Chapter 4 - THE TRAITOR BESIDE DANTE
Nobody spoke after Elliot’s recording ended.
Marco was the first to move.
He closed the office door.
Dante looked at him.
“Lock the floor.”
Marco did.
Beatrice remained seated before the monitor.
Elliot’s final sentence replayed inside her head.
Do not tell Dante Moretti until you know whether he already knows.
Dante watched her.
“You think I knew?”
“I think Elliot thought it was possible.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
Beatrice looked directly at him.
“I don’t think you knew.”
“Why?”
“Because your fraud losses are real.”
He almost smiled.
“That is not normally reassuring.”
“Your subsidiaries absorbed irregular cost increases. If you were behind the laundering, you wouldn’t steal from yourself using inflated expenses that reduce operating income.”
Marco looked impressed.
Dante folded his arms.
“So I’m innocent because I hate losing money.”
“In this particular matter.”
“Comforting.”
Beatrice returned to the folder.
The digital ledger contained coded names.
Transfer dates.
Approvals.
One internal identifier repeated:
M-17.
Dante looked toward Marco.
“What does M-17 mean?”
Marco’s face changed.
Beatrice noticed.
“So you know.”
Marco hesitated.
“It’s an internal authorization class.”
“Whose?”
“Executive family office.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“How many people?”
“Four.”
“Names.”
“You. Me. Luca. And Francesca.”
Beatrice knew Luca Moretti by reputation.
Dante’s younger cousin.
Chief operating officer of Moretti Holdings.
Popular.
Polished.
Often photographed opening restaurants and charity centers.
Francesca Moretti was Dante’s aunt and general counsel.
Dante stared at the screen.
“Elliot wrote that someone inside Moretti Holdings approved seventeen questionable vendor relationships.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Every one connected to Wilkes & Hart.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Luca manages vendor onboarding.”
Silence.
Dante looked at him.
“You think Luca is M-17?”
“I think we need evidence.”
Beatrice glanced between them.
“Good.”
Both men looked at her.
“What?”
“Maybe rich dangerous families can learn accounting principles after all.”
Marco coughed to hide a laugh.
Dante did not.
“I’m delighted my humiliation entertains you.”
“It’s been a difficult night.”
His mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Then Beatrice opened another file.
Elliot had tracked the laundering into a luxury redevelopment project in Brooklyn.
One contractor repeatedly appeared.
Crown Meridian Construction.
Dante’s face changed.
“What?”
“That company?”
“My cousin Luca owns twenty percent.”
Beatrice felt cold.
“There’s more.”
A payment from Crown Meridian Construction to a consulting entity called Lane Strategy Partners.
Victoria.
$380,000.
Another transfer.
Then another.
Victoria had not merely helped Charles.
She was financially tied to Luca Moretti.
Dante’s expression became unreadable.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Marco swore quietly.
Dante looked toward him.
“Where is Luca tonight?”
“At the gala.”
“Was.”
Marco checked his phone.
“His driver left the hotel at 9:41.”
“Destination?”
“Unknown.”
Dante called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Beatrice’s phone buzzed.
Maggie.
A selfie.
Hospital blanket around her shoulders.
A caption:
I AM FINE. STOP PANICKING.
Beatrice exhaled.
Dante saw.
“She’s safe?”
“For now.”
“For good.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“You can’t promise that.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“But I can work toward it.”
That was better.
They kept searching.
At 3:14 a.m., Beatrice found something Elliot had buried in a reconciliation note.
An invoice date.
May 17.
Two years earlier.
Memo:
CRANE FOLLOW-UP / GARAGE.
Beatrice frowned.
“What garage?”
Marco checked.
Crown Meridian operated a private garage in Queens.
Dante looked at him.
“Who owned it when Elliot died?”
Marco searched.
Then went still.
“Luca.”
Beatrice’s stomach dropped.
The police report said Elliot’s car lost control when a brake line failed.
Mechanical failure.
No foul play.
But if his car had been serviced at a garage controlled by Luca before the crash—
Dante stood.
“Find the service records.”
Marco was already calling.
Beatrice continued searching.
Then she found a scanned invoice.
Elliot’s car.
Brake inspection.
Three days before his death.
Approved by Crown Meridian Fleet Services.
Technician signature unreadable.
Supervisor authorization:
LMORETTI.
Nobody spoke.
Dante stared at the screen.
Beatrice could almost see something breaking inside him.
Not business trust.
Family trust.
“What was Luca to you?” she asked quietly.
Dante did not answer immediately.
“My uncle died when Luca was nine.”
He looked at the city beyond the glass.
“My father brought him into our house.”
“So you grew up together.”
“He was my brother in every way except blood.”
Marco’s expression was grim.
“And if this is real?”
Dante looked at him.
“It becomes evidence.”
Beatrice noticed the choice of words.
Not revenge.
Evidence.
She respected that.
At 4:02 a.m., Marco’s team located Luca’s SUV.
Abandoned near the East River.
No Luca.
Blood on the driver’s seat.
Dante stared at the photograph.
“Too easy.”
Beatrice nodded.
Marco looked at both of them.
“You think it’s staged?”
“Yes,” they said simultaneously.
For the first time all night, Beatrice and Dante looked at each other almost amused.
Then a message arrived on Dante’s private phone.
Unknown sender.
A video.
Luca appeared tied to a chair.
Blood on his face.
Charles Wilkes stood behind him.
Beatrice stopped breathing.
Charles leaned toward the camera.
“Dante.”
He smiled.
“You’ve always had an unfortunate habit of assuming family makes people loyal.”
Dante’s entire body became still.
Charles continued.
“Bring Beatrice Gallagher and Elliot Crane’s archive to Pier 19 at sunrise.”
Beatrice felt the room tilt.
“And if you don’t…”
Charles pulled Luca’s head backward.
A gun appeared.
“…your cousin dies.”
The video ended.
Marco looked at Dante.
“It’s a trap.”
“Yes.”
Beatrice stood.
“I’m going.”
Dante turned on her.
“No.”
“They specifically asked for me.”
“Exactly.”
“If I don’t go—”
“Luca may die anyway.”
“And if I do?”
Dante stared at her.
“You become leverage.”
Beatrice’s voice hardened.
“My sister was almost pushed in front of a train because I found these numbers. Elliot Crane died because he found these numbers. Victoria got beaten because she knew these numbers.”
She stepped closer.
“I am done being the person everyone else moves around the board.”
Dante’s eyes darkened.
“Beatrice.”
“No.”
For the first time, someone interrupted Dante Moretti and survived.
“I am going.”
Silence.
Dante looked at Marco.
Then back at her.
“You stay beside me.”
She nodded.
“Beside.”
At sunrise, Pier 19 was empty.
Too empty.
No Charles.
No Luca.
Only a chair beneath a warehouse light.
On it sat the black folder.
Beatrice’s folder.
Dante approached carefully.
Marco checked for explosives.
None.
Beatrice opened it.
Inside was one photograph.
Luca Moretti shaking hands with Charles Wilkes.
Date stamped eighteen months earlier.
The morning after Elliot Crane died.
On the back were six handwritten words.
HE WAS NEVER THE HOSTAGE, DANTE.
Dante’s expression changed.
Then a shot exploded from the far end of the warehouse.
Marco shoved Beatrice down.
May you like
Dante turned.
And Luca Moretti stepped from the shadows holding the gun himself.
