Chapter 7 - THE BROTHER IN THE CHURCH
Dante disappeared for three days.
The city turned against him faster than Vincent expected.
Men who once answered on the first ring suddenly remembered vacations.
Accountants discovered ethics.
Business partners developed poor memories.
Politicians denied ever meeting him despite photographs proving otherwise.
The Moretti name had once protected Dante.
Now Vincent himself had removed that protection.
By December twenty-third, federal prosecutors had secured warrants for financial crimes, conspiracy, extortion, and the murder of Paolo Romano.
Vincent returned home with his shoulder in a sling.
Clara was furious.
“You left the hospital early.”
“The doctor discharged me.”
“The doctor said tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is subjective.”
“It is literally a day.”
Ellie looked up from decorating cookies.
“Mommy’s winning again.”
Vincent pointed at her.
“Neutral observers don’t comment.”
She ate a sprinkle.
“I’m not neutral.”
Clara smiled despite herself.
Then Vincent’s phone rang.
His expression changed.
Aldo.
“We found Dante.”
“Where?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
Vincent went still.
Sofia’s church.
The place they had held her funeral.
Clara saw his face.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“Dante is at the church.”
“You’re not going.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been shot.”
“In the shoulder.”
“That doesn’t make it decorative.”
Vincent took his coat.
Clara stepped in front of him.
“Police can handle this.”
“He asked for me.”
“That is exactly why you shouldn’t go.”
Vincent looked at Ellie.
The toddler had stopped decorating.
He crouched.
“I’ll be back.”
Ellie frowned.
“Promise?”
The word caught him.
He did not make promises casually anymore.
“I will do everything I can.”
Ellie accepted this with surprising seriousness.
Then she held up her final gold coin.
“I’m saving this.”
Vincent smiled.
“Good.”
Clara followed him to the foyer.
“Vincent.”
He turned.
She wanted to say something.
Instead she reached up and fixed his scarf with unnecessary care.
“Come home.”
He looked at her.
Home.
Not come back.
Come home.
“I will.”
St. Matthew’s was empty except for candles and two federal negotiators waiting outside.
Dante had insisted Vincent enter alone.
The agents refused.
Vincent entered with a wire and two officers positioned behind side doors.
He found his brother in the front pew.
Dante looked older.
Three days without sleep had stripped away the charm.
Sofia’s memorial plaque hung on the wall beside him.
Sofia Lucia Moretti.
Beloved daughter.
Forever nine.
Vincent sat one pew behind.
“Why here?”
Dante stared at the plaque.
“Do you remember her funeral?”
“Every second.”
“I carried the casket.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“I remember.”
“You couldn’t.”
Vincent looked at him.
Dante continued.
“You could barely stand.”
“So you helped me.”
“I did everything.”
“You also robbed her foundation.”
Dante laughed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The clean version.”
Vincent waited.
Dante stood.
“You think I woke up one morning and decided to become the villain in your tragedy?”
“No.”
“You left everything.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Dante turned.
“When Sofia got sick, you disappeared into hospitals. When she died, you disappeared into grief. Somebody still had to keep the businesses moving.”
“So you stole.”
“At first, I borrowed.”
Vincent almost laughed.
“Men always call theft borrowing when they expect nobody to ask for it back.”
Dante’s face twisted.
“I had debts.”
“Gambling?”
“Investments.”
“Gambling.”
Dante looked away.
Vincent understood.
Their father had infected both sons differently.
Vincent inherited control.
Dante inherited hunger.
Neither had been healthy.
“Paolo found out,” Vincent said.
“He should have stayed quiet.”
“He trusted me.”
“He trusted the legend of you.”
Vincent stood.
“You killed a man with a wife and a baby.”
“I ordered a lesson.”
“A cut brake line is not a lesson.”
“I didn’t know Marco would—”
“Stop.”
Vincent’s voice echoed through the church.
“For once in your life, don’t make your sins somebody else’s verbs.”
Dante stared.
Vincent stepped closer.
“You ordered it.”
A long silence.
Then Dante whispered, “Yes.”
The wire captured everything.
Vincent felt no triumph.
Only grief.
Another brother lost.
Different disease.
Same funeral waiting at the end if he chose wrong.
Dante reached inside his coat.
Vincent did not move.
Officers behind the doors tensed.
Dante removed a pistol.
He set it on the pew.
“Do you remember what Father said after my first fight?”
Vincent remembered.
If you can’t make a man fear you, make sure he can’t stand up.
“Yes.”
“I lived by that.”
“So did I.”
Dante looked surprised.
Vincent continued.
“For too long.”
“You think Clara changed you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Vincent looked at Sofia’s plaque.
“Sofia tried.”
His throat tightened.
“I was too broken to listen.”
Dante laughed softly.
“And the maid’s kid succeeded?”
“Ellie reminded me.”
“Of what?”
“That fear isn’t loyalty.”
Vincent looked directly at him.
“And family isn’t the person whose blood matches yours.”
Dante flinched.
That landed.
He picked up the pistol.
Officers emerged.
“Drop it!”
Dante pointed the weapon.
Not at Vincent.
At himself.
Vincent’s heart stopped.
“Dante.”
His brother laughed through tears.
“This is cleaner.”
“No.”
“For everybody.”
“No.”
“Why do you care?”
Vincent stepped closer despite officers ordering him back.
“Because you’re still my brother.”
Dante’s hand trembled.
“You just said blood doesn’t make family.”
“I said it isn’t enough.”
Vincent lowered his voice.
“You will answer for Paolo. For Clara. For the foundation. For everything.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“You don’t know what prison will be.”
“No.”
Vincent took another step.
“But dying is not accountability.”
Dante looked at him.
Tears ran down his face.
Vincent had not seen his brother cry since they were children.
“You hate me.”
“Right now?”
Vincent swallowed.
“Part of me does.”
Dante’s mouth trembled.
“But I loved you before I hated what you did.”
The pistol lowered an inch.
Vincent continued.
“And I will not let our father’s lessons decide how this ends.”
Another inch.
“Put it down.”
Dante looked at Sofia’s plaque.
Then at Vincent.
The pistol fell onto the pew.
Officers moved.
Dante did not resist.
As handcuffs closed around his wrists, he looked at Vincent one last time.
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent’s eyes burned.
“That apology counts.”
Dante broke.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
His head bowed as officers led him away.
Vincent remained alone in the church.
He sat beneath Sofia’s plaque.
For several minutes, he did nothing.
Then he cried.
For Sofia.
Paolo.
Dante.
Clara.
Himself.
All the years fear had been mistaken for strength.
Eventually, footsteps approached.
Clara sat beside him.
Vincent looked up.
“How did you get in?”
“Aldo.”
“Traitor.”
“He said you might need someone.”
Vincent looked toward the altar.
“I lost my brother.”
Clara answered softly.
“You lost who you thought he was.”
“That feels worse.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
She did know.
Paolo had died once in a car crash.
Then again when she learned why.
Clara reached for Vincent’s hand.
He held hers.
Outside, dawn began turning the stained-glass windows gray.
“Come home,” Clara whispered.
May you like
Vincent looked at her.
This time he allowed the word to mean something.
