Chapter 7 - THE RING THAT OPENED A GRAVE
The Moretti family chapel sat behind iron gates in Westchester.
Marble.
Stained glass.
Enough dead men to start several wars.
Vincent led me toward Anthony Moretti’s tomb.
“Normal families hide jewelry in drawers,” I whispered.
“Normal families are inefficient.”
“Normal families sleep better.”
“Probably.”
Behind Anthony’s marble plaque was a tiny keyhole.
The ring fit.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a narrow black ledger.
And one photograph.
Gabriel Bennett.
My father.
He looked like me.
Same smile.
Same light hair.
I touched the photograph.
For twenty-six years, my father had been an absence.
Now he had a face.
Vincent stood beside me quietly.
“Take it.”
I did.
The ledger contained names.
Payments.
Dates.
Enough corruption to destroy multiple political careers.
But the final pages were different.
Not Cavallo accounts.
Moretti accounts.
Vincent frowned.
“My grandfather paid Frank.”
“Why?”
He flipped pages.
“Protection money?”
“No.”
Then he found the memo.
PAYMENT IN EXCHANGE FOR GABRIEL BENNETT LOCATION.
I stared.
Anthony Moretti had paid Frank Cavallo for my father’s location.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“My grandfather betrayed him.”
My throat closed.
That contradicted everything.
Then another entry.
Date:
Three days before Gabriel died.
Anthony paid $500,000.
Frank Cavallo.
I backed away.
“So Moretti money killed my father.”
Vincent looked sick.
“I don’t know.”
“The ledger is right there.”
“Yes.”
“Your grandfather sold him out.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
He held up the final page.
A handwritten note.
THE PAYMENT WAS A TRAP. GABRIEL KNOWS.
I froze.
Below it:
F.C. WILL MOVE MEN TO DOCK 9. FBI CONTACT READY.
Anthony and Gabriel had staged the payment.
They were setting Frank up.
“What happened?”
Vincent continued reading.
No more pages.
Someone had removed them.
Of course.
Then chapel doors slammed.
Marco’s voice shouted:
“Boss!”
Gunfire erupted outside.
Vincent shoved me behind the altar.
“Stay down.”
“Again with the orders.”
“Daisy.”
“Fine.”
Men moved through the chapel.
Victor Cavallo appeared.
He held a pistol.
“Hand me the ledger.”
Vincent stood between us.
“No.”
Victor smiled.
“You think your grandfather was a hero?”
“I think yours was worse.”
Victor laughed.
Then looked at me.
“Daisy, did Anthony tell you who fired the shot that killed Gabriel?”
My heart stopped.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Victor pointed his gun.
Not at Vincent.
At me.
“Your mother.”
I stared.
“You’re lying.”
“Caroline shot Gabriel.”
“No.”
“She thought he was working for my father.”
Vincent’s voice became ice.
“Stop.”
Victor continued.
“Ask Grandma.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead:
“Why would Mom kill the man she loved?”
“Because Gabriel discovered the truth too late.”
“What truth?”
Victor smiled.
“Caroline was already working for us.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Your mother was Frank Cavallo’s informant.”
Then he fired.
Vincent tackled me.
Glass exploded above us.
Marco’s men returned fire.
Victor disappeared through a side passage.
When the shooting stopped, I realized Vincent was bleeding.
“Vincent.”
“Not mine.”
It was.
Shoulder.
“Idiot.”
“Romantic.”
“Bleeding is not romantic.”
“Depends who you ask.”
I pressed fabric against the wound.
Then his phone rang.
Grandma.
I answered.
“Grandma?”
Her voice shook.
“Daisy.”
“Was Mom working for Frank Cavallo?”
Silence.
My heart broke.
Then Grandma whispered:
“Yes.”
May you like
But before I could process it, she added:
“She was working for Frank because he threatened you.”
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