Chapter 13 - THE LAST CONTRACT
Marco did not want money.
He wanted one signature.
Mine.
The message arrived twenty minutes after his escape.
An address.
A scanned contract.
And a photograph of Lorenzo tied to a chair.
SIGN THE TRANSFER OR BELLINI’S SON DIES.
The transfer would move Moretti Maritime’s insurance rights, port licenses, and several strategic assets into Orfeo-controlled companies.
Almost everything Lucia had built.
Almost everything Antonio tried to save.
Dante wanted armed men.
Vittorio wanted blood.
I wanted the contract.
They both stared at me.
“What?” Dante asked.
“Send me the full version.”
“You’re not signing it.”
“Obviously.”
I read every page.
Marco had learned from our dinner.
No obvious clause.
No hidden insurance trigger.
Nothing simple.
Then I found his mistake.
Page ninety-one.
Governing jurisdiction.
The transfer became effective only after notarized acceptance in Switzerland.
Chicago signatures alone created an irrevocable offer.
Not ownership.
Marco believed he could force me to sign in Chicago and complete the acceptance later.
He was wrong.
Because the offer expired if the recipient entity became insolvent first.
I looked at Vittorio.
“How much cash does Orfeo have tonight?”
Daniel answered.
“About forty-three million liquid.”
“How much short-term debt?”
“Sixty-one.”
I smiled.
“Then we don’t rescue Lorenzo by attacking Marco.”
Dante knew that smile now.
“We bankrupt him.”
Exactly.
Moretti Maritime called every legitimate loan connected to Orfeo.
Bellini companies terminated warehouse guarantees.
Two insurers froze credit based on pending fraud evidence.
Within fifty-three minutes, Orfeo could no longer meet its obligations.
The receiving company became technically insolvent.
Marco’s transfer contract became worthless before I ever touched a pen.
Then we went to the warehouse.
Marco held a gun to Lorenzo’s head.
“You think this is clever?”
“I think your contract is dead.”
His face changed.
“No.”
“Check your account.”
He did.
That moment was enough.
Lorenzo dropped his weight and drove backward.
Daniel moved.
Dante crossed the distance.
The gun slid across concrete.
Marco hit the floor.
For years, this man had killed through contracts, intermediaries, and hidden clauses.
In the end, one badly drafted paragraph destroyed him.
Dante stood over him.
Marco laughed.
“Go ahead.”
He expected execution.
Dante stepped back.
“No.”
Marco’s smile vanished.
“You don’t deserve the simplicity.”
Federal officers entered seconds later.
This time, Marco did not escape.
Lorenzo stood, rubbing his wrists.
He looked at me.
“I will never insult your intelligence again.”
“Excellent.”
“Your cooking, maybe.”
“I don’t cook.”
“Then we’re safe.”
Vittorio hugged his son hard enough to embarrass both of them.
Dante came to me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He checked my face anyway.
Then Marco shouted behind us.
“Sophie!”
I turned.
He smiled through blood.
“You still don’t know everything.”
Dante went still.
Marco laughed.
“Ask your husband why he married you so quickly.”
I looked at Dante.
May you like
Something changed in his face.
And suddenly, for the first time in months, I wondered whether Marco had one final truth left to weaponize.
