Chapter 11 - The Sins We Bury
The safehouse was a windowless, concrete bunker hidden beneath a corporate high-rise downtown. It smelled of ozone and stale coffee.
I sat on a cot, watching Caleb color in his drawing pad. Leo sat next to him, showing him how to shade the edges of a superhero cape. They were trying to be brave, but every time the heavy steel door at the end of the hall echoed, they both jumped.
Arthur sat at a metal table, staring blindly at his pocket watch. He hadn't spoken since Matteo’s men rushed us out of the estate three days ago.
Three days of absolute silence.
Matteo was out there, hunting the woman who gave him life. He had taken his most loyal men, armed to the teeth, diving back into the violent underworld he had sworn to leave behind. For me. For Caleb.
I touched the silver bracelet on my wrist, twisting it anxiously. If Matteo died out there, it would be my fault. If I had just taken Caleb and run the night of the dinner party, none of this would be happening.
The heavy steel door suddenly groaned, unlocking with a harsh metallic clank.
I shot up from the cot, my heart pounding in my throat. I pushed Caleb and Leo behind me, bracing myself.
The door swung open.
Matteo walked in.
He was covered in dirt, his black shirt torn at the shoulder, revealing a crude, bloody bandage. He looked exhausted, hollowed out, carrying a weight on his shoulders that seemed to physically bend him.
“Matteo!” I cried, running to him.
He caught me in his uninjured arm, burying his face in my hair, breathing in deeply as if I were oxygen. He held me so tight my ribs ached, and I held him right back, tears soaking into his ruined shirt.
“Are you okay?” I sobbed, pulling back to inspect his bloody shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s a graze,” he rasped, his voice rough. He looked over my shoulder at Arthur, who had stood up from the table.
Arthur walked over slowly. He looked at his son’s battered face. “Is it done, Matteo?”
Matteo nodded slowly. His eyes were dark, haunted by whatever he had to do over the last seventy-two hours.
“She had allied with a splinter faction of the Cartel,” Matteo explained, his voice flat, emotionless. “They were holding up in a warehouse at the docks. We hit them before dawn.”
I felt a cold chill run down my spine. “And Beatrice?”
Matteo looked away, staring at the concrete wall. For a long moment, the ruthless mafia boss looked like a scared, broken twelve-year-old boy who had just lost his mother all over again.
“She wouldn't surrender,” Matteo whispered. “She tried to use one of her own men as a shield to get to a helicopter. But her men… they knew she had no money left. They realized she was a liability.”
Arthur closed his eyes. “They turned on her.”
“Yes,” Matteo said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavy gold chain with the square-cut emerald. The necklace Beatrice had stolen from Arthur. The necklace David had died for.
Matteo held it out to his father. “It’s over, Dad. For real this time. She’s gone.”
Arthur took the necklace with trembling hands. He didn't look triumphant. He just looked incredibly sad. He stared at the emerald, then walked over to the small trash can in the corner of the room.
Without a word, Arthur dropped the twenty-million-dollar necklace into the garbage.
“We don't keep cursed things,” Arthur said quietly. He turned to Matteo and reached onto his own finger. He pulled off his heavy gold signet ring—the ring of the Moretti patriarch.
Arthur took Matteo’s hand and pressed the ring into his palm.
“I led this family in the dark,” Arthur said, his voice thick with emotion. “You led us into the light. It’s yours now, son. Build something good with it.”
Matteo stared at the ring, then closed his fist around it. He nodded, pulling his father into a fierce embrace.
I wiped my tears, feeling a profound sense of closure finally wash over me. The ghost of Beatrice Moretti was dead. The Cartel was broken. My husband’s murder had been avenged.
Matteo let go of his father and walked back to me. He looked at Caleb, who was peeking out from behind the cot.
“Hey, buddy,” Matteo smiled weakly, dropping to one knee despite his injuries. “You want to go home now?”
Caleb nodded eagerly, running over and hugging Matteo’s neck. “Can we get ice cream on the way?”
Matteo laughed, a real, genuine sound that chased the shadows from the room. “Yeah, kid. We can get ice cream.”
He stood up, groaning slightly as his injured shoulder pulled, and offered me his good hand. I took it, weaving my fingers through his.
“Let’s go home,” I smiled.
But as we turned to walk out the steel door, Matteo’s cell phone rang.
He frowned, pulling it from his pocket. The caller ID was blocked. He answered it, putting it to his ear.
“Moretti,” he said.
I watched his face. The color drained from his cheeks in less than a second. His grip on my hand tightened so hard it hurt.
He slowly lowered the phone, staring blankly at the concrete wall.
“Matteo?” I asked, panic flaring in my chest again. “What is it? Who was that?”
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Matteo looked down at me, his eyes wide with a shock I had never seen him wear.
“That was Vanessa,” Matteo whispered. “She said Beatrice didn't die at the docks. She said the woman who died… was a decoy.”
