Chapter 6 - The Recording Beneath the Altar
Two days after Victor confronted us outside the church, Pastor Samuel called at six in the morning.
His voice shook.
“Someone broke into St. Michael's.”
I was out of bed before he finished speaking.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“What did they take?”
“I don't know.”
Dominic arrived before the police.
I got there ten minutes later after leaving Wyatt with Mrs. Alvarez.
The basement chapel had been torn apart.
Cabinets emptied.
Boxes ripped open.
The false compartment where Daniel's recorder had been hidden was smashed.
Nothing valuable from the sanctuary was missing.
No silver.
No donation money.
No electronics.
“They were looking for evidence,” I said.
Dominic nodded.
Pastor Samuel looked devastated.
“This is a church.”
Dominic's expression was hard.
“To Victor, it's a building containing a problem.”
Crime-scene technicians worked for hours.
Then Samuel remembered something.
The week before Angelo died, he had visited the church alone.
“He asked me whether we still used the old altar.”
“What old altar?”
The basement chapel had a second, smaller altar hidden beneath protective cloth.
We moved it.
Nothing.
Dominic crouched.
The base had a narrow wooden trim.
One section was newer than the rest.
Inside was another flash drive.
Angelo had apparently trusted hiding places more than people.
Elena insisted the drive go directly to investigators.
We watched a copied version later.
It contained audio.
The first voice belonged to Angelo.
The second belonged to Victor.
The recording was dated four months before Angelo's death.
“You should have told me Daniel was dead.”
Angelo.
My stomach twisted.
Victor laughed.
“You told me to handle him.”
“I told you to scare him.”
“He wasn't scared.”
“You killed Luca too.”
Silence.
Dominic stopped breathing.
Victor's voice changed.
“Careful.”
“Frank talked.”
“Frank is a drunk.”
“He told me about the brakes.”
Another silence.
Then Victor said something that made every person in the room go still.
“Luca chose Daniel over family.”
Dominic's face emptied.
Angelo replied, “He chose right.”
Victor laughed.
“Little late for morals.”
The recording continued.
Angelo accused Victor of stealing millions through Falcon Ridge.
Victor accused Angelo of building the entire family organization on bribery and violence, then pretending morality mattered only when his favorite son died.
The argument became ugly.
Then Angelo said:
“Dominic will come home when I'm gone.”
“He hates you.”
“He hates what we became.”
“Same thing.”
“He'll find Daniel's records.”
“If the widow hasn't already.”
My blood ran cold.
Angelo's voice sharpened.
“Leave Grace Miller alone.”
Victor responded:
“I've left her alone for five years.”
“You bought her debt.”
“To watch her.”
“She knows nothing.”
“Then she has nothing to worry about.”
I felt physically sick.
Dominic paused the recording.
His voice was quiet.
“I'm sorry.”
“You didn't buy my debt.”
“My family did.”
I was tired of hearing apologies from the wrong Moretti.
“Keep playing.”
Near the end, Angelo said:
“You killed Daniel because he had Luca's files.”
Victor answered:
“I killed Daniel because he threatened everything.”
There it was.
Not implication.
Not speculation.
Confession.
Elena immediately called the federal prosecutor.
The recording alone required authentication, but combined with Frank's testimony, financial records, Daniel's remains, and Angelo's documentation, the case against Victor was becoming overwhelming.
Victor disappeared before agents reached his home.
His car was found near Midway Airport.
He had not boarded a commercial flight.
The government issued a warrant.
Chicago news exploded.
Moretti businesses were raided.
Dominic's offices were searched too.
He cooperated.
Every safe.
Every server.
Every account.
I watched television footage of agents carrying boxes from the building where I had worked.
The reporters described Dominic as a potential cooperating defendant.
That phrase felt strange.
Not witness.
Defendant.
Three days later, he came to my apartment.
“I've been charged.”
I gripped the door.
“With what?”
“Racketeering conspiracy and extortion related to activities from nine years ago.”
Before he left Chicago.
Before Luca's death.
Before I knew his name.
“What happens now?”
“I surrender tomorrow.”
“Are they arresting you?”
“Yes.”
I hated how calmly he said it.
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
“Dominic.”
“My attorneys believe cooperation matters. So does the fact that I left active operations years ago.”
“But?”
“But I did what they're accusing me of.”
No excuse.
That had become his most infuriating quality.
I wanted him to say the government was wrong.
