Chapter 8 - MARCO MORETTI TRIED TO PUT MY FATHER ON TRIAL FROM HIS CELL
Marco’s defense strategy was simple.
Blame dead people.
My father.
My mother.
Julian.
Even Alessandra.
Anyone who could not easily contradict.
He claimed Salvatore Moretti created White Harbor.
Rosa knew.
Victor followed orders.
Thomas misunderstood.
Marco was merely a loyal nephew caught inside a family machine.
Then prosecutors produced audio.
My sister’s microSD archive held years of conversations.
Julian had been paranoid enough to record meetings.
Useful trait.
One recording was between Marco and Victor six months before Alessandra disappeared.
Marco:
Salvatore shut down the old route.
Victor:
Then reroute through Whitaker codes.
Marco:
Andrew will notice.
Victor:
Not if Michael handles reconciliation.
Then:
If Alessandra keeps asking, we make her unstable.
Marco laughed.
She already is, according to every doctor her mother uses.
I stopped listening.
My sister had once received treatment for anxiety after a college assault.
Marco intended to weaponize it.
Of course.
Another recording:
Victor:
What if Luca sees accounts?
Marco:
He’ll kill half the city before reading footnotes.
Then laughter.
My anger rose.
Not because insult.
Because strategy relied on truth.
They knew me.
Used me.
The easiest man to manipulate is one convinced unpredictability makes him strong.
Marco knew exactly what I would do if Alessandra died.
War.
He built around it.
At trial, Alessandra testified by recorded deposition because doctors believed courtroom stress unsafe.
She did not remember every date.
She said so.
She did not exaggerate.
Good.
“I remember Marco telling me Luca would never believe me.”
“I remember Victor saying my mother had signed papers.”
“I remember Thomas crying while driving.”
“I remember Julian.”
Her voice broke.
“I remember giving Sophie to Elena.”
Defense attorney asked:
“You were medicated heavily for years.”
“Yes.”
“Your memory is unreliable.”
“Parts.”
“So how can jury trust you?”
Alessandra looked directly toward camera.
“They shouldn’t trust everything because I say it.”
Good.
“They should compare what I remember to documents.”
There.
Evidence.
Not emotion.
Marco’s attorneys hated.
Then Elena testified about VHS.
Victor’s threat.
Mateo.
Her attempt to deliver tape after funeral.
Defense tried class angle.
“You remained employed by Moretti family for eight years despite these alleged threats.”
Elena stared.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I needed income.”
“You could have left.”
“With husband at Moretti docks?”
“With child?”
“With Victor knowing where my mother lived?”
“Leaving is not same thing as being free.”
Silence.
That line appeared in newspapers next day.
I hated publicity around her.
She handled.
After testimony, we had our second date.
Still at estate.
Home confinement.
I cooked.
Badly.
Elena ate three bites.
“This is terrible.”
“I followed recipe.”
“You interpret recipe like contract.”
“Specific.”
“Still bad.”
I laughed.
Then she became quiet.
“Mateo would hate this.”
My chest tightened.
“Me?”
“Probably.”
Fair.
“He hated mob families.”
“Also fair.”
“But…”
She looked around kitchen.
“He wanted me happy.”
I did not rush.
Elena continued.
“I feel guilty.”
“For liking me?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
She almost smiled.
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
She looked.
“I was head of family whose network included men who killed your husband.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No.”
“But he worked docks under our name.”
“Yes.”
“My system made people like Victor powerful.”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“You don’t owe me separation as punishment.”
Her eyes filled.
“No.”
“You also don’t owe Mateo remaining alone.”
“No.”
“But if being with me feels wrong—”
“It doesn’t.”
There.
My heart stopped.
“It feels scary.”
“Different.”
Good.
I reached across table.
Stopped.
“Can I hold your hand?”
Elena looked down.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
Her hand slid into mine.
Small.
Warm.
No rings.
Mateo’s wedding band hung on chain beneath her sweater. I knew.
Did not mind.
The dead do not need erasure for living love to exist.
We held hands.
No kiss.
Good.
At Marco’s trial, Victor turned state witness.
Self-preservation.
He confirmed Isabella? No, Rosa. Need not confusion. Victor confirmed Rosa knew staged death plan but believed Alessandra would be taken to safety, not imprisoned. He also admitted exploiting Rosa’s grief afterward to keep her quiet.
Marco convicted on nearly all major counts.
Trafficking conspiracy.
Kidnapping.
Financial crimes.
Obstruction.
Conspiracy tied to Michael Whitaker and Julian Cross deaths where evidence supported.
Thomas received reduced sentence for cooperation but still years in prison.
Victor too.
No one walked because they talked.
Good.
On sentencing day, Marco asked to address me.
Judge allowed no direct conversation? In courtroom he can make allocution, perhaps mentions Luca.
He looked toward gallery.
“You destroyed the Moretti name.”
Old bait.
I remained seated.
He continued.
“You turned federal.”
Nothing.
“You chose a maid over blood.”
Elena stiffened beside me.
I stood only when judge permitted? Better don't. I simply ignored.
Marco smiled.
“Your father would be ashamed.”
That one used to work.
I looked at him.
“My father is dead.”
Marco blinked.
“I am responsible for what I do alive.”
No speech.
Enough.
Marco received life-equivalent sentence due age and crimes.
The criminal network ended.
Not organized crime everywhere.
Not magically.
But the part inside my family.
Good.
Then something unexpected happened.
Moretti Holdings employees voted through restructured governance to remove my surname from one logistics subsidiary associated with White Harbor.
My old self would have seen betrayal.
Instead I approved.
Elena asked:
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I sighed.
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
Then:
“Why approve?”
“Workers should not carry my family history for branding.”
She smiled.
“You’re becoming boring.”
“Cruel.”
“Boring men live longer.”
Fair.
Home confinement ended months later.
First legal outing after monitor removal?
I went to St. Agnes.
The bell tower.
Where Julian hid archive.
Father Joseph met.
“You look disappointed.”
“I expected freedom to feel larger.”
“What did you expect?”
“Music.”
He laughed.
“Confession?”
“No.”
“Worth trying.”
We climbed tower.
I looked over Chicago.
This city once felt like mine.
Now it looked like a place I lived.
Better.
I called Elena.
“Free.”
She paused.
“Where?”
“Church.”
She laughed so loudly I held phone away.
“Luca Moretti celebrates freedom at church.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Come home.”
Home.
Not estate exactly.
Maybe.
I went to her townhouse.
She opened door.
No uniform.
Sophie asleep.
Alessandra staying in guest room that week.
Domestic.
Messy.
Alive.
Elena looked at me.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Outside?”
“Yes.”
“Public?”
“Yes.”
“No guards at table?”
“Yes.”
“Who pays?”
I smiled.
“Alternate?”
She nodded.
“Good.”
May you like
Our first real date began after nearly everything powerful about me had been taken away.
That made it the first time I trusted her yes.
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