Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO RAISED A MONSTER|
I had imagined confronting Vincent Moretti a thousand different ways.
In some versions, I dragged him into a warehouse and demanded answers.
In others, I stood across a table from him with every weapon my organization possessed pointed in his direction.
But when I finally heard him threaten Elena directly, I discovered something unexpected.
I didn't want to kill him.
I wanted him to answer for what he'd done.
Every woman he'd hurt.
Every family he'd destroyed.
Every year he'd stolen from my mother.
“Vincent,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “where are you?”
He chuckled.
“You sound tired, Nicholas.”
“Where are you?”
“At home, of course.”
“Then stay there.”
“Why?”
“Because the police are going to want to speak with you.”
Silence.
Then he laughed.
“Police?”
“You really have changed.”
“Maybe.”
“Your father would be ashamed.”
I looked toward Elena.
She was watching me carefully.
“For most of my life,” I answered, “I was afraid of that.”
“And now?”
“Now I'm afraid of becoming him.”
Vincent's breathing changed.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then tell me.”
“Tell me what happened to my mother.”
The line went silent.
For several seconds, I thought he'd disconnected.
Then he spoke.
“Your mother was a lovely woman.”
“Don't.”
“She was too curious.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Did you kill her?”
Vincent sighed.
“Your mother made choices.”
“Did you kill her?”
“Every choice has consequences.”
My vision blurred with rage.
Then Elena touched my wrist.
Just once.
A reminder.
A promise.
I took a breath.
“I'm going to let the investigators hear this recording.”
Vincent laughed again.
“You think a recording will save you?”
“No.”
I looked directly at Elena.
“I think the truth might.”
He ended the call.
I remained still for several seconds.
Then I handed the recording to Detective Torres.
She listened without speaking.
When it finished, her expression hardened.
“He's becoming reckless.”
“Or confident,” I said.
“Those two things often look the same.”
Torres nodded.
“We'll pursue the warrant applications and financial records.”
“Can you arrest him?”
“Not simply because he made disturbing statements over the phone.”
“We need stronger evidence.”
I understood.
In my old life, evidence had been optional.
An accusation could be enough to ruin a man.
Now I was discovering that justice required patience.
It was uncomfortable.
But Elena deserved something better than another cycle of violence.
That afternoon, Dante visited the hospital.
He looked exhausted.
Dark circles surrounded his eyes.
I'd known Dante since we were nineteen.
He'd saved my life twice.
I trusted him more than most people, which was why I felt sick asking the question I needed to ask.
“Did you know Vincent was intercepting Elena's mail?”
His face changed.
“No.”
“Did you know he was involved with Claire Bennett?”
“No.”
“Did you know he threatened my wife?”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Boss, if I'd known, he wouldn't have been walking around free.”
I studied him.
“That's the problem.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“We've spent our entire lives believing that violence is proof of loyalty.”
Dante stared.
“Isn't it sometimes?”
“Sometimes it's proof we never learned another way.”
He looked toward Elena's room.
“Something happened to you.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
I answered without hesitation.
“I almost lost the only two people who matter more to me than my pride.”
Dante lowered his eyes.
Then he reached into his coat.
“I found Elena's letter.”
My heart stopped.
He handed me a white envelope.
The handwriting on the front was unmistakable.
Nico Marchetti.
Elena's handwriting.
My name had never looked so beautiful.
Or so devastating.
“Where was it?”
“In Vincent's private office.”
I stared at him.
“How did you get inside?”
Dante hesitated.
“I still have access from when I managed his security.”
“Did you break any laws?”
He looked uncomfortable.
I closed my eyes.
“Dante.”
“I didn't take anything else.”
I sighed.
“We need to tell Torres where you found it.”
“You want me to admit I entered Vincent's office?”
“Yes.”
He stared.
“You really are serious.”
“Completely.”
I took the envelope.
It had already been opened.
The seal was broken.
Vincent had read the words intended for me.
I didn't open it immediately.
Instead, I carried it into Elena's room.
She looked up.
“What is that?”
“Your letter.”
Her face went pale.
I placed it on the bedside table.
“Dante found it in Vincent's office.”
She stared at the envelope.
Then at me.
“You haven't read it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you wrote it to a man who hurt you.”
I swallowed.
“And I don't want to take anything else from you without permission.”
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she reached for the envelope.
Her hands trembled as she removed the folded pages.
“I wrote this the night I found out.”
“I remember.”
She looked at me.
“You weren't there.”
“No.”
“But I remember it anyway.”
Her eyes filled.
She unfolded the letter.
Then she held it toward me.
“Read it.”
I accepted the pages.
The first line nearly broke me.
Dear Nico,
I don't know whether you will read this.
I don't know whether the man I loved ever existed.
But today I found out that a tiny person is growing inside me, and despite everything, the first person I wanted to tell was you.
I stopped.
Elena looked away.
I forced myself to continue.
I'm afraid.
I'm afraid of raising a child alone.
I'm afraid she'll ask why her father doesn't visit.
I'm afraid one day she'll look like you and I'll start crying in the grocery store.
My hands shook.
But I'm also happy.
I know that sounds strange.
Today I heard a woman laughing with her daughter outside the doctor's office, and I realized I might get to have that someday.
I might get to teach someone how to bake cookies and ride a bicycle.
I might get to hear someone call me Mom.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
Elena was crying silently.
I read the final paragraph aloud.
I won't ask you to love me again.
I won't ask you to explain why you stopped.
But I hope you can love our baby.
She deserves to know that she came from something beautiful, even if that beautiful thing no longer exists.
Love, Elena.
I couldn't speak.
I looked at her.
Then I knelt beside the hospital bed.
“Nico,” she whispered.
“I don't deserve your forgiveness.”
She started crying harder.
“I know that.”
“I don't deserve to be called your husband.”
I looked toward her stomach.
“But if you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life being the kind of father our daughter deserves.”
Elena covered her face.
I stayed on my knees.
Not because I expected forgiveness.
But because, for the first time, I understood that loving someone meant respecting their right to say no.
After a long silence, she whispered, “Stand up.”
I obeyed.
She wiped her face.
“You can't promise forever when you haven't figured out tomorrow.”
I nodded.
“Then I'll start with tomorrow.”
She looked at me.
“Go home.”
My heart sank.
“Get some sleep.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“You look terrible.”
A small smile appeared through her tears.
“And tomorrow, bring me something edible.”
I laughed unexpectedly.
It came out broken.
“What would you like?”
She considered.
“Pancakes.”
“From where?”
She looked almost offended.
“Yours.”
I stared at her.
“You hate my pancakes.”
“They're awful.”
For the first time in three months, we both smiled.
But that fragile moment didn't last.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Attached was a photograph.
It showed the front of the hospital.
A man stood near Elena's window.
He held a newspaper in one hand.
In the other was a small black object.
The caption contained six words.
“Your daughter already has a name.”
I enlarged the image.
The newspaper partially covered the man's face.
But I recognized the ring on his finger.
May you like
A gold signet ring bearing a black crown.
And I knew, with terrifying certainty, that Vincent wasn't working alone.
