Chapter 8 - The Truth Vincent Had Been Trying to ForgetNaomi survived surgery.
The bullet entered below her ribs and passed through without striking a major organ.
The surgeon called her lucky.
Vincent did not believe in luck.
He believed in probabilities.
Leverage.
Consequences.
But for eighteen hours, he sat outside Naomi’s hospital room and discovered none of those things mattered.
He did not leave.
Carlo called.
Ignored.
Isabella called.
Ignored.
Matteo sent three encrypted messages.
Deleted.
Alessandra disappeared again.
Vincent did not pursue her.
Not yet.
For once, he chose one person over the entire empire.
At 4:12 the following morning, Naomi woke.
Vincent was asleep in a chair beside the bed.
She watched him.
Without the suit jacket, weapons, guards, or controlled expression, he looked younger.
Tired.
Human.
Naomi whispered, “Vincent.”
His eyes opened immediately.
He stood.
“You’re awake.”
“Observant.”
He exhaled so hard she almost smiled.
“How do you feel?”
“Shot.”
“That is not useful.”
“It is accurate.”
He reached for water.
Naomi watched his hands.
They shook slightly.
“You were scared.”
Vincent stopped.
“No.”
“Liar.”
He handed her the water.
“You were unconscious. Your testimony is inadmissible.”
She drank.
Then looked at him.
“You remembered.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“At the warehouse.”
Vincent sat.
“Yes.”
“What did you remember?”
He looked toward the window.
Naomi waited.
Eventually, he said, “The clinic.”
Her heartbeat changed.
“Which part?”
“I held your hand.”
Naomi looked down.
“You told me something.”
“What?”
Vincent’s voice softened.
“If I wake up and don’t remember how I feel about you, don’t believe me.”
Silence.
Naomi’s eyes filled.
“You remembered that?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Vincent looked at her.
“And I apparently became sentimental under neurological stress.”
She laughed, then winced.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
Naomi stared.
Vincent Moretti had apologized twice in forty-eight hours.
Medical miracle.
“What did you mean?”
He knew this question had been coming.
Vincent looked at his hands.
“I have spent six years making sure you are never involved in the most dangerous part of my life.”
“That worked beautifully.”
“I thought distance kept you safe.”
Naomi said nothing.
“I told myself you were my secretary.”
“I am.”
“You were.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Firing me while I’m hospitalized is cruel.”
He almost smiled.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Silence.
Vincent leaned forward.
“I know what time you drink coffee.”
Naomi blinked.
“I know you hate lilies.”
“How?”
“You always remove them from conference rooms.”
She stared.
“I know you call your mother every Sunday at six.”
Naomi’s expression softened.
“I know you keep Evan’s watch in your bag even though it stopped working years ago.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know you rub your left thumb when you’re angry but trying to stay polite.”
Naomi looked at her hand.
Vincent continued.
“I know you pretend not to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not.”
“You were once.”
“Maybe.”
“I know exactly when that stopped.”
“When?”
“The day you told Matteo his meeting was canceled because I was exhausted.”
Naomi smiled.
“He was furious.”
“You told him to schedule his anger through you.”
“That was professional.”
“I fell in love with you a little that day.”
Naomi stopped breathing.
Vincent looked almost annoyed at himself.
“I’ve hated it ever since.”
She laughed despite the pain.
“That may be the worst confession in history.”
“I’m out of practice.”
“You’ve never done it.”
“Correct.”
Naomi’s eyes filled with tears.
Vincent reached for her hand.
“Last night at the clinic I thought I might forget everything after seven.”
His voice lowered.
“I was less afraid of forgetting who tried to kill me than forgetting that I had finally admitted to myself what you mean to me.”
Naomi stared.
“And what do I mean?”
Vincent squeezed her fingers.
“Too much.”
The answer was exactly him.
Imperfect.
Controlled.
Honest.
Naomi whispered, “I love you too.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“You could have told me earlier.”
“You were emotionally unavailable.”
“I was busy.”
“You run a criminal organization.”
“Exactly.”
Naomi smiled.
Then reality returned.
Evan.
Her brother alive.
Her brother responsible for increasing the drug.
Responsible for hiding Antonio’s murder.
Maybe more.
Vincent saw grief return.
“Evan is in custody.”
“Whose?”
“Isabella’s.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Not yours?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because if he were mine, I might kill him.”
Naomi appreciated the honesty.
“And Marcus?”
“Alive.”
“Good.”
Vincent looked surprised.
“He shot you.”
“I know.”
“You want him alive?”
“I want answers.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“You’re learning.”
“No.”
She squeezed his hand.
“You are.”
Over the next two days, the conspiracy finally became visible.
Evan talked.
Not easily.
But he talked for Naomi.
Eight years earlier, Alessandra recruited him after discovering he accidentally filmed Matteo and Carlo at the Halcyon.
At first, she convinced Evan he was helping expose corruption.
Then she faked his death when Matteo’s men got too close.
Daniel helped.
Marcus later joined.
For years, they collected evidence.
But Alessandra gradually became more extreme.
She manipulated financial records to set Moretti factions against one another.
She leaked information to Romano rivals.
She sabotaged meetings.
Blackmailed officials.
