Chapter 11 - THE MAN I COULD NOT FORGIVE
I left the Moretti estate the next morning.
Dante didn’t stop me.
That almost made it worse.
He arranged a guarded apartment.
New phone.
New locks.
Two men downstairs.
Protection without presence.
For a week, I didn’t see him.
Matteo called every night.
“Are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Papa is sad.”
My throat tightened.
“Your papa doesn’t get sad.”
“Yes, he does.”
Children were brutally inconvenient truth-tellers.
“He sits in the kitchen and doesn’t drink his coffee.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then Matteo whispered, “Are you mad at him?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
I looked out the window.
“I don’t know.”
Meanwhile, Michael survived.
Federal agents arrested him.
Marco talked.
Caruso disappeared.
The flash drive recovered from the terminal turned out to be a copy.
The original was still missing.
Then my mother called.
“I need to tell you something.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m developing an allergy to that sentence.”
“Dante didn’t murder your father.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“Not the way you think.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“Gabriel called me that night.”
Silence.
“He had been shot?”
“Yes.”
My pulse pounded.
“He said a Moretti boy found him during a deal gone wrong.”
“Dante.”
“He said the boy could have killed him.”
“But?”
“He didn’t.”
I stopped breathing.
Mom’s voice shook.
“Gabriel was shot by Caruso’s man before Dante arrived.”
My mind couldn’t keep up.
“But Dante said—”
“Your father begged Dante to tell everyone he had finished the job.”
“Why?”
“To protect us.”
I stood.
“If Caruso believed Gabriel survived, he would have come after me and you.”
My hands shook.
“What happened?”
“Dante helped him escape.”
The room went silent.
“Escape?”
“Yes.”
“Then my father may still be alive.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t Dante tell me?”
“Maybe because protecting someone sometimes means accepting their hatred.”
I hung up.
Five minutes later, I was in a car.
When I reached the Moretti estate, Dante was in his study.
He looked exhausted.
He stood when he saw me.
“Elena.”
“You lied.”
His face hardened.
“I know.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
“No.”
“You helped him.”
“Yes.”
“Why let me believe otherwise?”
“Because Gabriel made me promise.”
“He was my father.”
“He was also terrified Caruso would use you.”
“So you let me hate you?”
Dante looked directly at me.
“If hatred kept you away from this life, yes.”
My anger cracked.
“You don’t get to decide what I can survive.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
And I did.
That was the terrifying part.
I believed Dante Moretti.
“Then why is Caruso still after the flash drive?”
“Because Gabriel kept proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That Caruso ordered my father’s murder.”
My breath stopped.
“Your father is dead.”
Dante nodded.
“Car bombing. Fifteen years ago.”
“You thought it was a rival family.”
“We did.”
“But it was Caruso.”
“If the files prove it.”
I stared at him.
“So this entire war—”
“Was built on a lie.”
Before I could answer, someone knocked.
Rosa entered.
She held an envelope.
“This came for Elena.”
No return address.
Inside was one photograph.
A man standing beside a motel window.
Older.
Gray beard.
But I recognized his eyes.
My father.
May you like
On the back, someone had written:
If you want him alive, come alone.
