchen.
Her old life.
Dante took her phone.
“You are not going.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Pierre stayed when everyone else ran.”
“That does not mean you walk into a trap.”
Sophia looked at him.
“It’s not only Pierre.”
“What?”
She enlarged the photograph.
Behind Vale, reflected in a stainless-steel refrigerator door, was another person.
A young woman.
Hands tied.
Sophia recognized her.
Anthony Bell’s daughter.
Vale was collecting the children of everyone connected to the ledger.
Punishing the next generation.
Sophia looked at Dante.
“He’s doing what all of you have always done.”
“What?”
“Making children pay for their parents’ sins.”
May you like
She picked up her coat.
“I’m ending it.”
