Chapter 10 - The Mafia Boss Who Walked Into His Own Funeral|
Lorenzo Moretti looked very pleased with himself.
He stood at the head of the conference table inside Moretti Holdings headquarters, surrounded by lawyers, executives, and men who had once sworn loyalty to Vincent.
A polished folder lay before him.
Inside were medical reports declaring Vincent's condition increasingly unstable.
Lorenzo had already delivered his speech.
"My brother is sick," he told the board. "For years, we've protected him from the consequences of his condition. But now he's making irrational decisions under the influence of a woman he's known less than two weeks."
Several men nodded.
Lorenzo smiled.
"I believe the time has come to appoint an interim chairman."
He looked around the room.
"Someone capable of making difficult decisions."
"Someone like you?" a voice asked.
Lorenzo laughed.
"If the board believes I'm the best choice, I'll accept that responsibility."
Then the conference room doors opened.
Every man turned.
Vincent Moretti stood in the doorway.
Black suit.
Open collar.
Tattooed hands resting calmly at his sides.
And beside him stood me.
The maid his brother believed could be frightened into silence.
Lorenzo's smile froze.
"Vincent."
My husband didn't answer.
He walked toward the table and placed a thick folder in front of the board's legal counsel.
Then he handed the chairman a written statement.
The room fell silent as the lawyer read.
Vincent had challenged the validity of Bellamy's medical reports.
He had submitted new specialist evaluations.
He had also initiated legal proceedings concerning his mother's trust and the unauthorized surveillance discovered at the mansion.
Lorenzo forced a laugh.
"Brother, this is embarrassing."
Vincent looked directly at him.
Then typed on a tablet connected to the conference room screen.
WHAT IS EMBARRASSING IS USING MY DISABILITY AS A WEAPON AFTER HELPING CAUSE IT.
The words appeared in enormous white letters.
Nobody moved.
Lorenzo's face reddened.
"What nonsense is this?"
Vincent displayed records of payments to Bellamy.
Then excerpts from the recovered communications.
Then the trust documents.
One board member stood.
"What exactly are we looking at?"
Vincent typed.
EVIDENCE THAT MY MEDICAL CARE AND FAMILY ASSETS WERE MANIPULATED FOR YEARS. THE AUTHORITIES HAVE RECEIVED COPIES.
Lorenzo slammed his hand on the table.
"He's lying!"
I stepped forward.
"Then you won't mind explaining why your name appears on the payments."
Lorenzo turned toward me.
His expression became poisonous.
"You."
I stood my ground.
"You brought me into that mansion because you thought I was stupid."
"Little girl, you have no idea what you're talking about."
I felt the familiar humiliation rise in my throat.
My father's voice.
Tyler's laughter.
Every employer who had treated me like dirt beneath their shoes.
But I refused to lower my eyes.
"I know you used my father's debts to arrange a marriage you thought you could control."
Lorenzo laughed.
"Do you really think anyone here cares about a maid?"
Vincent stood so abruptly that his chair slid backward.
The room went silent.
He typed one sentence.
SHE IS MY WIFE, AND SHE IS THE REASON YOUR LIES ARE FALLING APART.
My heart stopped.
Lorenzo's smile disappeared.
The company attorney cleared his throat.
"Mr. Moretti, these allegations require independent review. The board cannot responsibly proceed with an emergency transfer of authority while the supporting medical evidence is disputed."
Several directors agreed.
The vote was postponed.
Lorenzo had not won.
But neither had Vincent completely defeated him.
The truth would have to survive legal scrutiny, not merely one dramatic meeting.
Outside the building, reporters crowded the sidewalk.
Someone had leaked the story.
Cameras flashed as we stepped into the cold afternoon.
"Mr. Moretti! Are you stepping down?"
"Is your wife responsible for the investigation?"
"Are you really connected to organized crime?"
Vincent kept walking.
Then a reporter shouted something that stopped me.
"Is it true your wife's father sold her to you for fifty dollars?"
I froze.
The cameras turned toward me.
My cheeks burned.
I felt twenty-three years of shame pressing against my chest.
Vincent touched my elbow.
He asked silently whether I wanted to leave.
I looked at him.
Then shook my head.
For once, I wanted to speak.
I turned toward the cameras.
"My father accepted money in exchange for sending me into a marriage I did not choose."
The sidewalk went quiet.
"I was twenty-three years old, and I believed my only purpose was to repay debts I didn't create."
A reporter leaned forward.
"What would you say to your father now?"
My voice trembled.
Then steadied.
"That daughters are not debts. And nobody gets to decide another person's value."
Vincent stood beside me.
I looked toward him.
Then continued.
"I don't know what will happen to my marriage. But I know I am not anybody's property."
Vincent took my hand.
He didn't pull me toward the car.
He waited until I was ready.
And somehow, that simple gesture meant more than the mansion, the diamonds, or the fortune attached to his name.
That night, Gabriel arrived with troubling news.
Lorenzo had disappeared.
His apartment was empty.
His private office had been cleared.
And his usual security team had stopped answering calls.
Vincent typed.
What about Bellamy?
Gabriel looked grim.
"No confirmed location."
Then he placed a photograph on the desk.
A small warehouse near the Chicago River.
"One of Lorenzo's companies leased this property."
I stared at the photograph.
"What's inside?"
Gabriel hesitated.
"We don't know."
Vincent studied it.
Then typed.
Call the investigators.
Gabriel nodded.
But just as he reached for his phone, mine began ringing.
An unfamiliar number.
I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
A man's voice whispered.
"Please don't hang up."
I knew that voice.
Tyler.
My brother.
"Where are you?"
He began crying.
"I made a terrible mistake."
My stomach tightened.
"What did you do?"
There was a scraping sound.
Then Tyler whispered something that turned my blood cold.
"Lorenzo has Dad."
May you like
I stopped breathing.
"And if you don't bring Vincent to the old warehouse by midnight, he says neither of us is coming home."