That he was being framed.
That there was some loophole.
Instead, he stood in my cheap apartment and admitted he had earned consequences.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I promised not to disappear.”
My throat closed.
“So you're saying goodbye?”
“No.”
“What is this then?”
“The opposite.”
He handed me a piece of paper.
A detention facility address.
His attorney's contact information.
Matteo's number.
“I don't know if I'll be allowed calls immediately.”
I stared at the paper.
“When Daniel vanished, I had nothing.”
“I know.”
“No explanation. No address. No idea whether he was alive.”
“I know.”
“And you think handing me a jail address makes this better?”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“I think telling you the truth is the only thing I can control.”
I started crying.
I hated it.
“I don't need another man leaving.”
His expression broke.
For all his reputation, Dominic looked helpless.
“I know.”
“Then don't.”
“I have to answer for what I did.”
“What exactly did you do?”
He told me.
Nine years earlier, Dominic had been responsible for collecting money from two businesses that owed his father's organization.
He threatened the owners.
In one incident, he struck a man.
In another, men under his direction vandalized a warehouse.
He also knowingly approved invoices designed to hide illegal payments.
Nothing he described was noble.
Nothing could be turned into romantic mafia mythology.
He had frightened people for money.
“Why did you stop?”
“Luca.”
“What did he do?”
“He asked me whether I wanted Wyatt—”
He stopped.
“Whether I wanted my future children to become us.”
The correction came too late.
I noticed.
Dominic continued.
“I left Chicago six months later and moved into legitimate operations.”
“Why didn't Luca leave?”
“He thought somebody needed to change things from inside.”
“And Victor killed him.”
“Yes.”
I wiped my cheeks.
“Are you afraid?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Yes.”
That was the first time I had heard him say it.
Not indirectly.
Not through anger.
Just yes.
I stepped forward.
Then I hugged him.
For half a second, he didn't move.
Then his arms came around me.
Carefully.
Like he understood I could still change my mind.
I pressed my face against his coat.
“You are an idiot.”
“I've been called worse.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know.”
“You could have hidden those records.”
“Yes.”
“You could have exposed Victor and protected yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
His hand moved gently across my back.
“Because I spent six years blaming myself for leaving Luca.”
He paused.
“I don't want another six years knowing I stayed silent to save myself.”
I pulled back.
Our faces were close.
Too close.
“Dominic.”
“I know.”
“You're going to jail tomorrow.”
“Possibly.”
“This is a terrible time.”
“The worst.”
I kissed him anyway.
It was not dramatic.
No music.
No fireworks.
Just two exhausted people standing beside a kitchen table covered in Wyatt's homework.
Dominic kissed me once.
Softly.
Then stepped back.
“We shouldn't.”
“Probably not.”
“I don't want you confusing gratitude with—”
I kissed him again.
He stopped talking.
When we separated, I whispered, “I know the difference.”
His forehead touched mine.
“So do I.”
Wyatt's bedroom door opened.
“Mom?”
We jumped apart like teenagers.
Wyatt walked out rubbing his eyes.
He looked at me.
Then Dominic.
Then back at me.
“Were you kissing?”
“No,” I said too quickly.
Dominic said, “Yes.”
I glared at him.
Wyatt considered this.
“Okay.”
“Why does everyone keep saying okay?”
He shrugged.
“Can I have water?”
The next morning, Wyatt insisted on coming when Dominic surrendered.
We waited outside the courthouse.
Dominic crouched in front of him.
“I have to go away for a little while.”
Wyatt's face changed.
“Like Dad?”
Dominic's expression tightened.
“No.”
“How do I know?”
“Because you know where I am.”
Wyatt looked at me.
Dominic continued.
“And because I'll write.”
“What if you can't?”
“Then your mom will know why.”
Wyatt thought about that.
“Are you bad?”
The question would have destroyed most adults.
Dominic answered.
“I did bad things.”
“Are you still bad?”
Dominic glanced at me.
“I'm trying not to be.”
Wyatt nodded.
“Mom says trying only counts if you do stuff different.”
I covered my eyes.
Dominic smiled.
“Your mom is right.”
Federal agents approached.
Dominic stood.
He looked at me.
No promises of forever.
No requests to wait.
He simply said, “I'll call when I'm allowed.”
Then he walked away.
He did not disappear.
May you like
I knew exactly where he was going.
For the first time in my life, absence and abandonment were not the same thing.
