Chapter 10 - THE UNCLE DANTE TRUSTED
Vittorio requested a meeting.
Not at Dante’s home.
At the old Moretti social club in River North, above a restaurant the family had owned since the 1970s.
Sofia wanted to go.
Dante refused.
She stared.
He corrected himself.
“I would prefer you not to.”
“Better.”
“It may be dangerous.”
“More honest.”
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
She did not attend.
Gabriel did.
The conversation was recorded with consent under appropriate legal advice because Vittorio had already become central to active investigations.
Dante sat across from the man who taught him almost everything about power.
Vittorio looked tired.
Not weak.
Never weak.
“I hear the girl tested positive.”
“Sofia.”
“Yes.”
“My niece.”
Vittorio smiled sadly.
“You say that quickly.”
“Blood tests are efficient.”
“Family isn’t.”
Dante knew.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Luciana chose exile.”
“You helped her.”
“I saved her from your father.”
That matched the letters.
“For a time.”
Vittorio looked surprised.
“So you found the box.”
“Enough.”
Vittorio leaned back.
“Luciana was reckless.”
“She wanted to come home.”
“She wanted to expose things she didn’t understand.”
“She understood your theft.”
Vittorio’s eyes cooled.
“Careful.”
Dante smiled without warmth.
“You taught me that word.”
“I taught you survival.”
“You taught me silence.”
“Same thing in our world.”
“No.”
The distinction mattered.
Vittorio’s expression hardened.
“You think because you own hotels and let lawyers sit in meetings you’re clean?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I think there is a difference between carrying the sins you inherited and manufacturing new ones to preserve control.”
Vittorio laughed.
“Your niece has made you philosophical.”
“My son nearly died.”
Silence.
For the first time, Vittorio’s face showed pain.
“Matteo was never supposed to die.”
Gabriel’s pen stopped.
Dante did not move.
“I never said he did.”
Vittorio’s eyes shifted.
There.
A mistake.
He recovered.
“I mean if you are accusing me—”
“Of what?”
“You know what.”
“No. Say it.”
Vittorio stood.
“You are twisting words.”
Dante remained seated.
“Sit.”
Vittorio stared.
Years earlier, Dante would have obeyed if their positions were reversed.
Not anymore.
Vittorio sat.
Dante asked:
“What was supposed to happen?”
“Nothing.”
“Douglas Crane.”
“I know him.”
“Finally.”
“He worked for us years ago.”
“You were his reference.”
“Yes.”
“Did you pay him?”
“No.”
“Did one of your companies?”
“I have many.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Vittorio’s voice sharpened.
“You’re treating me like a criminal.”
Dante almost laughed.
“You are a criminal.”
“So are you.”
“Yes.”
Again, direct.
Vittorio hated when accusations failed to shame.
Dante continued:
“The difference is Matteo.”
Vittorio looked away.
“I would never hurt that boy.”
“Would you scare him?”
“No.”
“Would you create an accident that embarrassed me?”
Vittorio stood again.
“This is absurd.”
Dante let him.
Then:
“Did Peter Vale’s death embarrass you too?”
Vittorio stopped.
Dante saw genuine surprise.
Good.
Maybe.
“You’re digging there now?”
“Thomas Kearney.”
Vittorio’s face changed.
“Kearney worked for me.”
“After investigating Peter’s hit-and-run.”
“Yes.”
“Coincidence?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to believe a lot of coincidences.”
“I expect you to remember who raised you.”
Dante stood now.
“My sister raised me until you buried her alive.”
“I protected her.”
“Then used the protection as a cage.”
Vittorio’s voice broke.
“She would have destroyed us.”
“There.”
“What?”
“You keep saying us when you mean you.”
Vittorio stared.
That sentence hurt.
Dante knew because Vittorio became quieter.
“Luciana’s shares,” Dante said.
“What about them?”
“You knew she was alive when they transferred.”
Vittorio’s face went blank.
“That is a legal question.”
“No. It is a moral one first.”
“Morality?”
He laughed bitterly.
“From you?”
Dante accepted it.
“Yes.”
Vittorio walked toward the window.
“Your father knew she lived.”
Dante froze.
“What?”
Vittorio turned.
“Not immediately. Years later.”
Dante’s chest tightened.
“You told him?”
“He found out.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
“And?”
“He chose silence.”
Dante stared.
Why?
Vittorio answered without being asked.
“Because bringing her back would have exposed everything. The false death. The shares. The money used to relocate her. The old businesses.”
“My father chose the company.”
“He chose the family.”
“Same lie.”
Vittorio’s eyes flashed.
“You sit in his chair.”
“Not anymore.”
That confused him.
Dante continued.
“I moved headquarters. Independent board. External compliance.”
“Pretty structures do not change blood.”
“No.”
Dante stepped closer.
“But choices do.”
Vittorio smiled sadly.
“You really think this girl chose you? She wants money.”
Dante’s expression chilled.
“She refused money before she knew we were related.”
“That proves nothing.”
“She saved Matteo before she knew his last name.”
That silenced him.
Dante continued.
“What did you do when you learned Luciana had Sofia?”
“I didn’t.”
Lie.
Dante heard it.
“Vittorio.”
“I heard rumors of a child.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Did you confirm?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Luciana wanted to disappear.”
“Or because a living heir threatened your ownership?”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
Dante believed he was lying.
But belief was not proof.
The meeting ended without violence.
Vittorio left.
Gabriel waited until the door closed.
“He admitted too much.”
“Not enough.”
“He said Matteo was never supposed to die.”
“Yes.”
“He admitted knowing Luciana lived.”
“Yes.”
“He put your father in it.”
Dante looked tired.
“That part may be true.”
Gabriel nodded.
Truth could implicate more than one villain.
That made it credible.
Dante’s phone rang.
Renee Parker.
She had news about Douglas.
Customs records showed he had not left the country.
His car was found at O’Hare, but cameras captured him leaving in another vehicle.
The second vehicle belonged to a chauffeured-car company.
Account used for payment:
A Moretti Hospitality executive account.
Authorized user:
Vittorio Moretti.
Dante stared at the screen.
His uncle had just denied paying Douglas.
Yet Vittorio’s own account had funded Douglas’s escape from the airport.
For the first time, there was current, traceable evidence tying Vittorio directly to the man who had enabled access to Matteo’s table.
And unlike twenty-eight-year-old family stories—
May you like
this evidence was fresh enough to prosecute.
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