Chapter 2 - The Woman His Own Family Had Already Hurt
Dominic did not sleep.
At four in the morning, he sat inside his study with Daniel and Luca while Chicago remained dark outside.
The private investigator had still refused to identify his employer.
Dominic did not need him to.
Not yet.
Matteo’s name had appeared too many times.
“What exactly did he do with the Milwaukee properties?” Dominic asked.
Daniel rotated the laptop.
“Still reconstructing it. Lakefront Urban bought eleven buildings through the portfolio you approved. Four were transferred within the year to companies connected to Matteo.”
“For triple value.”
“Sometimes quadruple.”
“Money laundering?”
“Likely.”
“Using what funds?”
“That’s the problem.”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“Some appear connected to cash coming through your private clubs.”
Dominic said nothing.
His father had built the Moretti organization on gambling, union pressure, smuggling, extortion, and enough political influence to make consequences negotiable.
Dominic had spent fifteen years trying to make the legitimate companies strong enough that the criminal side could shrink without collapsing the family.
Hotels.
Construction.
Security.
Restaurants.
Real estate.
He had told himself change required patience.
Maybe patience had simply given men like Matteo time to steal.
“Grace’s building?” Dominic asked.
“Matteo bought it through your company, evicted the tenants, transferred it to another entity, then used the inflated valuation to secure financing.”
“Fraud.”
“Yes.”
“Her lease?”
“Should have protected her.”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
Daniel nodded.
“That redevelopment clause was added to the digital copy.”
“Forger?”
“Still checking.”
Dominic leaned back.
“So she should never have lost the restaurant.”
“Correct.”
The words irritated him in a way a financial crime normally would not.
He pictured Grace at dinner.
I had savings. Sold equipment. Paid my staff through the final week.
She had absorbed the loss quietly.
Someone in his organization had taken years of her work and converted it into a line inside a laundering scheme.
And Dominic’s signature had approved the original purchase.
He hated being responsible for things he had not intended.
Eleanor would tell him intention was not absolution.
She would be right.
“Tell her,” Luca said.
Dominic looked at him.
Luca rarely offered personal advice.
“You think?”
“She lives in the house. Someone photographed her. She deserves to know why.”
Daniel nodded.
Dominic disliked consensus.
Especially when it opposed his instincts.
His father’s voice seemed to exist permanently somewhere in the back of his mind.
Information is leverage. Never give away leverage.
But he had watched secrecy rot entire families.
At seven thirty, Grace entered the kitchen.
Dominic was already there.
She stopped.
“You’re awake early.”
“I never went to bed.”
“That explains the charming expression.”
She moved toward the coffee machine.
Dominic watched her.
Without the lemon apron, she looked less like someone who belonged to Eleanor’s domestic rebellion and more like a woman who had unexpectedly walked into the center of his problems.
She poured coffee.
“Sit.”
Grace turned.
“That word again.”
“Please.”
She blinked.
Then sat.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
Dominic placed a folder in front of her.
“What’s this?”
“Your old restaurant.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“What about it?”
“I know why your building was sold.”
She did not open the file.
“How?”
“I owned the company that bought it.”
Silence.
Grace stared at him.
Dominic had faced guns with less discomfort.
Finally she said, “Excuse me?”
“Moretti Capital owned Lakefront Urban Partners.”
“Owned?”
“Still does indirectly.”
Grace’s face emptied.
He continued before she misunderstood.
“I did not personally choose your building.”
“That is supposed to help?”
“No.”
“Did you sign the purchase?”
“Yes.”
“Then you personally chose enough.”
The sentence landed.
Dominic did not defend himself.
Grace opened the folder.
She read.
Page after page.
Purchase agreements.
Internal approval.
His signature.
Matteo’s authorization.
Her mouth tightened.
“You knew this last night?”
“I confirmed it after dinner.”
“And you were going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“At least you waited until after I cooked.”
