Chapter 8 - The Fall of the Falcone Cartel
Before Claire and I could truly begin our new chapter, one final ghost from the past demanded an answer.
The following morning, Marco entered my study with an encrypted tablet. The federal raids on the Falcone syndicate had been executed flawlessly. Over forty high-ranking capos were in federal custody, their illegal port routes seized by customs enforcement.
However, there was one piece of unfinished business.
“Dominic Silva’s bail hearing was denied,” Marco reported quietly. “His attorney requested a private deposition before he is transferred to ADX Florence. He asked to see you, Boss. He claims he has information regarding your father’s death.”
I closed my laptop, glancing out the window toward the garden where Claire was pushing Sofia in the stroller under the warm morning sun. Claire looked radiant, her strength returning every day, a serene smile on her face that I would protect with my dying breath.
“Prep the car,” I told Marco. “Ten minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, I sat across from Dominic Silva inside the reinforced glass visitation booth at the Metropolitan Correctional Center downtown.
Dominic looked ruined. His arm was strapped in a rigid medical sling, his expensive suits replaced by an orange jumpsuit, his eyes sunken and hollow.
“You won, Adrian,” Dominic croaked through the intercom, a bitter sneer twisting his cracked lips. “You played the feds, you saved your little wife, and you destroyed the Falcones. But you’re still a murderer’s son. You still carry the blood of the Moretti curse.”
“I didn't come here to trade insults with a dead man walking, Dominic,” I replied coldly. “You mentioned my father.”
Dominic let out a dry, raspy chuckle. “Your father didn't die of a sudden heart attack ten years ago, Adrian. Old man Falcone didn't poison him either.”
My eyes narrowed, a lethal chill creeping into my veins. “Explain.”
“It was me,” Dominic whispered, leaning close to the glass, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction. “I slipped digitalis into his Scotch every evening for two months. Your father was growing soft. He wanted to legitimize the family, shut down the extortion rackets, turn Moretti Holdings into a boring corporate enterprise. Just like you're doing now. I couldn't let him ruin our profits.”
Dominic smiled triumphantly, expecting me to rage, to shatter the bulletproof glass, to lose control.
Instead, I sat entirely still.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out an audio recorder, and clicked the stop button. A small red LED light blinked off.
“Thank you, Dominic,” I said calmly.
Dominic’s smile vanished, replaced by sudden, horrified confusion. “What is that?”
“You were facing twenty-five years for federal racketeering and attempted kidnapping,” I said, leaning toward the intercom. “With this voluntary confession of premeditated murder of Daniel Moretti, your plea deal is completely void. The Cook County State’s Attorney is filing capital aggravated murder charges in ten minutes. You will spend the rest of your natural life in an eight-by-ten concrete box in maximum security, completely forgotten by the world.”
Dominic’s face drained of every ounce of color. He slammed his uninjured hand against the glass, screaming obscenities as the guards tackled him to the floor and dragged him through the heavy iron doors.
May you like
I stood up, adjusted my coat, and walked out into the clean, crisp autumn air.
The past was finally buried. The debts were paid. The empire of shadows was dead.
