Chapter 7 - TO PROVE WHY GABRIEL WAS KILLED, SEBASTIAN HAD TO ADMIT WHAT THE MORETTI EMPIRE REALLY WAS
Sebastian’s first federal proffer lasted nine hours.
He came back looking like someone had removed several organs.
I was finishing a night shift when he appeared at NICU glass.
No suit jacket.
Tie gone.
Eyes exhausted.
“You look terrible.”
“Good evening to you too.”
“How bad?”
He stared through glass.
“May I hold Jonah?”
I checked chart.
Ava had given written permission for approved comfort volunteers when she was not present.
“Yes.”
He scrubbed.
Sat.
I transferred Jonah.
He was six weeks old corrected? Still tiny but gaining.
Sebastian settled him automatically.
Only after the baby quieted did he speak.
“My attorney says I may be indicted.”
I did not react dramatically.
“For what?”
“Financial crimes.”
Another.
“Obstruction in older cases.”
Another.
“Conspiracy, depending what corroborates.”
“Did you do those things?”
“Yes.”
Simple.
No victim act.
“What happens?”
“I keep cooperating.”
“Why?”
He looked down.
“Because Vincent’s motive is tied to control structure.”
He explained.
Seventeen years ago, Sebastian had prepared to transfer major legitimate Moretti holdings into a trust for Gabriel and resign operational control of syndicate.
If Sebastian stepped away, Vincent lost access to revenue channels.
Gabriel’s birth accelerated departure.
So Vincent created a crisis.
Kill child.
Keep father.
And it worked.
After Gabriel’s death, Sebastian withdrew trust restructuring.
Expanded into ports.
Construction.
Nightlife.
Private security.
Some legal.
Some not.
Vincent became indispensable lieutenant.
He earned tens of millions.
Maybe hundreds.
Proving motive required showing those financial shifts.
Federal prosecutors now had maps of operations.
“So if you hide your crimes,” I said, “Vincent gets stronger defense.”
“Yes.”
“And if you tell truth…”
“I may lose companies.”
“Freedom?”
“Possible.”
I looked at him.
“Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
Good.
“No ‘I don’t fear prison’ speech?”
“No.”
“I’m impressed.”
He glared.
Then Jonah stretched against chest.
Sebastian smiled.
Barely.
“I held Gabriel like this.”
I sat.
“Tell me.”
He looked surprised.
“You always tell me not to live in grief.”
“I never said that.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I tell you not to use grief as permission.”
Different.
He nodded.
“Gabriel hated being repositioned.”
“Premature babies don’t hate.”
“He did.”
“Scientific.”
“He screamed every time.”
“Fair.”
“He had black hair.”
Another.
“Long fingers.”
Another.
“He opened eyes whenever Elena sang.”
“His mother?”
“Elena.”
Finally a name.
“What happened to her?”
Sebastian’s face changed.
“She survived birth.”
I waited.
“We were engaged, not married.”
Another.
“After Gabriel died, we broke.”
“Together?”
“Separately.”
“She begged me to leave business.”
“And?”
“I didn’t.”
There.
“She left me.”
“When?”
“Four months later.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled.
“She’s alive?”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“She died six years ago. Breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We had spoken by then.”
“Were you friends?”
“No.”
Honest.
“We forgave some things.”
“Which?”
“She forgave me for choosing revenge over us.”
Another.
“I forgave her for leaving.”
“Was that yours to forgive?”
He stared.
I raised eyebrow.
“Fair.”
He almost smiled.
“She told me I made house feel like tomb.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know truth about Gabriel?”
“No.”
His eyes filled.
“I wish she did.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Then Ava entered.
She looked healthier.
Jonah’s mother had reclaimed herself quickly once fear reduced.
She saw Sebastian.
“Federal?”
“Yes.”
“Bad?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He stared.
She smiled faintly.
“My mother would approve.”
Sebastian looked at bracelet.
“She wanted me to stop using Gabriel.”
“Yes.”
Ava took Jonah when he woke.
Sebastian did not resist.
Then she said:
“I’m leaving hospital tomorrow.”
My chest tightened.
“With Jonah?”
“If he passes car-seat test and feeding.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
Finally.
