Chapter 4 - The Man Who Guarded the Wrong DoorFor twelve years, Marco Santoro had been the one man Dante Moretti trusted to stand behind him with a loaded gun.
Now that man was standing in the doorway while Mrs. Conti accused him of betrayal.
Dante did not reach for his weapon.
He simply looked at Marco.
“Close the door.”
Marco obeyed.
Alessia stood beside the medical bed, her heart pounding.
Mrs. Conti began shaking.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
Marco's expression remained unreadable.
Dante stepped between Alessia and his security chief.
“Did you order her dismissal?”
Marco looked at Mrs. Conti.
Then back at Dante.
“Yes.”
The answer landed like a gunshot.
“Why?”
“Because I believed Alessia was in danger.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
Marco reached slowly into his jacket.
Dante's hand moved toward his own gun.
Marco stopped.
“It's a photograph.”
“Use two fingers.”
Marco removed a folded picture.
He placed it on the nearby table.
Dante examined it.
The photograph showed Alessia leaving a grocery store near her apartment.
Behind her stood a man in a gray baseball cap.
A black SUV waited across the street.
“When was this taken?” Dante asked.
“Three days ago.”
Alessia felt sick.
“That man followed me.”
Dante turned.
“You recognized him?”
“He was outside my building twice. I thought he was a neighbor.”
Marco nodded.
“He's not.”
“Who is he?”
“Elias Crane. Former military contractor. Bellini hired him.”
Dante looked at Marco.
“And you knew?”
“I discovered the surveillance two days ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Bellini wasn't working alone.”
Marco took a breath.
“Someone inside the house had been giving him your movements. I didn't know who.”
Dante's expression hardened.
“So you decided to fire an innocent woman?”
“I ordered Mrs. Conti to remove Alessia from the property before Bellini could get close to her.”
Alessia stared at him.
“You packed my suitcase to protect me?”
Marco looked ashamed.
“I thought if you left publicly, Bellini would believe you hadn't seen anything important.”
Dante shook his head.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“You let her be humiliated in front of twenty people.”
Marco looked at Alessia.
“I was wrong.”
She folded her arms.
“That doesn't even begin to cover it.”
“I know.”
Dante studied him.
“Where is the red folder?”
Marco hesitated.
“Bellini gave it to Mrs. Conti. She passed it to me.”
“Where is it now?”
“In a secure location.”
“Bring it.”
Marco did not move.
“Boss, there's something you need to understand.”
Dante's voice lowered.
“You have five seconds.”
“The folder contains evidence that could destroy the Moretti organization.”
Dante stared.
“Then you should have brought it to me immediately.”
Marco shook his head.
“Not just the organization.”
He looked at Alessia.
“It could destroy both your families.”
An hour later, Dante stood inside an abandoned church on Chicago's South Side.
Alessia sat beside him in the back of a black SUV.
Marco had insisted on changing vehicles twice.
Dante had insisted Alessia remain with him.
She wasn't sure whether to feel protected or trapped.
“Do you always conduct business in abandoned churches?” she asked.
“Only when my employees decide to hide documents from me.”
Despite herself, she smiled.
Dante noticed.
It was the first genuine smile he had seen from her.
It disappeared when Marco approached carrying a metal document case.
Inside the church, dust floated through pale afternoon light.
Marco placed the case on an old wooden pew.
He unlocked it.
The red folder lay inside.
Dante opened it.
The first pages contained bank transfers.
Shell companies.
Foundation accounts.
Payments to security contractors.
The numbers were enormous.
But one detail caught his attention.
Several transfers had continued long after Vittorio Moretti's reported death.
“Impossible,” Dante murmured.
Alessia leaned closer.
“What?”
“My uncle's accounts were closed five years ago.”
Marco pointed to a transaction.
“Someone reopened them.”
Dante turned another page.
There was a list of names.
Politicians.
Developers.
Lawyers.
Judges.
And one name written beside a transfer of $2.4 million.
Antonio Romano.
Alessia grabbed the page.
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
She shook her head.
“My father wasn't rich. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment. My mother worked double shifts.”
Marco spoke gently.
“There's no evidence he received that money.”
“Then why is his name there?”
Dante studied the transaction.
The payment had been made two days after Antonio disappeared.
To an account opened under his identity.
Someone had used his name.
Possibly to frame him.
Possibly to hide stolen money.
Then Alessia noticed something else.
A handwritten notation.
B.M. transfer — final authorization pending.
“Bianca Moretti?” she asked.
Dante nodded slowly.
His mother's initials.
He turned to the final section.
Inside was a notarized legal document dated eleven years earlier.
Dante recognized the attorney's name.
Harold Wexler.
The lawyer who had handled his mother's estate.
The document was titled:
Declaration of Beneficial Ownership.
Dante read it.
Then read it again.
The Moretti charitable foundation had not been controlled by Vittorio.
Or Bellini.
Or Dante.
According to the document, its controlling beneficiary had been Bianca Moretti.
And in the event of her death, ownership transferred to a person Dante had never heard of.
Elena Romano.
Alessia's mother.
Dante slowly turned toward her.
Alessia stared at the page.
“That can't be right.”
Marco's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Then looked at Dante.
“Boss, we have another problem.”
“What?”
“Someone just accessed the foundation's dormant accounts.”
“From where?”
Marco swallowed.
“An attorney's office in Milwaukee.”
Dante frowned.
“Whose attorney?”
Marco looked at Alessia.
“Your mother's.”
Alessia went pale.
“My mother has been dead for a year.”
May you like
Marco nodded.
“Then someone should explain why she just signed a transfer order.”
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