Chapter 3 - MY EX-HUSBAND HAD BEEN WORKING WITH MY ENEMY
Elias arrived at the Moretti gates thirty-eight minutes later.
He was not invited in.
I watched his black Bentley stop outside from my father's study.
Damiano stood beside me holding an espresso.
“He's ambitious.”
“He's angry.”
“Same posture.”
I gave him a look.
He took another sip.
A security officer entered.
“Ms. Moretti, Mr. Mercer is requesting to speak with you.”
Damiano glanced at me.
“Your choice.”
That phrase mattered.
Your choice.
Not permission.
Not protection.
Choice.
“Let him in.”
Damiano nodded.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“No Claudia?”
I looked at him.
“She came?”
“She is in the vehicle.”
Of course she was.
“Keep her outside.”
Damiano almost smiled.
“I like being home already.”
Elias entered ten minutes later.
I nearly didn't recognize him.
Not physically.
He still wore the same tailored navy suit.
Same expensive watch.
Same controlled haircut.
But the confidence was gone.
His eyes moved across the study.
He saw the Moretti crest carved into the fireplace.
My father's photograph.
Damiano standing near the window.
Then me.
“Serena.”
I stood.
“You wanted to talk.”
His gaze moved to Damiano.
“Privately.”
Damiano looked at me.
I nodded.
He walked toward the door.
At Elias's shoulder, he stopped.
“You had four years alone with her.”
His voice remained calm.
“Use these five minutes better.”
Then he left.
Elias turned.
“What was that supposed to mean?”
“That Damiano has never liked wasted opportunities.”
“Does he always talk like he's threatening people?”
“Only when he's being polite.”
Elias exhaled sharply.
“Can you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like this is normal.”
I almost laughed.
“To me, it is.”
He stared.
“You're Vittorio Moretti's daughter.”
“Yes.”
“The Vittorio Moretti.”
“There was only one father in my life.”
“Do you know what people say about that family?”
“My family.”
He flinched.
Rightfully.
I walked behind the desk.
“You didn't drive here to discuss rumors.”
“No.”
He took out his phone.
“Leonard Voss canceled our meeting this morning.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said the harbor deal is dead.”
I stared at him.
“What harbor deal?”
Elias hesitated.
That told me enough.
“What did you sign, Elias?”
“Nothing final.”
“What did Leonard promise you?”
“A controlling interest in a new logistics terminal outside Savannah.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
The Moretti family controlled three major freight corridors along the Southeast.
Savannah was one of them.
Not directly.
Through holding companies, port leases, security contracts, and transport networks layered beneath legitimate corporations.
Elias knew none of that.
Leonard did.
“How much have you invested?”
“Eighty-two million.”
I looked at him.
His jaw tightened.
“Mercer Group can absorb it.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“Eighty-two million.”
“Borrowed?”
“Partially.”
“How partially?”
“Serena.”
“How much?”
“Fifty.”
I stared at him.
He had borrowed fifty million dollars on Leonard Voss's promise.
The same Leonard my father had warned me about before I knew the man had ever entered my husband's life.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Every document.”
His expression hardened.
“This is Mercer Group business.”
I laughed.
“Then why are you in my father's house?”
He had no answer.
I held out my hand.
After several seconds, Elias gave me his phone.
Emails.
Term sheets.
Maps.
Draft agreements.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Voss Maritime Advisory.
Another made my blood run cold.
Solano Freight Partners.
I knew that company.
At least the older version.
It had belonged to Carlo Santori, my father's former operations chief.
Carlo had disappeared seven years earlier.
The same month I left.
“What is it?” Elias asked.
I showed him.
“Who introduced Solano?”
“Leonard.”
“Have you met their chairman?”
“No.”
“Have you transferred money?”
“Escrow.”
“Where?”
His face changed.
I knew before he answered.
“Cayman trust account.”
I handed back the phone.
“Oh, Elias.”
His expression hardened.
“Don't talk to me like I'm stupid.”
“You signed an eighty-two-million-dollar port deal with companies you didn't investigate because Claudia's uncle said it would make you important.”
