Chapter 18 - My Father’s Last Warning
I read my father’s letter sitting on the cold cemetery grass.
Massimo stood several feet away.
He gave me privacy without leaving me alone.
That was one of the reasons I loved him.
My father’s handwriting was exactly as I remembered.
Careful.
Square.
Almost painfully neat.
Sophie,
If you are reading this, sweetheart, then the people I feared have finally found you.
I hope I was wrong.
I hope this box stayed buried until rain and time erased everything inside.
But if it didn’t, there are three things you need to know.
First, I was never part of the Romano family’s criminal operations.
Second, Dominic Moretti is more dangerous than any man who carries a gun because he convinces decent people to ruin themselves legally.
Third, never surrender the property on Randolph Street.
My eyes blurred.
Massimo crouched beside me.
“Do you want me to read it?”
I shook my head.
“I need to finish.”
The letter explained that my father had briefly worked as a contract accountant for companies connected to the Bellini Trust.
He discovered irregular agreements.
Hidden collateral.
Forged amendments.
Loans extended to desperate business owners under conditions that allowed Dominic Moretti to seize companies years later.
Then Dad discovered something worse.
The Romano release clause.
Dominic had secretly removed it from official copies after Alessandro Romano became ill.
My father copied the original.
That copy was inside the blue ledger.
I turned pages until I found a folded document.
Parcel 47-B.
My flower shop.
The release language was clear.
Any independent transfer of the parcel outside either the Romano or Moretti bloodlines permanently canceled future equity conversion rights.
I looked at Massimo.
“We have it.”
His eyes sharpened.
“That’s the clause?”
“Yes.”
For the first time in days, hope entered his face.
Then I noticed another note.
Written in my father’s handwriting.
ORIGINAL HELD BY F.M.
“F.M.?” Massimo asked.
“I don’t know.”
I searched the ledger.
Near the back was a list of initials.
Judges.
Bankers.
Executives.
Some names were crossed out.
Some were underlined.
Then I saw one written in full.
Francesca Romano.
Beside it:
October 17, 2000 — refused cash payment. Signed extension under duress after threat against children.
My chest tightened.
“Massimo.”
He read the entry.
His face became rigid.
“My mother didn’t willingly sign.”
“No.”
Another entry identified a Moretti employee who had photographed Massimo and his younger sibling leaving school.
Dominic had used the pictures to frighten Francesca.
Massimo closed his eyes.
For twenty-four hours, he had blamed his mother.
Now the truth was uglier.
“She protected me.”
“Yes.”
He stood and turned away.
I gave him the silence he needed.
Then one of our guards called out.
“Movement!”
Massimo instantly pulled me behind the stone monument.
A man was running between graves.
Not toward us.
Away.
Our second guard chased him.
The stranger reached a black SUV parked beyond the cemetery gate.
It accelerated before anyone could stop it.
“Did he take anything?” Massimo demanded.
I looked down.
The ledger was still in my hands.
The letter.
The release copy.
Everything remained.
Then I saw the small device pressed into the grass.
A camera.
Someone had been recording us.
Massimo crushed it beneath his shoe.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Gabriel Moretti’s voice came through.
“You found the ledger.”
“You had someone watching my parents’ grave?”
“I told you already, Sophie. I didn’t burn your conservatory.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Because if I wanted the ledger, I wouldn’t call you after you found it.”
I looked at Massimo.
“What do you want?”
“To keep you alive.”
My blood ran cold.
“From whom?”
A pause.
Then Gabriel answered.
“My father.”
I almost laughed.
“Dominic Moretti is dead.”
“No.”
Gabriel’s voice hardened.
“That’s what he paid Chicago to believe.”
Massimo took the phone.
“Where is he?”
Gabriel replied without hesitation.
“Closer than you think.”
Then a gunshot cracked across the cemetery.
May you like
One of our guards fell.
And the second shot shattered my father’s headstone inches from my face.
