Chapter 15 - The Names on the List
The Bellini documents contained seven murders.
All unsolved.
All connected indirectly to Moretti interests.
A union organizer.
A warehouse owner.
Two associates.
A city inspector.
A bookmaker.
And a former Moretti accountant named Leo Santoro.
Each file included supposed payment records authorizing violence under Adrien’s name.
The signatures looked authentic.
The dates matched periods when Adrien controlled the organization.
The problem was simple.
Adrien had never authorized any of them.
Federal investigators did not care about his word.
They cared about evidence.
By noon, television commentators were calling him a suspected serial crime boss.
By two, three banks froze Moretti commercial credit lines.
By four, a major real-estate partner suspended negotiations.
Isabella sat inside their law firm’s conference room surrounded by photocopies.
“These are too clean,” she said.
Noah looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“Real criminal records are messy. Nicknames. Codes. Missing details. These look like someone designed them for a jury.”
Adrien studied one payment authorization.
His signature.
His initials.
A Moretti account.
Everything correct.
Then Isabella pointed to the font.
“This template.”
“What about it?”
“We changed accounting software seven years ago.”
Adrien frowned.
“This murder was nine years ago.”
“Exactly.”
Noah leaned forward.
The payment authorization had supposedly been created in 2017.
But the document format had not existed until 2019.
A forgery.
One mistake.
They examined the others.
Two more used impossible formatting.
Another referenced a bank account created months after the murder.
Bellini’s evidence was sophisticated.
Not perfect.
Adrien called Rebecca Shaw.
She listened.
“We’ll verify independently.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“I don’t have that long.”
“That is not my problem.”
“No. It’s my employees’ problem.”
Moretti legitimate businesses employed nearly two thousand people.
Truck drivers.
Office staff.
Construction crews.
Hotel employees.
People who had no idea who Stefano Bellini was.
Yet fear was already spreading through payroll departments and lenders.
Isabella looked at Adrien after the call.
“Bellini wants you angry.”
“I am angry.”
“He wants you violent.”
Adrien stared at the files.
That was different.
Bellini expected the old response.
An attack.
A disappearance.
A body.
Something that would validate every accusation.
Adrien smiled without humor.
“So we disappoint him.”
That evening they gathered the Moretti captains.
Some were furious about Adrien contacting federal authorities.
Frank DeLuca nearly walked out.
“You invited the FBI into our house.”
Adrien remained calm.
“Our house is already burning.”
“We deal with our own.”
“That attitude is why Bellini owns half this city.”
DeLuca slammed a fist down.
“My father served your father.”
“And mine died hiding evidence because nobody trusted the law enough to use it.”
That silenced him.
Adrien placed two documents on the table.
“One is Bellini’s accusation.”
Another.
“One proves it’s forged.”
He looked around.
“Anyone who wants war can leave now.”
Nobody moved.
“Anyone who wants revenge can leave.”
Still nothing.
“Anyone who thinks our sons should inherit this exact life should stay.”
The question landed differently.
Several captains looked down.
They had children.
Grandchildren.
Families living behind gates.
Frank DeLuca finally spoke.
“What are you proposing?”
“We dismantle the criminal side ourselves.”
The room erupted.
Adrien raised a hand.
“You asked what I’m proposing. Listen.”
Legitimate Moretti businesses would be separated.
Illegal operations would stop.
Political payments would end.
Protection rackets would terminate.
Cash reserves would be used to stabilize workers and businesses.
Records tied to Bellini would be turned over.
A captain named Rocco Ferrara stared.
“You’re destroying what Lorenzo built.”
“No.”
Adrien shook his head.
“I’m deciding what deserves to survive.”
Frank leaned back.
“And men like Bellini?”
“Prison.”
Some laughed bitterly.
Adrien did not.
“Or we keep doing this another thirty years until one of your grandchildren is tied to a chair because somebody remembers something their grandfather did.”
Nobody answered.
Later that night, Isabella found Adrien alone on the mansion balcony.
“You scared them.”
“I scared myself.”
She smiled faintly.
He looked at her.
“What?”
“I’ve waited five years to hear you say you wanted out.”
“You never asked.”
“I knew asking would make you defensive.”
“That sounds manipulative.”
“I’m married to a Moretti.”
He almost laughed.
Then his phone rang.
Samuel Grant.
Adrien answered.
Grant sounded terrified.
“They found me.”
Adrien stood.
“Who?”
“Bellini.”
A crash came through the phone.
Then silence.
“Samuel?”
Nothing.
Adrien called again.
No answer.
Isabella was already contacting Rebecca.
Adrien stared into the dark.
Bellini had shifted again.
If forged records could not destroy Adrien fast enough, he would erase the witness who could.
Adrien picked up his coat.
Isabella stepped in front of him.
“No.”
“He needs help.”
“The FBI is closer.”
Adrien’s jaw tightened.
“You promised me we were changing.”
He stopped.
That was the moment.
Not the press conference.
Not the federal office.
Not the captains.
This.
The instinct to grab a gun and solve the problem himself.
Adrien slowly lowered his hand.
May you like
Isabella called Rebecca Shaw.
And for the first time in his adult life, Adrien Moretti let the law reach the battlefield before he did.
