Chapter 7 - The Last Secret in the Moretti House
The shooting did not kill Elena's father.
But it put him in intensive care.
For the first time, Elena sat beside his hospital bed without fear.
He looked older.
Smaller.
Human.
She did not know what to say.
Finally, she whispered, "Why?"
His eyes opened.
"Because I failed you."
"That's not an answer."
"I thought power would protect you."
"It almost killed me."
"I know."
Elena looked away.
"Did you ever love me?"
He closed his eyes.
"Every day."
"Then why?"
"Because I was taught that love was weakness."
Elena swallowed.
"You taught me the same lesson."
He began to cry.
She had never seen her father cry.
It hurt more than anger would have.
"I am sorry."
Elena stood.
"I don't forgive you yet."
He nodded.
"You shouldn't."
She turned to leave.
His voice stopped her.
"Your husband knows."
She turned.
"Knows what?"
He looked toward the door.
"Ask Dante about the letter."
She returned to the penthouse that evening.
Dante was in the library.
He stood near the window.
She knew immediately something was wrong.
"You knew?"
He turned.
"Knew what?"
"About my father."
"I knew he was involved."
"No."
She stepped closer.
"The letter."
Dante stared at her.
Then he opened a drawer.
Inside was an old envelope.
The same envelope his father had left years ago.
Elena looked at it.
"Your father wrote that?"
"Yes."
She read the first line.
"To the woman my son will marry."
Her breath stopped.
The letter explained everything.
Dante's father had discovered the plan before Dante met Elena.
He had warned Elena's father to stay away.
He had also written that if Dante ever married Elena, he would trust her because she had a conscience her family could not control.
But there was one final confession.
"I know what my brother plans to do. I fear I may not live long enough to stop him."
Elena cried.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I never knew whether the letter was meant for you."
Dante looked down.
"I found it after his death. I thought it was another warning I had failed to understand."
She touched his hand.
"You understand now."
"Yes."
They sat together on the library floor.
For the first time in three years, there was no wall between them.
Elena leaned against his shoulder.
"What happens to us?"
Dante kissed her forehead.
"We start over."
"You still want me?"
He looked almost offended.
"More than ever."
She smiled through tears.
"What about the divorce?"
He took the signed papers from the drawer.
She expected him to tear them.
Instead, he handed them to her.
"You decide."
She stared.
"Me?"
"This time, you decide everything."
Elena tore the papers in half.
Then again.
Then again.
Pieces fell across the carpet.
"That was easier than I expected."
Dante laughed.
She looked at him.
"I have one condition."
"Anything."
"No more separate bedrooms."
His smile widened.
"Agreed."
She kissed him.
Then they heard a noise.
A soft sound from the hallway.
Dante stood.
Elena followed.
The door opened.
Luca stood outside.
His expression was serious.
"We found Victor's last communication."
Dante frowned.
"He's dead."
"I know."
"The message was sent before the shooting."
"What does it say?"
Luca handed him the phone.
Dante read.
"Phase Two begins when the divorce is filed."
Elena's smile disappeared.
"Phase Two?"
Luca nodded.
"They weren't trying only to control the Moretti organization."
Dante looked at the message again.
"What were they after?"
Luca said, "The port."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"Which port?"
"Every port."
The city had been one part of the plan.
The real target was international.
Cargo routes.
Offshore accounts.
Private shipping terminals.
The empire stretched far beyond Chicago.
Victor and Raymond had spent years building a network in New York, Miami, New Orleans, and overseas.
And someone remained above them.
Someone had never appeared on any ledger.
Someone who had funded the entire operation.
Elena stared at the screen.
"Who is behind them?"
Luca answered.
"We don't know."
Dante looked at Elena.
The honeymoon house.
The ledgers.
The family.
The marriage.
May you like
All of it had been the opening move.
The real war had not even started.