“That is not what happened.”
“Isn’t it?”
She stood.
“Grace.”
“My restaurant was my entire life.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her voice rose for the first time.
“My mother taught me to cook. I worked two jobs for six years to save the down payment. I slept upstairs on flour sacks during the first winter because my apartment lease ended and I couldn’t afford both rents.”
Dominic remained silent.
“I hired people who had records because other kitchens wouldn’t give them a chance. I taught teenagers from the neighborhood how to prep vegetables because they needed something to do after school besides getting into trouble.”
Her eyes shone.
“I knew every customer who came on Sunday mornings. I knew who wanted extra gravy and who pretended they didn’t want dessert until I packed it for them anyway.”
She slapped the folder.
“And someone decided all of that was worth less than whatever number they could move between companies.”
Dominic’s chest tightened.
“Yes.”
Grace stared at him.
His agreement seemed to confuse her.
“You’re not going to explain?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re right.”
Silence.
He stood.
“I approved an acquisition I did not examine closely enough.”
“You approve hundreds.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“No, it does matter. You cannot personally inspect everything.”
“That doesn’t make your loss smaller.”
Grace’s anger shifted.
Not gone.
But uncertain.
Dominic continued.
“The termination clause used against your lease appears to have been falsified.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“You should not have been evicted.”
She sat again.
Slowly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“Money.”
“Of course.”
“Matteo moved the building through shell entities.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Family business.”
Dominic ignored the insult because it was accurate.
“There’s more.”
Grace looked up.
“Someone was photographing you.”
Her color drained.
He placed three pictures in front of her.
She stared.
“That’s outside Eleanor’s doctor.”
“Yes.”
“That’s the grocery store.”
“Yes.”
“That was yesterday.”
“Yes.”
Grace looked toward the window instinctively.
Dominic noticed.
“Security has been doubled.”
“I don’t want doubled security.”
“Too bad.”
Her eyes snapped back.
“Try again.”
He inhaled.
“I would strongly prefer you not be murdered.”
“That is marginally better.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I know.”
Grace studied the photographs.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“You think Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he care about me now? I lost.”
“Because you kept documents from the eviction.”
She frowned.
“So?”
“Some may contain forged signatures.”
“I sent copies to my attorney.”
“Do you have originals?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She immediately closed off.
Dominic recognized it.
“No.”
He stared.
“No?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Grace.”
“You just explained your family may have committed fraud against me.”
“And I’m trying to protect you.”
“By collecting the evidence?”
“By securing it.”
“Same difference from where I’m sitting.”
Dominic felt his patience fray.
Then Eleanor entered.
She wore a pale blue robe.
No cane.
Which meant she had forgotten it.
Dominic stood.
“Where is your cane?”
“In a fascist regime apparently.”
“Nell.”
Grace immediately went to her.
“You okay?”
“I’m eighty-two. Nothing is okay before coffee.”
Grace touched her arm.
Dominic watched.
The gesture was simple.
Instinctive.
Eleanor allowed it.
That mattered.
Grace looked at her.
“You knew.”
Eleanor sighed.
“Dominic told you.”
“Yes.”
“He’s growing.”
“Did you know his company caused the eviction before you hired me?”
“Yes.”
Grace stepped away.
Pain replaced anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted you somewhere safe first.”
“You both do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide information is dangerous for everyone except you.”
Dominic almost said something.
Then realized she had grouped him with Eleanor.
Eleanor looked ashamed.
Good.
Grace continued.
“I agreed to come because you told me you needed help.”
“I do.”
“Was that even true?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, Eleanor’s answer carried no humor.
“I need you.”
Grace’s expression softened despite herself.
Eleanor reached for her hand.
“I also knew your name.”
“How?”
“The property dispute. I found it when I was checking something else.”
“Why were you checking Moretti property files?”
Dominic narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, Nell. Why?”
Eleanor looked between them.
