Chapter 13 - BLOOD DOES NOT MAKE YOU FAMILY
The traitor was Dante’s uncle.
Salvatore Moretti.
The smiling old man in half the family photographs.
The man who toasted Dante at his wedding.
The man who held Matteo at his baptism.
The man who had served as Dante’s adviser for fifteen years.
“Impossible,” Dante said.
My father handed him the drive.
“It’s all there.”
Dante watched the files.
Payment records.
Recorded calls.
Old surveillance.
Salvatore had worked with Caruso for decades.
He wanted Dante’s father gone.
Then he planned to control Dante.
But Dante grew stronger than expected.
So Salvatore waited.
And when Matteo was born, he finally found another weakness.
Dante’s hands shook.
I had never seen that before.
“He held my son.”
I touched his shoulder.
“He’s not getting near Matteo again.”
Dante looked at me.
“How can you still say ‘we’ after everything?”
“Because you didn’t cause this.”
“My family did.”
“Blood doesn’t make you responsible for every monster sharing your last name.”
My father looked away.
That sentence applied to him too.
By evening, Dante summoned Salvatore.
No guns at the table.
That was the agreement.
Nobody believed it.
Salvatore arrived smiling.
“Dante.”
His smile died when he saw Gabriel.
“Well.”
Dante placed the drive on the table.
“You betrayed my father.”
Salvatore sighed.
“You always were dramatic.”
“You had him killed.”
“He was weak.”
Dante’s face went cold.
“You came to his funeral.”
“Of course.”
“You held my mother while she cried.”
“She was beautiful when she cried.”
Dante moved so fast I barely saw it.
He grabbed Salvatore by the throat.
I touched Dante’s arm.
“Not here.”
His breathing slowed.
He released him.
Salvatore smiled at me.
“So this is the waitress.”
My skin crawled.
“The famous Elena.”
“Don’t say her name.”
“Oh, Dante.”
Salvatore laughed.
“You’ve become exactly like your father.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“Women make Moretti men stupid.”
Then the lights went out.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Caruso’s men.
Again.
Salvatore had brought them.
We rushed toward the back corridor.
Then Salvatore grabbed me.
A knife pressed to my throat.
Dante froze.
“Let her go.”
Salvatore smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The weakness.”
Dante slowly lowered his gun.
“No!”
I knew exactly what he was doing.
Trading himself.
Again.
I was tired of men trying to sacrifice themselves.
Salvatore tightened his grip.
“Gun down.”
Dante obeyed.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
Then at Salvatore’s wrist.
Tiny movement.
Message received.
I stomped backward on Salvatore’s foot.
He cursed.
I twisted.
The blade cut my neck but missed the artery.
Dante lunged.
They crashed into the table.
I grabbed the fallen gun.
Salvatore reached inside his jacket.
I aimed.
“Don’t.”
He laughed.
“You won’t.”
He pulled his weapon.
I fired.
The bullet hit his shoulder.
He dropped.
I stared at the gun in my hand.
Dante looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He came closer.
“I just shot your uncle.”
“Yes.”
“I’m having a very strange month.”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
Then the front windows exploded inward.
Caruso stepped through the smoke.
And beside him stood Michael.
Alive.
May you like
Free.
And holding Matteo by the collar.
