Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT THE MORETTIS CAME FOR HIM
The diner burned for six hours.
By sunrise, the place where I had worked for seven years was a black shell.
The counter was gone.
The faded wallpaper was gone.
The corner booth where Mom and I ate pie after her appointments was gone.
I stood across the street behind police tape watching firefighters carry debris outside.
Matteo stood beside me.
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
Reuben had insurance.
Nobody had been inside.
Those facts mattered.
They did not stop it from hurting.
“This is because of me.”
“No.”
“It is.”
“It’s because Carlo is losing control.”
“That distinction doesn’t rebuild Reuben’s diner.”
Matteo looked at the ruins.
“No.”
A black SUV pulled up.
Vincent stepped out.
I turned.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.”
“It was my job.”
“It was a building.”
I glared.
He sighed.
“Bad wording.”
“Very.”
Vincent looked at the wreckage.
“I’ll rebuild it.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
“Reuben will file insurance.”
“The insurer will delay.”
“Then Matteo can fix the process, not buy the building.”
Matteo smiled slightly.
Vincent muttered something in Italian.
I assumed it was affectionate.
Probably not.
By afternoon, federal investigators had enough from Gabriel’s ledger to obtain warrants on Carlo’s businesses and properties.
But Carlo had disappeared again.
Then someone made a mistake.
A Moretti shipping truck assigned to an inactive warehouse moved at 4:17 p.m.
Matteo found it through internal GPS.
Old Union Stockyards district.
Abandoned meatpacking facility.
Vincent looked at the map.
“That’s him.”
Federal agents agreed.
They prepared a tactical operation.
For once, Vincent did not fight them.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph.
My blood went cold.
My mother.
In her hospital bed.
But the photo had been taken from inside her room.
Today.
Beneath it:
THE LEDGER. ALONE. 8 PM.
I stared.
“How did he get this?”
Matteo took the phone.
“He still has someone inside.”
Vincent called the hospital immediately.
Mom was safe.
The photograph had been taken earlier.
That meant the threat was psychological.
Carlo wanted me afraid.
It worked.
Another message.
IF ANY MORETTI COMES WITH YOU, I RELEASE EVERYTHING ON GRACE’S INSURANCE FILE AND SHUT DOWN HER SUPPLY.
I laughed bitterly.
Matteo looked at me.
“What?”
“He still thinks paperwork scares me more than him.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
I knew that tone.
The protective one.
“I’m not going alone.”
“Yes, you are.”
Matteo stared.
“What?”
Vincent looked equally surprised.
I pointed toward the warehouse map.
“He expects you.”
“He expects the ledger.”
“He expects Vincent to break the rules and come after him. He expects you to follow.”
Matteo’s expression hardened.
“And your plan is what? Walk into a murderer’s warehouse?”
“My plan is to make him believe I did.”
Vincent watched me carefully.
“Explain.”
We built the plan in forty minutes.
Federal agents hated it.
Matteo hated it more.
I would approach alone.
The ledger would be fake.
A transmitter would be hidden inside the binding.
Agents would enter once Carlo exposed himself.
Vincent and Matteo would stay off-site.
That was the official plan.
At seven fifty-five, I entered the abandoned warehouse carrying the fake ledger.
The building smelled like rust and old grease.
One hanging light burned above the center floor.
Carlo Bell stepped from the shadows.
He was forty-nine.
Silver at his temples.
Beautiful suit.
He looked less like a murderer than a television banker.
That disturbed me.
“Emily Carter.”
“Carlo.”
“You caused more problems in one week than Grace did in thirty years.”
“Family talent.”
He smiled.
“You’re brave.”
“People keep saying that when they mean stupid.”
“Sometimes they’re the same.”
Two armed men appeared behind him.
My mouth went dry.
I kept walking.
“The ledger.”
I held it up.
“First, you guarantee my mother’s treatment.”
Carlo laughed.
“You think this is negotiation?”
“I watched insurance companies argue over oxygen while my mother turned blue. You’re not the scariest person I’ve dealt with.”
His smile vanished.
Good.
“Ledger.”
I tossed it onto a table.
He picked it up.
Flipped through pages.