Then walked toward the coffee.
“I dislike interrogations before breakfast.”
“Nell.”
She sighed.
“Matteo has been moving money.”
“We know that.”
“Not all of it.”
Dominic went still.
“What do you know?”
Eleanor stirred sugar into her cup.
“Your father kept private accounts.”
“I closed them.”
“You closed the ones you knew about.”
Silence.
Eleanor looked at Dominic.
“Anthony hid money in property. Buildings nobody cared about. Businesses he could overvalue, undervalue, sell, repurchase.”
“Matteo found the system.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because your father used to dictate numbers while I was in the room.”
Dominic stared.
“You were his nanny.”
“I was your nanny. Rich men often forget women with children are listening.”
Grace nearly smiled.
Dominic did not.
“What accounts?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
“Names?”
“Some.”
“Why wait until now?”
Eleanor looked tired.
“Because I wanted to be wrong.”
Dominic’s anger rose.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
“You let him steal for six months?”
“I watched.”
“You should have told me.”
“And what would you have done?”
“Handled it.”
“Exactly.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You would have handled Matteo the way Anthony handled problems.”
Dominic became still.
Grace looked between them.
Eleanor continued.
“You would have dragged him into a room. Threatened him. Maybe worse. Then another cousin would take his place because none of you understand the disease isn’t one man.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t know how I run this family.”
“I taught you how to use a spoon.”
“That is not relevant.”
“It remains my strongest credential.”
Grace made a small noise that might have been a laugh.
Dominic ignored it.
“What does Grace have?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“Maybe nothing.”
“Eleanor.”
“Your restaurant was in one of Anthony’s old property chains.”
Grace frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means somewhere in your lease file may be a document tying the building to accounts Matteo is using.”
Grace crossed her arms.
“And you thought hiring me was easier than asking?”
“I did ask.”
“What?”
“Second interview. I asked whether you kept business papers.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed.
“You asked if I was organized.”
“Same topic.”
“No, it absolutely isn’t.”
Dominic rubbed his forehead.
He suddenly understood why Eleanor had succeeded at surviving the Moretti family.
She weaponized technical truth.
Grace looked at him.
“I’m leaving.”
His head lifted.
“No.”
She laughed.
“You cannot possibly believe that works.”
“You have someone watching you.”
“I had someone watching me before I got here.”
“And now I know.”
“That changes your responsibility, not my freedom.”
Dominic stood.
“Grace.”
“I’ll finish breakfast. Then I’m packing.”
Eleanor’s face fell.
“Please don’t.”
Grace looked at her.
The room softened.
“I care about you.”
“I know.”
“But you manipulated me.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like being manipulated.”
“Neither does Dominic.”
“Not relevant.”
Dominic almost objected.
Then Grace continued.
“I’m going to my sister’s place in Milwaukee.”
Dominic immediately asked, “Address?”
“No.”
“You cannot go there if someone is watching you.”
“Then I’ll go somewhere else.”
“I can arrange a hotel.”
“With Moretti cameras and Moretti men?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Dominic felt the familiar urge to solve the problem by force.
Take her keys.
Post guards.
Make the decision for her.
He recognized it as his father’s instinct.
That realization annoyed him enough to stop.
“What would make you stay?”
Grace blinked.
Eleanor stared at him.
Dominic hated both reactions.
“I’m asking.”
Grace considered.
“Honesty.”
He waited.
“All of it.”
“That’s broad.”
“Too bad.”
“You want details of my organization?”
“I want anything related to why someone might kill me.”
“Fair.”
“Access to the property records involving my restaurant.”
“Yes.”
“My own attorney reviews them.”
“Yes.”
“I keep my documents.”
“Yes.”
“No armed men in the kitchen.”
“That is oddly specific.”
“One of them put a pistol beside my sourdough starter this morning.”
“I’ll speak to him.”
“And if I say I’m leaving, you do not stop me.”
