Chapter 28 - The Trial of the Old Empire
Dominic’s trial began three months before my due date.
Chicago treated it like theater.
Every newspaper covered it.
Every television station broadcast from outside the courthouse.
Dominic faced racketeering, fraud, conspiracy, bribery, obstruction, and charges connected to Gabriel’s mother’s death.
His defense strategy became obvious immediately.
Blame everyone else.
Especially the Romanos.
Massimo testified for six hours.
Dominic’s attorney attacked his family history.
The syndicate.
The former alliances.
The violence.
The old shipping operations.
Massimo did not hide.
That mattered.
“Yes,” he said when asked whether his family had controlled illegal enterprises.
“Yes,” he answered when asked whether he had inherited them.
Then the attorney leaned forward.
“And you expect this jury to believe you suddenly became an honest businessman?”
Massimo looked directly at the jurors.
“No.”
The attorney blinked.
Massimo continued.
“I expect them to examine the records.”
He described dismantling illegal operations.
Closing shell companies.
Cooperating with regulators.
Rebuilding legitimate shipping infrastructure.
Thousands of jobs.
Taxes paid.
Audits passed.
Then the prosecutor showed the manipulated insurance documents.
Vale’s confession.
Francesca’s coerced agreement.
My father’s copied release clause.
Gabriel testified next.
That was harder.
He described his mother’s death.
His father’s control.
The fear inside their home.
At one point, Dominic laughed quietly.
Gabriel stopped speaking.
The courtroom froze.
Dominic’s attorney whispered to him.
He ignored her.
“My mother was weak,” Dominic said.
Gabriel looked at him.
“No.”
His voice shook.
“She was brave enough to leave you.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
Gabriel continued.
“And I was weak because it took me twenty years to admit what you were.”
The jury watched everything.
Then it was my turn.
Dominic’s attorney approached slowly.
“Mrs. Romano, you benefited financially from the downfall of Mr. Moretti, correct?”
“No.”
“You married into extraordinary wealth.”
“Yes.”
“And your property conveniently invalidated Moretti Capital’s claim.”
“My property did exactly what the original contract said.”
“You expect us to believe your father accidentally purchased the most important parcel in this dispute?”
“He didn’t purchase it.”
I smiled.
“I did.”
A ripple moved through the courtroom.
The attorney paused.
“You knew nothing about the release clause?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing about the Bellini Trust?”
“No.”
“Nothing about Dominic Moretti?”
“Only that his foundation sponsored a museum gala once.”
A few jurors smiled.
She changed direction.
“Your husband has killed people.”
The courtroom went silent.
Massimo’s face hardened.
“Objection,” the prosecutor said.
The judge allowed limited questioning.
The attorney looked at me.
“Are you afraid of your husband?”
“No.”
“Never?”
I thought about the night I accidentally entered his bedroom.
His gun.
His threats.
The mansion.
The guards.
Then I answered honestly.
“I was.”
Massimo looked at me.
“But not because he enjoyed frightening me.”
I turned toward the jury.
“He was born inside a system where fear was considered protection.”
The attorney frowned.
“And now?”
“Now he knows better.”
“You’re defending him.”
“I’m describing him.”
I looked directly at Dominic.
“Some men inherit darkness and choose to leave it.”
Then I looked back at the attorney.
“Others spend their entire lives blaming everyone else for the lights they turned off themselves.”
Dominic stopped smiling.
Three weeks later, the jury returned.
Guilty.
On every major count.
Dominic Moretti was sentenced to spend the remainder of his life in federal prison.
Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded us.
I was eight months pregnant and extremely tired of humanity.
One journalist shouted:
“Mrs. Romano! Is this finally the end of Chicago’s old criminal dynasties?”
I stopped.
Massimo looked surprised.
I turned toward the cameras.
“No family name is destiny.”
The crowd quieted.
“Not Moretti. Not Romano. Not Miller.”
I rested one hand over my stomach.
“What matters is what the next generation chooses to build.”
Then I walked away.
That evening, our daughter apparently agreed.
My water broke during dinner.
Massimo stared at the floor.
Then at me.
Then back at the floor.
“Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“Is that—”
“Yes.”
He stood so quickly his chair overturned.
Donna Caterina laughed.
Claire grabbed the hospital bag.
Francesca started crying.
Massimo looked ready to command an army.
I grabbed his hand.
“Hospital.”
He nodded.
“Hospital.”
“And Massimo?”
“Yes?”
“Do not call a tactical convoy.”
He looked offended.
“I was thinking two cars.”
May you like
“Massimo.”
“One.”
