Chapter 4 - The Deal That Wasn't About Money
Salvatore Moretti came to the garage the next morning.
He arrived in a silver sedan.
No guards.
No visible weapon.
Just a cane, a dark overcoat, and the confidence of a man who had spent his life getting what he wanted.
He looked at me.
“You look like your father.”
“You knew him.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
His expression didn't move.
“No.”
“Did you know who did?”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“Who?”
He looked at Gabriel.
“Ask him.”
Gabriel's face hardened.
“You don't get to do that.”
Salvatore smiled.
“You've always been protective of this family.”
“This isn't your family.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But it is hers.”
He handed me a photograph.
It showed my father outside the garage.
Standing beside a younger Salvatore.
On the back was written:
WE MADE A DEAL.
“What deal?”
Salvatore looked at Gabriel.
“Your father was going to sell the garage.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
I stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does when you understand who was hunting him.”
He paused.
“Your father was trying to buy your freedom.”
My throat tightened.
“From who?”
Salvatore's eyes moved toward Gabriel.
I looked at Gabriel.
He said nothing.
Salvatore smiled.
“Ask Costa.”
Then he left.
I turned toward Gabriel.
“What isn't everyone telling me?”
He looked tired.
“Your father wanted to make you disappear.”
“I was a child.”
“Yes.”
“He wanted to send me away?”
“To Florida.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew the network would eventually come for you.”
I felt betrayed all over again.
“Why didn't anyone do it?”
“Your mother refused.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed she could protect you.”
“And she died.”
Gabriel nodded.
The silence between us was heavy.
Then I asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Did you love my mother?”
Gabriel looked at me.
That was the first time I saw him look genuinely vulnerable.
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“She loved you?”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
“She loved your father.”
I looked away.
The strange disappointment I had not expected suddenly embarrassed me.
Gabriel noticed.
“You thought I loved her?”
“I don't know what I thought.”
He stepped closer.
“Francesca.”
I looked at him.
“Your mother was family.”
Something about the way he said it calmed me.
“Then why did you stay?”
“Because your father asked me to protect you.”
“And why are you doing it now?”
He didn't answer.
I knew before he spoke.
“Because somewhere along the way, protecting you stopped being an obligation.”
My heart stumbled.
“What did it become?”
He looked directly at me.
“Something I choose.”
I couldn't speak.
Neither could he.
Then the garage alarm went off.
A vehicle had crashed through the front gate.
Gunmen.
We ran.
Gabriel pulled me behind a car.
“Stay down.”
I grabbed his arm.
“Don't get shot.”
He looked at me.
“That's your concern?”
“Yes.”
A faint smile appeared.
“Good.”
The attack lasted six minutes.
When it ended, three attackers were captured.
One carried a photograph.
Me.
Standing beside Gabriel.
The message underneath was clear.
THE BOSS HAS A WEAKNESS.
I stared at it.
Gabriel took it from me.
“I don't have a weakness.”
“You're holding the photograph.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at him.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
That evening, he took me to his home.
It wasn't the luxurious penthouse I expected.
It was a renovated brownstone hidden behind trees.
Inside, there were books.
Old photographs.
A kitchen that looked used.
A piano.
And a room filled with motorcycles.
“You live here?”
“Yes.”
“I expected gold.”
“I hate gold.”
“Why?”
“Too easy to see fingerprints.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
It was the first time I saw him look truly relaxed.
He poured two glasses of wine.
I didn't drink.
He noticed.
“Don't like wine?”
“Too expensive.”
“That's not an answer.”
“I've never had it.”
He stared.
“You're twenty-eight.”
“Yes.”
“You've never had wine?”
“I spent my twenties paying taxes and fixing transmissions.”
He laughed.
“Then tonight you're having your first glass.”
We sat outside on the balcony.
The city stretched below us.
For a few minutes, there were no ledgers.
No criminals.
No dead parents.
Just silence.
“Gabriel?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you laugh when I called you a dead octopus?”
He smiled.
“Because my grandfather used to call my father an octopus.”
“Why?”
“He had fingers everywhere.”
“So I insulted your family tradition.”
“You improved it.”
I laughed.
Then he looked at me.
“You were the first person to make me laugh in years.”
I didn't know what to say.
So I said the only thing I could.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
He reached for my hand.
I froze.
He didn't move closer.
He waited.
I let him take it.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles.
“You're always angry.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm scared.”
His expression softened.
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Then of what?”
“Of losing what Dad left me.”
He squeezed my hand.
“You won't.”
“Promise?”
He looked at me.
“I'll promise this one.”
My heart beat faster.
Before either of us could say more, Wade entered.
“Boss.”
Gabriel released my hand.
“What?”
“We found the second key's lock.”
“Where?”
“Inside the garage.”
I stood.
“What does it open?”
Wade looked at me.
“A wall.”
We returned to Moretti Auto.
Behind the old painting of Dad and Mom was a hidden compartment.
The second key fit.
The wall opened.
Inside was a small room.
A safe.
Three folders.
And a letter addressed to me.
I opened it.
Francesca,
The man you trust most will eventually have to choose between power and you.
When that day comes, don't ask him to choose quickly.
Watch what he does when nobody is looking.
I stared at Gabriel.
He had gone pale.
May you like
Because the letter wasn't about my father.
It was about him.
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