Chapter 7 - NO MORE WAR
Dante regained control of the ground floor in nine minutes.
It felt like ninety.
Three Romano men were arrested after police responding to Delaney’s ambulance call arrived during the attack.
Two escaped through the garden.
One died upstairs.
Vittorio Romano did not.
He was found in Rico’s wine cellar.
Waiting.
Not hiding.
When Rico entered, Vittorio stood beside a rack of Barolo with blood on one sleeve.
He was sixty-one.
Gray-haired.
Old-school.
A man who considered mercy a sign of poor upbringing.
“You called police into your house,” Vittorio said.
Rico stood ten feet away.
Dante beside him.
“No weapon?” Vittorio asked.
Rico’s pistol remained upstairs.
Deliberately.
“I don’t need one.”
Vittorio smiled.
“You’ve changed.”
“Yes.”
“Your father would be ashamed.”
“My father is dead.”
“Lucky man.”
Dante stepped forward.
Rico stopped him.
Vittorio laughed.
“You think the state is going to save you now?”
“No.”
“Then why am I breathing?”
“Because I want you to talk.”
“I have nothing to say.”
Rico looked at him.
“Paolo Greco shot Elena.”
Vittorio’s smile weakened.
“Nico sold you her route.”
Gone.
“Camilla attended the kidnapping.”
Vittorio’s eyes narrowed.
“And Frank Delaney is alive.”
That did it.
Vittorio went still.
Rico smiled faintly.
“You’re old, Vittorio.”
“Careful.”
“You’ve spent forty years assuming silence belongs to whoever scares people most.”
He stepped closer.
“Tonight everyone is talking.”
Vittorio stared.
“You started a war over a woman who was already dead.”
Rico felt the insult.
Didn’t react.
“That war helped you.”
Vittorio smiled.
“Of course.”
“You let me believe you ordered her murder.”
“I ordered the abduction.”
“That distinction matters to you?”
“It should matter to court.”
Rico almost laughed.
“You think this is negotiation.”
“Everything is.”
“No.”
Rico looked toward the ceiling.
His son was upstairs.
“For the first time in my life, it isn’t.”
Vittorio’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you want?”
“The truth recorded.”
He gestured.
Dante held up a phone.
Vittorio laughed.
“You think I’m confessing?”
“No.”
Rico turned.
“I think Delaney is going to identify your operation.”
Vittorio’s face hardened.
“Nico will identify your people.”
No response.
“Sofia will testify about the route.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
“Camilla wants a deal.”
That one was partly bluff.
Maybe.
But it worked.
Rico continued.
“And every man I lost in the last six months taught me where your money goes.”
Vittorio stopped smiling.
There it was.
Rico didn’t need murder.
Financial pressure.
Evidence.
Witnesses.
A system could dismantle a man more completely than bullets.
“You think prosecutors care about your morality now?”
“No.”
Rico stared.
“I think they care about evidence.”
Vittorio stepped forward.
“You cooperate and you destroy yourself too.”
“Yes.”
Dante looked sharply at Rico.
Vittorio noticed.
“You haven’t told your soldiers.”
Rico didn’t look at Dante.
“No.”
“What exactly are you planning?”
Rico answered:
“To end this.”
Silence.
Even Dante stared.
Vittorio laughed.
“You can’t end what your family is.”
“My family is my son.”
Vittorio’s face twisted.
“Your family is Moretti.”
“That name killed his mother.”
“No. Weakness killed her.”
Rico stepped closer.
“Say that again.”
Dante tensed.
For one second, old Rico returned.
Cold.
Violent.
Ready.
Then he heard Leo upstairs.
No boom.
Rico stepped back.
Vittorio saw it.
And smiled.
“There.”
He whispered.
“That’s weakness.”
Rico looked at him.
“No.”
His voice was calm.
“That’s control.”
Police entered minutes later.
Vittorio Romano left Rico’s house in handcuffs.
So did Nico.
Nico went willingly.
Before leaving, he asked to see Leo.
Rico refused.
Nico’s face crumpled.
“Please.”
“No.”
“I’m his uncle.”
“You surrendered that privilege beside Elena’s car.”
Nico lowered his eyes.
Rico didn’t soften.
But he didn’t hurt him either.
That was enough.
Detective Delaney survived.
Two broken ribs.
Concussion.
Dehydration.
