Chapter 7 - THE FUNERAL WE SHOULD HAVE HAD TWELVE YEARS AGO
Antonio's second funeral had no politicians.
No captains.
No judges.
No reporters inside.
I refused.
The first funeral had been theater.
This one belonged to people who actually loved him.
Elena.
Matteo.
Lily.
Gabriel.
Me.
Three old friends Antonio had kept in contact with under false names.
Detective Reeves stood outside because Victor's remaining allies still existed.
Not family.
Protection.
Antonio was buried beneath his real name.
ANTONIO SAMUEL MORETTI.
Beloved father.
Brother.
No title.
No mention of the organization.
Matteo chose the words.
I did not.
Progress.
Lily wore a dark blue dress and held Bunny.
She whispered through half the service.
“Is Uncle Tony sleeping?”
Elena crouched.
“No, baby.”
“Dead?”
“Yes.”
Lily thought.
“Like Daddy?”
Elena's face tightened.
“Yes.”
“Can they know each other?”
“I don't know.”
Lily accepted that.
Children accept uncertainty when adults do.
After the priest finished, Matteo walked toward the coffin.
He carried the fake key Victor had taken from him.
Recovered as evidence.
Police allowed it returned.
He placed it on the coffin.
Gabriel frowned.
“Why?”
Matteo looked at me.
“Dad said stupid people hide important things on necklaces.”
I almost laughed.
“So?”
“That key got Victor arrested.”
Fair.
We buried it with Antonio.
The real brass key stayed with the state evidence locker.
Where it belonged.
I took the first handful of dirt.
Twelve years earlier I had done the same thing.
That memory hit so hard my hand stopped.
Antonio's false coffin.
Father beside me.
Victor behind me.
All of them knowing different pieces.
This time Elena moved beside me.
No words.
Just presence.
I dropped the dirt.
Then Matteo did.
Then Lily, who missed and hit my shoe.
“Sorry.”
I almost smiled.
“It's fine.”
Gabriel turned away to hide one.
Afterward, Elena remained by the grave.
Matteo walked with Gabriel.
Lily chased a leaf.
I stood beside Elena.
“I hated you once.”
She looked surprised.
“When?”
“Last week.”
“That was fast.”
“For not telling me.”
She nodded.
“Fair.”
“I still hate parts of what you did.”
Her face tightened.
“Fair.”
“But I understand more.”
“Not forgiveness?”
“No.”
She looked toward the grave.
“Good.”
That surprised me.
“I don't want understanding to become another way this family skips consequences.”
I looked at her.
Antonio chose well.
“That sounds like something he would say.”
“He was more dramatic.”
“Yes.”
We stood quietly.
Then Elena said:
“I hated you too.”
“Only once?”
“For years.”
“Better.”
“You became exactly what Antonio feared.”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
“I heard stories.”
“Most true.”
“Men disappearing.”
“Yes.”
“Beatings.”
“Yes.”
“Businesses burned.”
I looked down.
“Yes.”
Elena turned.
“Are you going to stop?”
That was the question.
Not are you sorry.
Not are you different.
Stop.
“I have already begun.”
“How?”
“Reeves has access to Victor's financial records.”
“That is Victor.”
“Yes.”
“What about yours?”
I stared.
She did not back down.
“If you're asking everyone else to live in truth…”
“Yes.”
I knew.
That afternoon I called my attorney.
Then Gabriel.
Then federal counsel.
By evening, the Moretti organization had a problem nobody expected.
Its boss wanted an audit.
Not tax optimization.
Not internal cleanup.
A real outside forensic audit.
Legitimate companies.
Illegal revenue streams.
Union coercion.
Security contracts.
Cash businesses.
Everything.
Gabriel stared at me.
“You understand what this does.”
“Yes.”
“You could expose yourself.”
“Yes.”
“Men could flip.”
“Yes.”
“Assets frozen.”
“Yes.”
“Indictments.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“Antonio would be insufferable.”
I almost smiled.
“He usually was.”
We started with ports.
The real ledger allowed us to trace ownership.
Some Moretti holdings were legitimate.
Others built with money no clean company should touch.
I instructed attorneys to separate operations.
Sell where possible.
Shut down where not.
Cooperate where crimes remained chargeable.
My lawyer nearly resigned.
“Dominic, you are not required to volunteer historical exposure.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
Apparently contagious.
