Chapter 5 - Sunday Dinner
Teresa Moretti insisted on coming to the mansion herself.
Dante almost refused.
Then he decided he was tired of secrets walking through his front door disguised as family.
At noon, his mother entered the dining room wearing a cream suit and carrying a paper bag from Lily’s favorite bakery.
“I brought lemon cookies,” she said.
Dante remained standing at the far end of the table.
“Sit down.”
Teresa’s smile faded.
“You sound like your father.”
“Today that is not a compliment.”
She sat.
Rachel Kim was present. Marco stood by the fireplace. Father Gabriel waited near the window, looking like he would rather be anywhere else.
Teresa noticed him.
“Oh, good. The priest is here. Am I being exorcised?”
“No.” Dante placed the photograph of her and Salvatore on the table. “You’re being asked a question.”
Teresa looked at it.
Her expression barely changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters if someone has been following me.”
“You met Salvatore six weeks ago.”
“He’s my brother-in-law.”
“At a storage facility used by his shell companies.”
Teresa looked at Rachel.
“Is this supposed to be legal questioning?”
Rachel said, “It’s a family conversation. For now.”
Teresa leaned back.
“I met him because he asked me to.”
“Why?” Dante demanded.
“He said he had something that belonged to Antonio.”
The room quieted.
“What?”
“A watch.”
Dante stared.
His father had worn a gold Patek Philippe for twenty years. It disappeared after the crash.
“You never told me.”
“I thought it would upset you.”
Dante almost laughed.
“Try again.”
Teresa’s eyes sharpened.
“You do not speak to me like one of your employees.”
“Then stop answering like one of my enemies.”
Gabriel lowered his gaze.
Teresa’s control cracked.
“I went because I wanted to know how Salvatore got the watch.”
“And?”
“He claimed Antonio gave it to him before the accident.”
“Did you believe that?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I took it.”
“Where is it?”
Teresa opened her handbag and set a velvet pouch on the table.
Inside lay Antonio’s watch.
Dante knew every scratch on its face.
His father had let him wear it to senior prom because Dante could not afford the watch he wanted without admitting he had forgotten to buy one.
Dante touched the band.
Then noticed something.
One link near the clasp was thicker than the others.
Gabriel saw it too.
“What is that?”
Teresa frowned. “What?”
Dante turned the watch over.
A tiny seam ran along the link.
Marco brought a tool kit.
Two minutes later, they opened a concealed compartment no larger than a fingernail.
Inside was a microSD card.
Teresa sat perfectly still.
Rachel stared at her.
“You knew?”
“No.”
For the first time that day, Dante believed his mother immediately.
The card contained four audio files recorded during the month before Antonio’s death.
In one, Antonio argued with Salvatore about stolen funds.
In another, Antonio said, “If anything happens to me, Teresa gets the watch. She’ll know what to do.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
“I didn’t,” she whispered.
Dante pressed play on the final file.
Salvatore’s voice filled the room.
“You remove me, you embarrass me, and you think I walk away?”
Antonio answered, “I think you’re my brother. I’m giving you one chance.”
“You always were soft with family.”
“No. I was hopeful.”
The recording ended.
Teresa closed her eyes.
“For nine years I thought the last thing he did was leave without saying goodbye.”
Dante sat beside her.
“He tried to leave us proof.”
Teresa looked at him.
“And I kept it in a drawer for six weeks because I couldn’t stand to look at it.”
Dante did not blame her.
He understood too well how grief could make a person avoid the one object that might force the past open.
Marco’s phone buzzed.
He read the message.
“Federal contact says they can move on Salvatore if we give them the original recordings and Gabriel’s evidence.”
Dante nodded.
“Do it.”
Teresa stared at him.
“You’re turning this over?”
“Yes.”
“You know what else they may find.”
“I do.”
The Moretti organization was not innocent. Dante had spent years moving it away from the worst businesses his grandfather built, but there were still old arrangements, dirty contracts, cash-heavy companies, and favors he did not want prosecutors examining.
Teresa knew that.
“So you could lose everything,” she said.
Dante thought of Lily’s voice.
Mommy, please.
“Not everything.”
That afternoon, Celeste asked to speak with him.
She had been moved to a guest suite with a guard outside. She wore jeans and a gray sweater now. No jewelry. No makeup.
She looked like someone Dante had once known before money and fear turned their marriage into a polished performance.
“I heard Owen is safe,” she said.
“He is.”
“Thank you.”
Dante remained by the door.
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“How is Lily?”
“Recovering.”
“Can I see her?”
“No.”
Celeste nodded as if she expected nothing else.
“I deserve that.”
“This isn’t about what you deserve.”
“No. It’s about what she needs.”
Dante studied her.
For years, Celeste had been beautiful in a way photographers liked: composed, symmetrical, expensive. Right now she looked human.
“I’m going to cooperate,” she said.
“With police?”
“With everyone.”
“Why now?”
“Because I saw her face when the iron fell.”
Dante’s voice hardened. “You should have seen it before.”
“I did.”
Her eyes filled.
“That’s the worst part. I saw she was afraid and I kept going because I was more afraid of Sal.”
Dante said nothing.
Celeste reached into her pocket slowly and placed a small brass key on the table.
“Sal gave me this after I copied the book.”
“What does it open?”
“A locker at Union Station.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know. He said if anything happened to him, I was supposed to empty it and burn everything.”
Dante picked up the key.
“Locker number?”
“Three seventeen.”
He turned toward the door.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
“If there is a way to tell Lily I’m sorry without making her responsible for forgiving me, tell me how.”
Dante looked back.
“There may not be one yet.”
Celeste nodded.
“That’s fair.”
At Union Station, locker 317 held no cash.
No weapons.
No passports.
It held a stack of photographs and one sealed envelope.
The photographs showed Moretti properties, security routes, and employees.
The envelope contained a handwritten list of names.
Marco read it beside Dante in the underground parking garage.
“These are witnesses.”
“To what?”
“Antonio’s death. The stolen accounts. Everything.”
Dante scanned the page.
Near the bottom was Evelyn Harper.
His pulse changed.
“Why is Evelyn on this?”
Marco shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Dante called the mansion.
No answer from Evelyn’s phone.
He called security.
A guard picked up immediately.
“Where is Evelyn?” Dante asked.
A pause.
“She left twenty minutes ago.”
Dante gripped the phone.
“With Lily?”
“No, sir. Lily is with Dr. Hale and Mrs. Teresa.”
“Where did Evelyn go?”
“She said she received a message from you asking her to meet at St. Agnes Church.”
Dante went cold.
“I sent no message.”
Marco was already moving toward the car.
Dante looked at the list again.
Salvatore had lost his leverage over Celeste.
He had lost Owen.
He was about to lose the family fortune he intended to steal.
So he had moved to the next name.
May you like
Evelyn.
And whatever she knew, Salvatore believed it was dangerous enough to silence.
