Chapter 11 - The Confession
I didn't ask questions. The sheer, naked panic in Luca Moretti's voice was enough.
I shoved the car door open and threw myself onto the hard concrete of the warehouse floor, scrambling away from the vehicle as fast as my bruised legs could carry me.
Luca dove out of the driver's side a split second later, tackling me behind a stack of heavy wooden pallets just as a deafening explosion ripped through the town car.
The blast wave knocked the breath out of my lungs, sending a shower of shattered glass and burning leather raining down around us. The heat was intense, singing the ends of my wet hair.
For a terrifying moment, the only sound was the roar of the flames and the ringing in my ears.
"Are you hit?" Luca shouted over the fire, grabbing my shoulders, his hands frantically checking for shrapnel.
"I'm okay!" I coughed, smoke stinging my eyes. "I'm okay!"
Marcus came running from the loading dock, his gun drawn, his face pale with shock. "Boss! What happened? Dominic is gone!"
"Dominic didn't do this," Luca said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register. He stared at the burning wreckage of his own car. "Dominic thought the deeds were already at the Church. The only person who knew the deeds were hidden in my car was the person who helped my father set up the decoy trust three years ago."
Marcus frowned, confusion warring with the pain of his concussion. "Who?"
Luca slowly turned his head. His eyes locked onto a figure standing in the shadows near the far entrance of the warehouse.
It was Michael.
He hadn't walked out of the building. He was standing perfectly still, watching the flames, the silver bracelet dangling loosely from his fingers.
"Mike?" Luca whispered, the betrayal hitting him harder than the blast wave.
Michael didn't run. He didn't pull a weapon. He just stood there, looking incredibly tired.
"It was supposed to be quick, Luca," Michael said, his voice echoing eerily across the cavernous room. "You were supposed to get in the car and drive away. The bomb was rigged to the ignition. I didn't know she was going to find the envelope."
I stared at him, my mind violently rejecting what I was hearing. Michael Moretti, the broken, grieving alcoholic who had just disowned his daughter for betraying him... was the mastermind?
"Why?" Luca demanded, stepping out from behind the pallets, his hands curled into fists. "Dominic killed Dad! Why are you trying to kill me?"
"Dominic didn't kill Dad," Michael laughed, a dry, humorless sound that chilled me to the bone. "Dominic is a brute. He didn't have the brains to orchestrate a heart attack."
Michael took a slow step forward, the orange light of the fire dancing across his bruised face.
"I killed him, Luca," Michael confessed, his voice steady and calm. "I crushed the pills. I watched him die on the floor."
The silence in the warehouse was absolute. Even Marcus lowered his gun, too stunned to comprehend the confession.
"You..." Luca breathed, shaking his head. "No. I saw Claudia running from the room. Marcus has the footage."
"Marcus has the footage of Claudia walking in and finding the body," Michael corrected smoothly. "I hired her. I paid the Bellini family to send their daughters to distract you. Vanessa to isolate you, Claudia to take the fall if anyone ever investigated the murder. Dominic thought he was blackmailing me, but I was playing him the entire time."
"But why?" I shouted, unable to stay quiet. "He was your father!"
Michael looked at me, his eyes hollow and empty.
"Because he was giving the empire to Luca," Michael said simply. "I was the eldest son. I spent twenty years working the docks, managing the books, running the miserable, unglamorous side of this family’s business while Luca was away at boarding schools. But when Dad got sick, he said I was too weak to lead. He said my drinking made me a liability."
Michael’s face twisted with sudden, violent anger.
"I wasn't weak!" Michael roared. "I only drank because I couldn't stand the pressure of knowing I would never be good enough! I killed him to take what was mine. But then you swooped in, playing the grieving savior, and took the throne anyway."
Luca stared at his older brother, tears finally spilling down his face. The man he had protected, the man he had framed himself for to save from a murder charge, was the monster he had been hunting all along.
"The engagement dinner tonight," Luca whispered, piecing the horrifying puzzle together. "You set the whole thing up. You tipped Jenna off. You told Vanessa to put the champagne there. You orchestrated the entire implosion of my life just to get me alone."
"It was the perfect distraction," Michael smiled a sad, twisted smile. "The great Luca Moretti, brought down by his own brother's tragic relapse. I would have taken over the family tomorrow as the grieving survivor."
Michael raised his hand, looking at the silver bracelet he had bought for his daughter.
"I really did want Jenna to have this," he whispered softly. "I really did want to be a good father. But she’s just like the rest of you. Weak."
He reached into his coat pocket.
Marcus raised his weapon instantly. "Don't do it, Mike!"
But Michael didn't pull a gun. He pulled a small, black detonator.
"The car bomb was just the backup, Luca," Michael said, his thumb hovering over the red button. "I lined the structural pillars of this warehouse with C4 three days ago. If I can't have the empire, neither can you."
He pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
Michael frowned, mashing his thumb against the red button again and again.
Click. Click. Click.
"It’s not working," Michael muttered, panic finally breaking through his calm facade. "Why isn't it working?"
"Because your daughter isn't as weak as you think she is," a voice echoed from the shadows.
Jenna stepped out from behind a stack of crates. Her face was streaked with tears and dirt, and in her hands, she held a thick bundle of severed red and blue wires.
"I found the charges when Dominic locked me in the storage room earlier," Jenna said, her voice shaking but fiercely determined. "I cut the receivers, Dad. All of them."
Michael stared at his daughter, the detonator slipping from his fingers.
He was out of cards. He was out of traps. He was completely, utterly alone.
Luca didn't say a word. He walked slowly across the warehouse floor. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't throw a punch.
When he reached his brother, Luca simply reached out and took the silver bracelet from Michael’s hand.
"You're dead to me, Mike," Luca whispered.
He turned to Marcus. "Call the police. Tell them we have a full confession for the murder of the Moretti patriarch. And tell them to bring a straightjacket."
As the sirens began to wail in the distance, Luca walked over to me. He looked exhausted, broken, and deeply profoundly sad.
May you like
He held out his hand.
"Come on, Natalie," Luca said softly. "Let's go home."