“What exactly are you trying to achieve?”
I thought of Matteo placing the fake key on his father's coffin.
Lily walking barefoot through my hallway.
Elena wanting a normal address.
“No child inherits this.”
My attorney stared.
“What?”
“The Moretti organization ends with me.”
Silence.
Gabriel looked down.
He had known before the lawyer did.
“What about Matteo?”
“Especially Matteo.”
“He is Antonio's son.”
“He is twelve.”
“What if, when older—”
“No.”
I stopped myself.
Wrong.
Choice.
“If, when he is older, he wants to enter legitimate family businesses, he can apply like anyone.”
Gabriel almost laughed.
“You are going to make a Moretti apply?”
“Yes.”
“Antonio is haunting you.”
“Probably.”
The old captains reacted badly.
Victor's arrest had already split loyalty.
Now my restructuring looked like surrender.
Three captains requested meetings.
I agreed.
No guns in the room.
That offended everyone.
Rocco Mancini spoke first.
“You are giving government people our books.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because some of those books document crimes.”
Rocco stared.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Your father would—”
“Do not.”
My voice remained quiet.
Everyone stopped.
“My father staged my brother's death.”
Silence.
“He protected Victor from truth.”
No one moved.
“He helped create the conditions that got Antonio killed.”
I looked around.
“I am done accepting ‘your father would’ as an argument.”
Rocco leaned back.
“What happens to us?”
“Legitimate roles remain if clean.”
“And if not?”
“Get lawyers.”
Some laughed.
Others did not.
One man stood.
“You're betraying blood.”
I looked at him.
“My blood is a twelve-year-old boy who needed kidnapping signals because of us.”
Silence.
“My blood is a three-year-old girl who walked barefoot through my house because her mother was drugged.”
No one looked at me.
“If family requires children to learn emergency routes before multiplication tables, we built garbage.”
Nobody spoke.
Two captains resigned.
One disappeared before subpoenas.
Another cooperated.
Fine.
The empire began shrinking.
Then Victor requested to see me.
Jail visitation.
I refused.
He asked again.
Refused.
Third request included one sentence:
ASK ELENA WHO LILY’S GODFATHER IS.
I stared at the message.
Another secret?
I hated him.
I asked Elena directly.
She looked confused.
“Lily doesn't have one.”
“Victor says otherwise.”
Her face changed.
Then:
“No.”
“What?”
She walked to the red box.
Removed a document I had not seen.
Michael Alvarez's will.
Lily's father.
Signed before his death.
Emergency guardian if Elena died:
ANTONIO RUSSO.
Impossible.
Antonio was alive then.
Still hidden.
Second alternate:
DOMINIC MORETTI.
I stared.
“Why?”
Elena's eyes filled.
“Michael knew who Antonio was.”
“What?”
“They met once.”
My mind rebelled.
“Your late husband met your former lover?”
“Yes.”
“This family is exhausting.”
Despite herself, Elena laughed.
“Michael knew Matteo needed protection.”
“He accepted Matteo?”
“He raised him for two years before he died.”
That changed how I saw a man I had never met.
“And he named me?”
“Antonio asked.”
My throat tightened.
“When?”
“Through a lawyer.”
Again.
My brother had placed people in my care without telling me.
“Why didn't you tell me when Michael died?”
“Antonio was still alive.”
“And after Antonio?”
“I was terrified.”
“Of me.”
“Yes.”
Fair.
Then Elena looked at me.
“Lily is not yours.”
“I know.”
“You do not owe her anything.”
I stared toward the hallway where Lily had recently decorated one of my security reports with purple crayon.
“No.”
I said.
“I don't.”
That mattered.
Obligation was not love.
Then I added:
“I still want to be here.”
Elena's eyes filled.
“Uncle?”
“Something like that.”
“Too tall helper?”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently.”
That evening Lily wandered into my study.
Shoes this time.
Progress.
She held a drawing.
Four figures.
Elena.
Matteo.
Lily.
One enormous black rectangle.
“Who is that?”
“You.”
I stared.
“Why am I square?”
“Suit.”
Fair.
“What is this?”
She pointed to the little hand drawn between hers and mine.
“You help.”
My throat tightened.
I placed the drawing inside the desk drawer.
Not framed.
Too sentimental.
Ten minutes later, I took it back out and framed it.
Gabriel saw.
May you like
Said nothing.
Smart man.