His eyes narrowed.
“You think I’m stupid?”
Damn.
He tore a page.
Blank beneath copied print.
He looked at me.
“This is fake.”
Everything moved.
Carlo grabbed my arm.
I drove my elbow into his chest.
One gunman lunged.
Then gunfire exploded from somewhere above.
Not at me.
At the lights.
Darkness.
Men shouted.
Federal agents stormed the building.
“FBI! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
Carlo dragged me backward.
A gun pressed against my ribs.
“Tell them to stop!”
I froze.
Then I heard the one voice that should not have been there.
“Carlo.”
Vincent.
Of course.
The idiot had ignored the plan.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Vincent stood twenty feet away.
Alone.
No weapon visible.
Carlo laughed.
“You always were predictable.”
Vincent’s eyes moved to me.
“You hurt her, you don’t leave this building.”
“You killed my father.”
“Your father tried to kill me.”
“And you took everything afterward.”
“Sal took everything from himself.”
Carlo pressed the gun harder against me.
“Gabriel found records that would have destroyed my family.”
Vincent’s face changed.
“So you murdered a twenty-four-year-old boy who trusted you.”
“He wasn’t a boy.”
“To me he was.”
The grief in Vincent’s voice was raw enough to change the air.
Carlo smiled.
“He begged.”
Matteo appeared behind another line of agents.
Vincent’s head snapped toward him.
“Stay back!”
Carlo saw Matteo.
His smile widened.
“Oh, perfect.”
Matteo stared at him.
“You killed my brother.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No remorse.
“That was easier than watching him ruin my father.”
Matteo’s hands shook.
Carlo looked at Vincent.
“You want revenge? Come take it.”
I understood then.
Carlo wanted Vincent to shoot.
Federal witnesses.
A hostage.
A perfect ending to the Moretti empire.
I looked at Vincent.
He understood too.
Slowly, painfully, he lowered his hands.
“No.”
Carlo’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“I wanted to kill you for eighteen years without knowing your name belonged at the end of that hatred.”
Vincent’s voice remained calm.
“But my son already lost his brother.”
He looked at Matteo.
“He doesn’t lose me too.”
Something shifted in Matteo’s face.
Carlo tightened his grip.
“You’ve gone soft.”
“No.”
Vincent looked at me.
“I learned something from a waitress.”
Even now?
Seriously?
Carlo’s attention moved toward Vincent for half a second.
That was enough.
I stomped down on Carlo’s foot and dropped.
Matteo moved.
Agents fired.
Carlo’s gun discharged into the ceiling.
Then three agents hit him at once.
I landed hard on the concrete.
Matteo reached me first.
“Emily!”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“My elbow.”
Vincent stood over Carlo while agents cuffed him.
For one terrifying second, I thought he might kick him.
Shoot him.
Do something irreversible.
Instead, Vincent simply looked down.
“You burned a diner.”
Carlo laughed breathlessly.
“That’s what you care about?”
“No.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“But that was rude.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Matteo stared at his father.
Then started laughing too.
Even one federal agent looked confused.
Carlo Bell was taken away alive.
The ledger went into evidence.
The conspiracy that had killed Gabriel Moretti, manipulated my mother’s treatment, and poisoned half a dozen corporations finally began collapsing.
Outside the warehouse, Matteo wrapped his coat around me.
“You could have been killed.”
“So could you.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He stared.
Then suddenly kissed me.
Not politely.
Not cautiously.
It was fear, relief, fury, and three weeks of emotions neither of us had named.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
Vincent stood ten feet away.
His expression was deeply offended.
“Really?”
Matteo looked at him.
“What?”
“In front of me?”
“You almost ruined the entire operation.”
“I saved the operation.”
“You ignored every instruction.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Your instructions were questionable.”
I pointed at him.
“You are banned from the diner.”
“It burned down.”
“Future diner.”
His mouth twitched.
Matteo looked at me.
“Future diner?”
I had no idea.
Not yet.
But for the first time in two years, the future no longer looked like hospital hallways and unpaid bills.
It looked terrifying.
Complicated.
May you like
Alive.
And Matteo Moretti was still holding my hand.