He gave investigators enough evidence to connect Romano associates to Elena’s attempted kidnapping and several later crimes.
Camilla’s confession became part of a cooperation agreement.
Sofia admitted hiding information and interfering with the early investigation.
She would likely face charges too.
For the first time, Rico did not arrange outcomes.
He let the case move.
That frightened his own people more than anything.
Three nights later, Dante entered Rico’s study.
“You’re serious.”
Rico looked up.
“About?”
“Cooperating.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Enough to put some of us in danger?”
Rico stared.
“Have you committed something I should know about?”
Dante almost smiled.
“Bad question.”
“Good answer.”
Then Dante became serious.
“Men are nervous.”
“They should be.”
“What do I tell them?”
“That legitimate businesses remain.”
“And the rest?”
Rico closed the ledger in front of him.
“The rest ends.”
Dante stared.
“You can’t shut everything down.”
“I can.”
“Rico.”
“I own restaurants. Construction. Warehouses. Import companies. Real estate.”
“And everything underneath.”
“Exactly.”
Rico leaned back.
“My son is three.”
Dante said nothing.
“I have maybe fifteen years before he understands everything adults whisper around him.”
“He’ll understand sooner.”
“Yes.”
Rico looked toward the doorway.
Leo stood there in pajamas.
Clara beside him.
The boy had woken from a nightmare.
Rico held out his arms.
Then stopped.
“Can I pick you up?”
Dante looked surprised.
Clara didn’t.
Leo thought.
Then nodded.
Rico lifted him.
The child rested his head on his father’s shoulder.
Dante looked away.
Rico said:
“That’s why.”
Dante understood.
Not weakness.
Inheritance.
What kind of world did a father hand his son?
Later, after Leo fell asleep, Clara found Rico in the kitchen making coffee.
“You ask him now.”
Rico glanced at her.
“What?”
“Before touching him.”
“I’m trying.”
“It helps.”
He poured a second cup.
“You want?”
“No.”
“You work in restaurants and refuse coffee?”
“It’s midnight.”
“I no longer understand normal schedules.”
Clara smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“What happens to me?”
Rico frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Police want another statement.”
“Yes.”
“Camilla’s lawyers know who I am.”
“Yes.”
“Nico knows where I work.”
“You’re not going back to Il Destino.”
Clara stiffened.
“Excuse me?”
“For safety.”
“You don’t decide where I work.”
Rico closed his eyes briefly.
“Right.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re learning slowly.”
“Painfully.”
He corrected himself.
“I think returning there may be dangerous.”
“That’s different.”
“I can arrange protection.”
“I don’t want guards following me forever.”
“They won’t.”
“Then what?”
Rico hesitated.
He wanted to offer money.
An apartment.
A job.
Security.
Every resource he had.
Clara saw the thought.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
He almost smiled.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised her.
Nobody had asked.
Not police.
Not employers.
Not Rico.
Clara looked toward the hallway where Leo slept.
“I want my life back.”
Rico nodded.
“And?”
“I want to finish nursing school.”
He blinked.
“You were in nursing school?”
“Before the fire.”
“What happened?”
“I disappeared.”
“Tuition?”
“I stopped paying.”
“How much?”
She gave him a look.
“Don’t.”
“I was only asking.”
“No, you were calculating.”
He smiled despite himself.
“Probably.”
Clara continued.
“I don’t want you to buy me a life.”
“What do you want from me?”
She thought.
“Make it possible for me to stop hiding.”
Rico’s smile disappeared.
“That I can do.”
Then Leo cried upstairs.
Both moved instinctively.
They stopped at the staircase.
Looked at each other.
Clara said:
“You go.”
Rico hesitated.
“What if he wants you?”
“Then he’ll ask.”
Rico went upstairs alone.
Five minutes later, the crying stopped.
Clara stayed in the kitchen.
For some reason, that mattered more than she expected.
Rico returned twenty minutes later.
“He wanted water.”
“That’s normal.”
“It felt suspiciously easy.”
She laughed.
Rico smiled.
Then his phone rang.
His attorney.
The call lasted four minutes.
When he hung up, his expression had changed.
“What?”
Clara asked.
“The district attorney will offer a cooperation framework.”
“For Vittorio?”
“For me.”
Clara stared.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if I want to dismantle everything and keep custody of Leo…”
May you like
He looked toward the stairs.
“I may have to admit exactly what kind of man I’ve been.”