Dominic hesitated.
Grace noticed.
“If you hesitate, I leave now.”
His entire life had been built around preventing people from leaving with information that could hurt him.
But Grace was not an associate.
Not a subordinate.
Not family.
Not his.
“Fine.”
“Say it.”
He stared.
Eleanor hid a smile.
Dominic said, “If you decide to leave, I won’t stop you.”
Grace nodded.
“Then I’ll stay until Eleanor’s birthday.”
Eleanor beamed.
Dominic looked at her.
“This remains temporary.”
“Of course.”
She said it far too happily.
Grace returned to breakfast.
Two hours later, Dominic drove downtown.
Matteo Moretti was already waiting inside the headquarters boardroom.
Dominic closed the door.
“No staff.”
Matteo glanced at Luca and Daniel.
“They’re staff.”
“They stay.”
Matteo smiled.
“What’s this about?”
Dominic placed the Milwaukee file on the table.
The smile disappeared.
“Problem?”
“You tell me.”
Matteo opened the folder.
He scanned the first page.
Then shrugged.
“Routine redevelopment.”
“You forged lease language.”
“Strong accusation.”
“You transferred the property into a company you control.”
“Investment.”
“You inflated the valuation.”
“Market growth.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Do not insult me.”
Silence.
Matteo’s expression changed.
There it was.
Family.
The arrogance of someone who had known Dominic before other men called him Don Moretti.
“You signed the acquisition.”
“I did.”
“So if there’s a problem, we share it.”
Dominic’s eyes became cold.
“No.”
Matteo smiled faintly.
“You always did enjoy pretending your hands are cleaner than everyone else’s.”
Daniel shifted.
Dominic remained still.
“Why were you watching Grace Bennett?”
Matteo’s face did not move.
But the pulse in his neck did.
“I wasn’t.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I don’t know her.”
“You asked Eleanor about her six weeks ago.”
Now Matteo changed.
Only slightly.
“Nell is confused sometimes.”
Dominic stood.
The room became cold.
“You will never speak about her that way again.”
Matteo raised his hands.
“Relax.”
“Why Grace?”
“I told you.”
“No.”
Dominic walked around the table.
He did not threaten.
He did not need to.
Matteo’s eyes followed him.
Finally his cousin said, “Her landlord kept originals.”
“What originals?”
“Old title documents.”
“Why does that matter?”
Matteo laughed.
“Ask your father.”
“He’s dead.”
“Exactly.”
Dominic’s hand tightened.
“Matteo.”
His cousin leaned back.
“You think you inherited everything, Dom?”
The nickname made Luca tense.
Matteo continued.
“You inherited what Anthony wanted you to see.”
“What is in those titles?”
Matteo smiled.
“Maybe nothing.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Then why photograph Grace?”
For the first time, Matteo looked genuinely surprised.
“I didn’t.”
Dominic believed the surprise.
Which was worse.
“Who did?”
Matteo stared back.
“No idea.”
Dominic watched him.
Then Matteo’s expression changed again.
Not arrogance this time.
Fear.
“Someone photographed her?”
“Yes.”
“At your house?”
“Yes.”
Matteo swore under his breath.
“What?”
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“If someone else knows about those documents, this isn’t only my problem.”
“Explain.”
Matteo stood.
“Anthony didn’t hide money alone.”
“Who helped him?”
Matteo looked toward the glass walls as if someone might be listening.
Then lowered his voice.
“My father.”
Dominic’s uncle.
Salvatore Moretti.
The man who had disappeared twelve years earlier.
Officially retired to Sicily.
Unofficially never mentioned.
Dominic stared.
“What does Salvatore have to do with Grace?”
Matteo’s face went pale.
“Her old restaurant was built over one of their storage sites.”
Dominic’s blood cooled.
“What kind of storage?”
May you like
Matteo looked directly at him.
“The kind your father killed people to keep secret.”
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