Chapter 10 - THE DAY I DESTROYED MY EMPIRE
Jail was quieter than grief.
I sat inside an interrogation room for seven hours while federal prosecutors placed photographs in front of me.
Peter Hale.
Dead.
Security footage showing a car registered to one of my companies near his hotel.
Payments from a Moretti account to the shooter.
Telephone records connecting my office to the same man.
Perfect evidence.
Too perfect.
“Salvatore,” I said.
The prosecutor across from me didn’t react.
Her name was Rachel Greene.
Forty-something.
No patience.
No fear.
“You blame your uncle.”
“I blame him for many things.”
“Did you order Peter Hale killed?”
“No.”
“Did Dominic Ricci?”
“No.”
“Lorenzo?”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe a Moretti organization accountant suddenly began investigating hidden children without your knowledge?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back.
“You’re either lying or incompetent.”
“Three years ago, I would have killed someone for saying that.”
“And today?”
“Today I’m tired.”
That answer interested her.
Greene closed the file.
“Dr. Bellini is cooperating.”
“So I heard.”
“He says you ran the child-disappearance network.”
I laughed.
“Of course.”
“He provided documents.”
“Forged.”
“You haven’t seen them.”
“I know my father created the network.”
Her expression barely changed.
But I saw it.
Interest.
“My father. Salvatore. Bellini. Several judges. Possibly my mother.”
Greene folded her hands.
“And you?”
“I inherited companies that hid the money.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did you profit?”
“Yes.”
That mattered.
I knew it.
She knew it.
Ignorance didn’t make dirty money clean.
“What are you offering?” she asked.
“Everything.”
Her eyebrows moved.
I continued.
“Moretti Shipping records. Nightclubs. shell companies. union payments. offshore transfers.”
“You understand what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“You could implicate yourself.”
“Yes.”
“You could go to prison.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked through the mirrored glass.
“My son learned to say my name while I thought he was dead.”
Greene said nothing.
“I spent three years protecting an empire built by people who stole him.”
My voice hardened.
“I’m finished protecting it.”
She studied me for a long time.
Then she opened another folder.
“Help us prove Salvatore ordered Hale’s murder.”
“I will.”
“And Valentina Moretti?”
My heart tightened.
“Bellini killed her.”
“Bellini says Salvatore ordered it.”
“Then prove it.”
“You sound surprisingly calm.”
“I’m imagining what I’ll do if the courts fail.”
She sighed.
“There he is.”
I almost smiled.
The deal took two days.
I wasn’t released.
But I was transferred to protected house arrest after evidence suggested the Hale murder frame had been built through Salvatore’s accounts.
I returned home wearing an ankle monitor.
Mateo stared at it.
“What that?”
“A bracelet.”
“Ugly.”
“Yes.”
He touched it.
“Police?”
“Yes.”
His eyes darkened.
“Daddy bad?”
The question cut deeper than any bullet.
I crouched.
“I have done bad things.”
Elena froze near the doorway.
I continued.
“But I’m trying to do better things now.”
Mateo considered this.
“Police bad?”
“Sometimes people are bad. Sometimes people make mistakes. Sometimes good people do bad things.”
He frowned.
Four-year-old philosophy had limits.
I simplified.
“Daddy is staying home.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
That was enough.
For the next week, my dining room became a federal evidence center.
Greene hated the arrangement.
Dominic hated Greene.
Alessia enjoyed annoying both of them.
Lorenzo worked sixteen-hour days rebuilding financial trails.
Elena kept the boys away from everything.
And I began dismantling the Moretti empire one ledger at a time.
Illegal gambling.
Bribes.
Extortion payments.
Protection money.
Every page felt like carving pieces from my father’s grave.
The legitimate businesses would survive.
Shipping.
Construction.
Restaurants.
But only after audits.
New management.
Government oversight.
I didn’t care what it cost.
On the sixth night, Lorenzo found the connection we needed.
A payment to Peter Hale’s killer originated from a company called Sorella Holdings.
Sorella.
Sister.
Alessia stared at the screen.
“That’s not mine.”
“I know.”
She frowned.
“Who created it?”
Lorenzo traced the incorporation papers.
Caterina Bellini.
