Chapter 6 - MIDNIGHT AT THE CEMETERY
Rain started at 11:18.
By 11:43, Emma was standing in a cemetery wearing ruined restaurant shoes, holding a flashlight while four armed men opened Carlo Moretti’s grave.
“This is insane,” she whispered.
Dante stood beside her.
“Yes.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What would improve it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ‘Sorry your Tuesday turned into organized crime archaeology.’”
“It’s Thursday.”
Emma stared at him.
“That is your response?”
He almost smiled.
Then the workers hit stone.
Everyone went silent.
Carlo Moretti’s mausoleum had been sealed for seventeen years.
At least, that was what the family believed.
Sal examined the edge.
“Boss.”
Dante stepped closer.
“What?”
“These marks are fresh.”
Emma felt cold despite the summer rain.
“Someone’s been here.”
Dante crouched.
“Within days.”
His mother stood under an umbrella.
When Emma signed the news, Mrs. Moretti closed her eyes.
She already knew.
Emma could see it.
“You expected this?”
Mrs. Moretti answered.
“I feared it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
The woman looked at Dante.
Then at Emma.
“Who would understand?”
That hurt.
Emma translated nothing.
Dante saw the exchange.
“What did she say?”
Emma hesitated.
“Later.”
“No. Now.”
“She said she didn’t know who would understand her.”
Dante flinched.
The mausoleum door finally opened.
Cold air breathed out.
Nobody moved at first.
Then Dante entered.
Emma followed despite herself.
The coffin was there.
Dark wood.
Brass handles.
Dante stood beside it.
For the first time, his hands shook.
Emma noticed.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
He touched the lid.
“My father was a difficult man.”
“That sounds generous.”
Dante looked at her.
“He taught me everything.”
“Maybe that’s not always a compliment.”
Dante looked back at the coffin.
“No.”
The lid opened.
Mrs. Moretti turned away.
Emma kept her eyes on Dante.
Inside, beneath the lining, Sal found a narrow compartment.
Empty.
Dante’s face changed.
“No.”
Sal checked again.
“Nothing.”
Mrs. Moretti signed urgently.
Emma translated.
“She says there was a false panel under the pillow.”
Sal removed it.
Empty.
Then he found something.
An envelope.
He held it up.
DANTE MORETTI.
Written by hand.
Dante recognized the handwriting immediately.
“My father.”
He tore it open.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Emma watched his eyes move.
Then stop.
“What does it say?”
Dante read aloud.
“If you are reading this, then I failed.”
Nobody spoke.
He continued.
“The book is not a weapon. It is insurance. Men will kill for it because men fear proof more than bullets.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“There are names in these pages you trust. Do not trust them.”
Sal looked away.
Dante noticed.
“Something bothering you?”
“No.”
Dante continued reading.
“If Michael Santoro comes to you after my death, send him away.”
Dante stopped.
His face drained.
“He became my lawyer.”
Mrs. Moretti shut her eyes.
Emma whispered, “Your father warned you.”
“I never saw this.”
He kept reading.
“Most of all, do not trust blood merely because it is blood.”
Dante’s head lifted.
His uncle.
Maybe brothers.
Maybe cousins.
Maybe anyone.
Then the final line.
“The person who betrayed me sits at our table every Sunday.”
Everyone went still.
Sal whispered, “That narrows it down to twenty people.”
Emma looked at Mrs. Moretti.
She was staring at something behind them.
Not the letter.
The mausoleum wall.
Emma followed her gaze.
A small black device blinked in the corner.
Camera.
Dante saw it.
“Everybody out.”
Too late.
The mausoleum door slammed shut.
The lights went black.
Then a phone began ringing inside the coffin.
Dante froze.
There was no phone there before.
He reached in.
A cheap burner phone.
He answered.
A distorted voice said, “You’re seventeen years late, Dante.”
Dante’s face went hard.
“Who is this?”
“You know me.”
“No.”
“You do.”
Dante looked at everyone around him.
The voice laughed.
Then said five words.
“Ask your mother about Sunday.”
The call ended.
Emma turned toward Mrs. Moretti.
The older woman’s face had gone completely white.
Dante signed badly.
“What happened on Sunday?”
His mother shook her head.
He stepped closer.
“Ma.”
She backed away.
Emma signed.
“He deserves to know.”
Mrs. Moretti looked at Emma.
Tears filled her eyes.
Then she signed a name.
Emma stopped breathing.
Dante demanded, “Who?”
May you like
Emma looked at him.
“She says your brother was there.”
