Chapter 9 - THE CHOICEThe federal indictment arrived four days later.
Racketeering.
Illegal gambling.
Financial crimes.
Conspiracy.
No murder charges.
No narcotics charges.
No accusations involving children or civilians.
But the potential sentence was still decades.
Lorenzo’s attorneys believed they could fight most of it.
Rebecca Hall disagreed.
“You can win,” she said.
Lorenzo sat inside his study.
Clara stood near the window.
Rebecca continued.
“But winning requires attacking witnesses, hiding behind technicalities and pretending you were never responsible for an organization you clearly controlled.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“That is generally what lawyers are for.”
“I’m not your lawyer.”
“No.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
Lorenzo’s expression remained unreadable.
Clara finally asked, “What’s the alternative?”
“Cooperation.”
Lorenzo looked at Rebecca.
“With the government?”
“Yes.”
“And hand them every person who ever worked for my family?”
“Not every person.”
Rebecca placed a file on the desk.
“Only major criminal operations still active. Financial networks. Corrupt officials. Trafficking routes Salerno shared with other organizations.”
Lorenzo read the proposal.
In exchange, prosecutors would consider reduced charges and recognize his recent cooperation against Salerno.
Possible sentence.
Five to seven years.
Maybe less.
Clara felt sick.
Lorenzo closed the file.
“No.”
She stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because people will die.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Some may.”
“If I identify corrupt officials and organizations, they’ll assume anyone near me knows something.”
Clara understood.
Mia.
Staff.
Daniel.
Vincent.
Everyone became vulnerable.
“Then what do you do?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“I plead guilty without cooperation.”
Rebecca went still.
“That could mean fifteen years.”
“I know.”
Clara stepped forward.
“No.”
“It removes the incentive to target anyone else.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“You promised tomorrow.”
His expression broke.
Not much.
Enough.
Mia’s little agreement beneath the kitchen table.
One tomorrow at a time.
Clara’s eyes filled.
“You don’t get to spend the rest of your life proving love by leaving.”
Lorenzo stood.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Fight for a better answer.”
“There isn’t always one.”
“Then make one.”
She wiped her face angrily.
“You terrified an entire city for eleven years and suddenly a prosecutor gives you two bad options and you become philosophical?”
Rebecca coughed.
“I like her.”
Lorenzo glared.
Clara continued.
“You have legitimate companies now.”
“Yes.”
“Hundreds of employees?”
“Thousands.”
“Community projects?”
“Recently.”
“You closed criminal operations?”
“Yes.”
“Then show them what you changed.”
“That doesn’t erase what I did.”
“I didn’t say it should.”
Clara stepped closer.
“Accountability isn’t the same thing as destroying yourself.”
Those words stayed with him.
That night Lorenzo walked through the estate alone.
The marble hallway where Mia first asked for a hug.
The library where she hid during the attack.
The kitchen filled with plastic cups.
His life had once been perfectly ordered.
Now crayons lived beside financial statements.
Mr. Buttons regularly appeared in locations no rabbit belonged.
There were fingerprints on windows.
Laughter at breakfast.
People waited for him.
For the first time, prison frightened him.
Not because of confinement.
Because he finally had something outside worth missing.
The next morning Lorenzo called Rebecca.
“I’ll cooperate.”
She nodded.
“With conditions.”
“Obviously.”
“No testimony that directly endangers low-level employees who left criminal activity.”
“We can negotiate.”
“Protection plans for Clara, Mia, Daniel, Vincent and household staff.”
“Yes.”
“And I testify publicly.”
Rebecca blinked.
“That’s unusual.”
“If I hide, everyone assumes I’m trading secrets secretly. If I speak publicly, every person knows exactly what I admitted.”
She understood.
“You want the target on you.”
“It already is.”
The hearings became national news.
For three days Lorenzo testified about criminal networks, corruption and his own decisions.
He did not pretend innocence.
When a senator asked whether he considered himself a victim of his father’s upbringing, Lorenzo answered simply:
“No.”
The room quieted.
“I inherited a culture. I still made choices inside it.”
Clara watched from a secure room.
“That may be the first politician he’s ever impressed,” Vincent whispered.
She smiled through tears.
Lorenzo continued.
“I believed fear was the same as respect. It isn’t.”
The clip spread everywhere.
Public opinion shifted.
Not completely.
Some called him a criminal seeking sympathy.
Others pointed toward the businesses he had converted, community restitution funds he voluntarily created and evidence that helped dismantle several violent networks.
The prosecutor ultimately accepted a reduced plea.
Four years.
Eligible for release after thirty months.
When Lorenzo told Clara, she cried.
He looked confused.
“That’s substantially better than fifteen.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because thirty months is still thirty months.”
He pulled her against him.
She whispered into his chest, “Mia’s going to hate this.”
“I know.”
They told her together.
Mia sat on Lorenzo’s office floor.
“You’re going away?”
“For a while.”
“Because you were bad?”
Lorenzo swallowed.
“Because I did bad things.”
“Are you bad now?”
He looked at Clara.
Then back at Mia.
“I’m trying not to be.”
Mia climbed into his lap.
“How many sleeps?”
“A lot.”
She frowned.
“I don’t like that.”
“Neither do I.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because where I’m going has terrible pancakes.”
She considered this seriously.
Then hugged him.
“Five minutes?”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“As many as you want.”
The morning he surrendered, snow covered Chicago.
Daniel came.
Vincent came.
Mrs. Russo cried openly.
Clara held Lorenzo’s hand beside the courthouse steps.
“You still owe me something,” she said.
“What?”
“Tomorrow.”
He looked at her.
“You promised one tomorrow at a time.”
He kissed her forehead.
“I’ll owe you thirty months of them.”
Mia tugged his coat.
Lorenzo crouched.
She handed him Mr. Buttons.
He stared.
“I can’t take him.”
“He helps when you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
Mia gave him the same skeptical look Clara often used.
Lorenzo sighed.
“Fine.”
He took the rabbit.
Mia wrapped both arms around his neck.
“Come home.”
The most feared man in Chicago held her tightly.
May you like
“I will.”
This time, he intended to keep the promise.