Then something worse appeared.
Three payments to a private security contractor.
Dates corresponding with attempts to move Mateo.
One payment the night Leo was taken.
One payment after Salvatore disappeared.
“Caterina,” I said.
Alessia shook her head.
“She helped Valentina.”
“Maybe once.”
People changed.
Fear changed them faster.
We located Caterina at a church in Queens.
Federal agents surrounded the building.
I stayed in the surveillance vehicle because of the ankle monitor.
Greene went inside.
Ten minutes later, she called.
“You need to hear this.”
They brought Caterina into the rectory office.
I joined by video.
She looked twenty years older than the woman I remembered.
“Luca.”
“Where is Salvatore?”
Her face crumpled.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you frame me for Hale?”
“No.”
“Your company paid the killer.”
“My husband used it.”
“Bellini was in custody.”
Silence.
I leaned toward the screen.
“Caterina.”
Her lips trembled.
“Salvatore has access.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who took him from his estate?”
She began crying.
“I did.”
Everyone froze.
“Why?”
“Because Marcus told me Salvatore would kill us all if he talked.”
“So you rescued him.”
“I tried to trade him.”
“To who?”
She covered her face.
“A group of Bellini’s clients.”
Greene leaned forward.
“Names.”
Caterina shook her head.
“They call themselves the Council.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity.
Rich men always named themselves something dramatic when they wanted to commit crimes in private.
“What do they want?”
“To erase the records.”
“And Salvatore?”
“He knows where backup copies are.”
“Where is he now?”
Caterina looked at me.
“I lost him.”
Of course.
“Then why frame me?”
“I didn’t.”
“Someone did.”
She whispered, “Salvatore.”
Greene exchanged a glance with me.
He had escaped his kidnappers.
Used Caterina’s company.
Killed Hale.
Framed me.
And disappeared.
My phone buzzed.
Elena.
I answered.
“What?”
No response.
“Elena?”
A child cried in the background.
Leo.
Then a man spoke.
“Hello, Luca.”
Salvatore.
I stood so quickly my chair hit the wall.
“Where are you?”
“Closer than you think.”
My blood turned cold.
“Elena?”
“She’s fine.”
“You’re at the house.”
“No.”
Then I understood.
Security cameras.
I opened the mansion feed on another screen.
The nursery was empty.
Garden empty.
Kitchen empty.
Then the garage camera.
Elena stood beside the SUV.
Leo in her arms.
Mateo beside her.
A man held a gun behind them.
Not Salvatore.
One of his men.
My heart stopped.
Salvatore spoke quietly.
“You took my empire.”
“You took my sons.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want?”
“The drives.”
“All copies?”
“All.”
“Then you release them.”
“Yes.”
I knew he was lying.
But for once, this wasn’t about winning.
“Where?”
“Moretti Shipping Terminal Four.”
The old red dock.
Red boats.
The phrase Mateo had repeated.
The place had been part of his nightmare all along.
Midnight.
Salvatore continued.
“And Luca?”
“Yes?”
“Bring Alessia.”
My sister looked at me from across the room.
“Why?”
Salvatore laughed.
“Because our father left one final inheritance.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Greene.
She immediately said, “You are not going.”
I stood.
“My children are there.”
“We send tactical teams.”
“He sees them, he kills them.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know Salvatore.”
Alessia stood too.
“I’m going.”
Greene looked between us.
“You Morettis are exhausting.”
Dominic checked his weapon.
I shook my head.
“No.”
His face hardened.
“Don’t even start.”
“You’re staying with Greene.”
“Luca—”
“If this goes wrong, someone needs to bring my sons home.”
He stopped.
That was the only argument that could defeat him.
I removed my ankle monitor.
Greene stared.
“That is a federal offense.”
“Add it to the list.”
I picked up Valentina’s ring.
Slipped it into my pocket.
Then looked at Alessia.
“Ready?”
She loaded her gun.
“No.”
For the first time, I understood what courage actually was.
Not entering a room without fear.
Entering while terrified because someone you loved was inside.
We drove toward Terminal Four.
Toward Salvatore.
May you like
Toward the last piece of my father’s empire.
And toward the war that would decide what remained of my family when the Moretti name finally burned.