All toward one goal:
Destroy the criminal structures that had trapped her son.
Naomi listened to Evan from behind glass.
“Did she order Daniel killed?”
Evan lowered his head.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted out.”
“Of the operation?”
“Yes.”
“He wanted to tell Vincent?”
“Yes.”
Naomi’s heart hurt.
“Did Alessandra kill him personally?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Evan looked toward Marcus in another interrogation room.
“Marcus.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Naomi asked, “On Alessandra’s order?”
“Yes.”
That was the point of no return.
Vincent stood.
“I’m finding her.”
Naomi looked at him.
“To kill her?”
He said nothing.
“Vincent.”
“She murdered Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“She manipulated my father.”
“Yes.”
“She used you.”
“Yes.”
“She turned your brother into a ghost.”
“Yes.”
Naomi held his gaze.
“And she is still your mother.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“That does not excuse anything.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“Then?”
“What do you want after she’s dead?”
Silence.
Vincent looked away.
“Peace.”
“No.”
Naomi’s voice softened.
“You want the pain to stop.”
Vincent said nothing.
“Killing her won’t do that.”
“How would you know?”
Naomi looked toward Evan.
“My brother helped drug the man I love.”
Vincent stared.
“I still don’t know what I want done with him.”
She swallowed.
“But I know killing him today would only make tomorrow emptier.”
Vincent left the hospital without promising anything.
He found Matteo first.
His uncle was hiding at an old social club in Brooklyn.
Vincent entered alone.
Matteo sat at a table.
Wine.
Cards.
No guards.
“You found out,” Matteo said.
“Yes.”
“About Alessandra?”
“Yes.”
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“Took you long enough.”
Vincent sat.
“You knew.”
“Pieces.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
Vincent thought.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Matteo poured wine.
“I did steal.”
“I know.”
“I bribed Romano.”
“I know.”
“I threatened people.”
“I know.”
“But I did not kill Antonio.”
“No.”
Matteo looked at him.
“And I did not kill Evan.”
“He isn’t dead.”
Matteo nearly dropped the glass.
“What?”
Vincent watched.
The surprise looked genuine.
“He’s alive.”
Matteo laughed.
Then actually cried.
Vincent stared.
“You cared?”
“He was a good kid.”
“You threatened him.”
“I threatened everyone.”
Matteo wiped his face.
“Family habit.”
Vincent almost smiled despite himself.
“Why did you pay Romano?”
“To keep Michael’s people from killing you after Antonio named you successor.”
“Mom told me.”
Matteo’s face hardened.
“Do not trust her.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“Where is she?”
Matteo looked toward the window.
“Where it began.”
Vincent understood.
His childhood home.
The old Moretti estate in New Jersey.
Abandoned after his father’s death.
He stood.
Matteo caught his wrist.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“Your mother loved you.”
Vincent laughed coldly.
“That sentence is becoming dangerous.”
“She did everything because she wanted you out.”
“And killed people.”
“Yes.”
Matteo lowered his voice.
“Do not become Antonio trying to punish Alessandra.”
Vincent pulled his wrist free.
“Interesting advice from you.”
“I’ve had twelve years to become wiser.”
Vincent paused at the door.
“Try faster.”
He drove to New Jersey alone.
No Naomi.
No security.
No Carlo.
The old estate stood dark beneath winter rain.
Vincent entered through the front.
His mother sat in the dining room.
The same table where they had eaten Sunday dinners.
A pistol lay in front of her.
Vincent stopped.
Alessandra looked up.
“You came.”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
She smiled sadly.
“You learned nothing.”
Vincent looked at the gun.
“Are you going to shoot me?”
“No.”
“Then move it.”
She did.
Vincent sat across from her.
For several seconds, mother and son looked at each other.
“I killed Daniel,” she said.
“I know.”
“I ordered Marcus.”
“I know.”
“I used Evan.”
“I know.”
“I increased the dose.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You could have killed me.”
“I calculated—”
“Stop.”
Alessandra flinched.
“No more explanations disguised as mathematics.”
She looked down.
Vincent continued.
“You decided everyone’s life for them.”
“Yes.”
“You decided Dad should die.”
“Yes.”
“Evan should disappear.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel should die.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You decided I should forget.”
“Yes.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Why?”
She broke.
“Because I could not lose you.”
He closed his eyes.
There it was.
The Moretti curse.
Love as possession.
Love as control.
Love as justification.
Vincent looked at his mother.
“You already did.”
Alessandra began crying.
He stood.
She looked terrified.
“Vincent.”
He reached for the gun.
Removed the magazine.
Placed both across the room.
Then he took out his phone.
Alessandra stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling investigators.”
Her face collapsed.
“You’ll turn me in?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your mother.”
“I know.”
“You’ll lose me.”
Vincent thought of Naomi.
Love that takes away someone’s choice isn’t protection.
His voice softened.
“I lost you ten years ago.”
Alessandra cried.
Vincent sat beside her.
“But I’m not going to kill you.”
She looked at him.
“That is all I know how to give today.”
For the first time, Alessandra reached for her son without trying to direct his life.
Vincent let her hold his hand.
May you like
And when the authorities arrived, he did not disappear.
He stayed beside her until they took her away.
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