Chapter 6 - THE UNCLE WHO BUILT ORFEO
Salvatore invited us to breakfast.
That alone made me suspicious.
He should not have known we wanted to see him.
Yet at 7:03 A.M., his assistant called Dante.
“Mr. Moretti says you and Mrs. Moretti are expected at nine.”
Dante hung up.
“You still think this is too obvious?”
“No.”
I stood.
“Now I think he wants us there.”
Salvatore’s estate sat behind iron gates and winter-bare trees.
No visible guards.
That meant there were many.
He greeted us wearing a cardigan.
Not exactly the appearance of a criminal mastermind.
“Sophie.”
He kissed both my cheeks.
“Finally, someone told Dante he married above his intellectual weight.”
Dante stared.
Salvatore laughed.
“Sit.”
Coffee arrived.
No one drank it.
Dante placed Julien’s report on the table.
Salvatore’s eyes barely moved.
“Ancient history.”
“Is it?”
“Your father became paranoid before he died.”
“How did he die?”
Salvatore sighed.
“Pancreatic cancer.”
“I remember.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because his final medical file disappeared.”
For the first time, Salvatore’s smile changed.
Tiny.
But enough.
I spoke.
“Orfeo Maritime.”
His eyes moved to me.
“I wondered when you’d say the name.”
Dante stiffened.
“So you know it.”
“Of course.”
Salvatore leaned back.
“The clever little Swiss company that made everyone rich while pretending nobody controlled it.”
“You controlled it.”
“No.”
“Julien Marchand believed you did.”
“Julien Marchand died young.”
The threat was subtle.
Dante heard it anyway.
His hand flattened against the table.
“Careful.”
Salvatore smiled.
“There he is.”
Then he looked at me.
“Your wife understands what you never have, Dante. Power doesn’t come from owning cargo. It comes from controlling uncertainty.”
I felt cold.
“You created delays.”
“Sometimes.”
“Insurance claims.”
“Sometimes.”
“Customs seizures.”
“Occasionally.”
“You arranged Julien’s death.”
His expression hardened.
“That is a more serious accusation.”
“You tried to kill me.”
“No.”
I watched him.
He was telling the truth.
At least about something.
“Who did?”
Salvatore smiled again.
“Ask Marco.”
Dante stood.
“Where is he?”
Salvatore looked toward the lake.
“Running from the same people you are.”
That changed everything.
“Marco is not working for you?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then why is he compromised?”
“Because he has been paying Orfeo for years.”
“For what?”
Salvatore’s face became almost sad.
“To keep Dante alive.”
My husband stopped breathing.
Salvatore continued.
“Antonio discovered Orfeo too late. By then, your father had made enemies he couldn’t remove without exposing half the family.”
“Who?”
Salvatore looked at me.
“The Bellinis were never your biggest problem.”
Then he turned back to Dante.
“Your father was poisoned slowly over eleven months.”
May you like
Dante’s face went white.
“And the person who ordered it still sits at your table every Sunday.”