He stared at me.
“You never showed any interest in my work.”
That hurt.
Because it was so false.
“I sat beside you during six acquisitions.”
“You never wanted to be involved.”
“I didn't want to interfere.”
“You never told me what you knew.”
“You never asked.”
His anger rose.
“You could have told me your family controlled half the infrastructure I was trying to enter.”
“And said what? ‘Hello, husband, I know you want to prove yourself, but my father's people can make one call and open every door for you’?”
“Yes!”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know whether you loved me when I couldn't make you bigger.”
His face went still.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I added:
“And now I know.”
Pain flashed across his face.
“That's unfair.”
“Is it?”
“I loved you.”
“Then why did you divorce me?”
He looked away.
Because he couldn't say the answer without hating himself.
Status.
Access.
Claudia.
Ambition.
Leonard.
All the things he thought I lacked.
Finally, he whispered:
“I thought we wanted different lives.”
“No. You wanted a different wife.”
His eyes closed.
That landed.
I turned toward my father's window.
“Leonard targeted you because of me.”
Elias looked up.
“What?”
“He knew who I was.”
“No.”
“My father warned me about him seven years ago.”
“He never mentioned you.”
“Exactly.”
Elias stared.
“What are you saying?”
“That your sudden mentor may not have appeared because you're brilliant.”
His jaw tightened.
I hated hurting him.
But truth didn't become cruelty simply because it arrived late.
“You were married to Vittorio Moretti's daughter, Elias.”
I faced him.
“Leonard Voss knew that before you did.”
“Why would he care?”
“I don't know yet.”
The door opened.
Damiano entered without knocking.
His face told me something had changed.
“What?”
He looked at Elias.
Then at me.
“We traced Solano Freight.”
“And?”
“Shell company.”
Elias went pale.
Damiano continued.
“Beneficial owner is hidden through three trusts. We broke the second layer.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“Leonard Voss owns forty percent.”
Elias swore.
“Who owns the rest?”
Damiano's jaw hardened.
“Someone using an old Moretti family trust identifier.”
I stopped.
“That isn't possible.”
“It shouldn't be.”
“Whose identifier?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“Damiano.”
“Your mother's.”
I forgot how to breathe.
My mother, Isabella Moretti, had died when I was nineteen.
Or at least that was what I had always believed.
Damiano placed a folder on the desk.
“Someone has been moving money under her trust code for at least eight years.”
Elias looked between us.
“I thought your mother was dead.”
“She is.”
Damiano's expression remained grim.
“We buried her.”
I opened the folder.
Transactions.
Transfers.
Corporate purchases.
Then a photograph taken from a private airport security camera six months earlier.
A woman stepped out of a Gulfstream beside Leonard Voss.
Dark glasses.
Silver-streaked black hair.
Older.
But unmistakable.
My knees weakened.
Elias caught my arm.
I pulled away instantly.
Not because I hated him.
Because I couldn't process anything else.
The woman in the photograph had my eyes.
My mouth.
The same narrow scar near her eyebrow from a sailing accident when I was a child.
My mother.
Alive.
I looked at Damiano.
“You told me she died.”
“No.”
“My father told me.”
“Yes.”
“You believed him?”
“For six years.”
“And now?”
Damiano looked toward the photograph.
“Now I think Vittorio Moretti lied to everyone.”
I sat down.
My father had hidden my mother's survival.
My mother had been doing business with Leonard Voss.
Leonard had spent months manipulating Elias.
And somehow all of it led back to the exact moment my father pushed me out of the Moretti world.
Elias whispered:
“Serena…”
I looked at the photograph.
The life I had believed was mine was breaking open in every direction.
Then Damiano's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face hardened.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
“Leonard Voss just arrived in Charleston.”
“Where?”
Damiano looked at Elias.
“Mercer Group headquarters.”
Elias stiffened.
“He doesn't have access without me.”
Damiano's eyes were cold.
“He isn't going there to meet you.”
“Then why?”
May you like
Damiano turned to me.
“Because Claudia is still inside.”
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