Chapter 8 - Dante’s Last Secret
Salvatore Caruso was alive.
That was the secret.
Not dead.
Not buried.
Alive.
Dante told me inside the penthouse at 4:00 A.M.
“My father disappeared eight years ago.”
“You told everyone he was dead?”
“I let them believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because I removed him.”
I stared.
“Removed?”
“From power.”
Dante poured whiskey but did not drink it.
“When I was twenty-four, I discovered what he had done. Not just to your father. Everything.”
“The trafficking?”
“Yes.”
“I confronted him.”
“And?”
“He told me compassion was weakness.”
Dante’s mouth twisted.
“He ordered Nico to kill me.”
My breath caught.
“Nico?”
“Nico warned me instead.”
Suddenly their loyalty made sense.
“What happened?”
“I took control of the family. My father escaped before I could turn him over to federal authorities.”
“And you never found him?”
“No.”
“Victor knows where he is.”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
“Of him?”
“Of carrying his name.”
That broke something open inside me.
I crossed the room.
“You didn’t choose your father.”
Dante looked at me.
“Neither did you.”
Exactly.
Our fathers had written the beginning.
They did not get to write the ending.
The following afternoon, Isabella’s brother called.
Victor had agreed to cooperate.
Not because he had discovered morality.
Because he wanted immunity.
He gave investigators an address.
A private estate outside Greenwich, Connecticut.
Salvatore Caruso had been living forty miles from Manhattan for years.
Dante wanted to go alone.
Naturally.
Naturally, I refused.
“You attract bullets,” I told him.
“You are statistically worse.”
“That isn’t how statistics work.”
“Since meeting you, a diner manager shot at us, your apartment was attacked, and you walked voluntarily into a hostage exchange.”
“Technically, you brought me.”
He glared.
I kissed his cheek.
He forgot his argument for approximately three seconds.
I considered that a useful tactical discovery.
Federal agents surrounded the estate before dawn.
Salvatore surrendered without resistance.
I saw him through the window.
Older than I imagined.
White-haired.
Thin.
But his eyes looked frighteningly similar to Dante’s.
He smiled when his son entered.
“Dante.”
No affection.
No regret.
Just calculation.
Then he saw me.
His smile disappeared.
“Moretti.”
“My name is Clare Murphy.”
“You have Michael’s eyes.”
“So I’m told.”
Dante stood beside me.
Salvatore looked between us.
Understanding arrived.
He laughed.
“Of course.”
“What?” Dante asked.
“The universe has a cruel sense of humor.”
Agents searched the estate.
Salvatore remained seated.
“You came for answers?”
“I came to see you arrested,” Dante said.
His father smiled.
“Still pretending you are different?”
“I don’t have to pretend.”
“You built your empire using mine.”
“And I dismantled the parts that made you rich.”
“You weakened it.”
“I cleaned it.”
Salvatore’s expression hardened.
Then he looked at me.
“Your father begged.”
Dante moved.
I caught his arm.
“No.”
Salvatore smiled.
“He begged me to spare you and your mother.”
My heart pounded.
“What happened?”
“Michael discovered Victor’s operation. He wanted out.”
“You killed him.”
“Yes.”
The casual answer hurt more than denial.
“Why spare my mother?”
“Because Michael offered me something.”
“What?”
Salvatore smiled.
“His businesses.”
Dante frowned.
“You took them.”
“Most.”
“Most?”
Salvatore looked at me.
“Your father placed one asset beyond my reach.”
“What asset?”
“An investment account.”
I laughed bitterly.
“I have eighty-seven dollars in savings.”
“Then Eileen never told you.”
My smile disappeared.
“What?”
Before he could answer, an agent entered carrying documents from a safe.
Among them was a trust agreement.
My name appeared across the first page.
Michael Moretti had transferred legitimate property holdings into a protected trust before his death.
Twenty-four years of investments.
Warehouses.
Commercial property.
Stock.
The current estimated value was staggering.
$48.6 million.
I stared at the number.
“This is wrong.”
“It isn’t,” the agent said.
Salvatore watched me.
“Your mother never touched it.”
Of course she hadn’t.
She worked.
Struggled.
Died worried about my future.
Why?
Then I saw the letter attached to the trust.
My mother’s handwriting.
Clare should receive this only when the men who killed Michael can no longer use her to reach it.
Tears blurred the page.
She had known.
She had protected me until her last breath.
Dante touched my back.
Salvatore noticed.
“You think love changes what you are?” he asked his son.
Dante looked at me.
“No.”
Then back at his father.
“Choices do.”
Federal agents led Salvatore away.
He never apologized.
I realized I did not need him to.
Outside, morning sunlight broke across Connecticut.
Dante stood beside me.
“You’re rich.”
I laughed through tears.
“Apparently.”
“You can quit the diner.”
“I already planned to.”
He looked surprised.
“Really?”
“I’m going back to nursing school.”
Something beautiful appeared in his face.
Pride.
Then uncertainty.
“What about us?”
I studied him.
“Are you asking whether money changes my opinion of you?”
“I’m asking whether, now that you can go anywhere, you still want to be near me.”
For a man feared across Manhattan, Dante looked remarkably vulnerable.
I took his hand.
“I don’t need you, Dante.”
Pain flashed across his face.
I squeezed his fingers.
“That’s why this matters.”
He looked at me.
“I choose you.”
His eyes closed briefly.
When they opened, the darkness inside them had softened.
He kissed my forehead.
And for one quiet moment, I thought we had finally escaped our fathers.
Then Dante’s phone rang.
Nico.
Dante answered.
His expression immediately hardened.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Victor escaped federal transport.”
My stomach dropped.
“How?”
“We don’t know.”
Another pause.
Dante’s face went white.
“What?”
He lowered the phone.
“Clare.”
I had never heard fear like that in his voice.
“What?”
“Victor left a message.”
My heart began pounding.
May you like
Dante repeated it.
“Tell Murphy I’m going to finish what our fathers started.”