“Where?”
“Secure apartment in White Plains.”
“Good.”
Sebastian asked:
“Do you need anything?”
Ava thought.
“Car seat.”
He almost smiled.
“I can buy—”
“One normal car seat.”
His face fell.
“Define normal.”
I laughed.
Ava pointed.
“Under four hundred dollars.”
Sebastian looked personally insulted.
“Those exist?”
“Yes.”
The next day, he arrived with a $289 car seat and receipt.
Ava inspected.
“Good.”
He seemed absurdly proud.
Jonah passed test.
Discharge day drew no press by court order.
Ava dressed him in pale green onesie.
I reviewed feeding.
Temperature.
Safe sleep.
Warning signs.
Pediatric follow-up.
She listened intensely.
Then she cried.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“No one does.”
“You do.”
“I know how to keep premature babies alive in hospital.”
“That’s more.”
“Home is different.”
She smiled through tears.
Sebastian stood near door.
Not carrying.
Not taking.
Ava looked at him.
“Will you?”
His face changed.
“Will I what?”
“Carry him to car.”
He stopped breathing.
I nearly cried.
He took Jonah carefully.
Walked out of Pine Valley NICU holding the baby he had once been expected to cuddle for five minutes.
He had stayed nearly seven weeks in and out.
Not as father.
As someone who stayed.
At vehicle, he handed Jonah back to Ava.
No speech.
Just:
“Call if you need.”
She looked.
“My lawyer has your lawyer.”
He smiled.
“Perfect.”
The SUV left.
Sebastian stood in drop-off lane watching.
I came beside.
“Hard?”
“Yes.”
“You knew he wasn’t yours.”
“I know.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
We stood.
Then he said:
“I thought maybe…”
“What?”
He looked embarrassed.
“That I could become guardian.”
I was glad he told truth.
“And?”
“He has a mother.”
“Yes.”
“Who loves him.”
“Yes.”
“So it would have been about me.”
There.
“Partly.”
He nodded.
“I’m learning.”
“Slowly.”
He looked at me.
“Would you have stopped me?”
“Legally? Absolutely.”
He laughed.
Then serious.
“What happens now?”
“You keep your federal appointments.”
“I meant us.”
I looked.
“Nothing.”
His face fell.
“Nothing?”
“Yet.”
He understood.
“Still not safe.”
“No.”
“Because crime.”
“Among other things.”
“List?”
“You’re controlling.”
“Improving.”
“Rich.”
“That is not crime.”
“It creates complications.”
“Old.”
I smiled.
“You said it.”
“I’m forty-seven.”
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“Not old.”
“Good recovery.”
Then:
“You’re grieving.”
“Yes.”
“I’m still your hospital nurse in a context where you donate money.”
“I’ll stop donating?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Independent governance.”
He sighed.
“You make romance sound like compliance memo.”
“Compliance keeps babies alive.”
That stopped him.
Good.
He nodded.
“Then I wait.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t wait for me.”
His face hardened.
“I don’t mean date other people if you don’t want.”
“What do you mean?”
“Change because it’s right.”
Another.
“If we never happen, you still need to choose what comes next.”
He looked at city.
Then at me.
“Yes.”
That night, Sebastian formally resigned control of every illegal Moretti enterprise he could separate.
Not because of me.
He told federal prosecutors before he told me.
Good.
Some men laughed.
Some threatened.
Some left.
Within three months, two of his clubs closed, a port operation transferred to independent management, and Moretti Holdings entered federal monitorship.
The city said Sebastian Moretti was losing power.
He told me:
“Maybe.”
Then:
“I sleep better.”
But the most dangerous reaction came from inside.
Vincent’s son, Adrian Moretti, refused to accept his father’s arrest.
He controlled a private security unit Sebastian had not yet dissolved.
And one night, three months after Jonah went home, Ava called me screaming.
Someone had fired shots into her apartment lobby.
No one was hit.
Jonah was safe.
But on her door, police found one message painted in red:
THE DEAD SHOULD STAY BURIED.
Vincent was in jail.
May you like
Pierce was awaiting trial.
The war over Gabriel’s truth was not finished.
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