Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO RAISED A MAFIA BOSS
Dante refused to believe Lucia was involved.
Not because he was foolish.
Because everyone has one person they want to remain innocent.
Lucia was his.
“She raised me.”
“I know.”
“She hated the business.”
“Maybe.”
“She begged my father to leave it.”
“Maybe because she understood it better than anyone.”
Dante looked at me.
“That is a very unpleasant talent you have.”
“What?”
“Taking the person I least want to suspect and making the logic work.”
I touched his hand.
For the first time since Bellacorte, he let me.
Lucia lived in a limestone townhouse she had owned for thirty years.
We did not confront her.
We watched.
At 2:16 P.M., Thomas Rinaldi entered through the garage.
At 3:04, Dr. Vale arrived.
At 4:20, Lorenzo Bellini’s driver delivered a sealed package.
Not Lorenzo.
His driver.
Someone had access to Bellini operations too.
By dusk, three men emerged.
Lucia did not.
Dante wanted to go in.
I stopped him.
“If she’s the center, she won’t be alone.”
“She is seventy-two.”
“So is Salvatore.”
“That is not reassuring.”
We waited until the house went dark.
Then Daniel’s team entered.
No gunfire.
No guards.
No Lucia.
Her bedroom closet was half-empty.
In the study, we found the truth.
Not hidden particularly well.
Ledgers.
Contracts.
Photographs.
A map of Mediterranean ports.
Orfeo had been run from this room for nearly fifteen years.
Dante picked up an old photograph.
Lucia beside Antonio.
Both young.
Smiling.
On the back:
WE BUILT THIS TOGETHER.
His voice became hollow.
“My aunt founded Moretti Maritime with my father.”
Publicly, Antonio built the company alone.
Lucia had been erased because Salvatore and the older generation believed a woman should not control family shipping.
I understood her rage.
I did not understand murder.
Then I found a letter.
Antonio to Lucia.
Luce,
Orfeo has become something neither of us can control. You say it protects the family. I see only blackmail, bribery, and blood.
If you refuse to close it, I will.
Dated fourteen months before Antonio’s death.
Dante sat down.
His aunt had motive.
Access.
Knowledge.
Everything.
But another file caught my attention.
My name.
SOPHIA BENNETT.
Inside were photographs from Geneva.
Reports on my movements.
Copies of my testimony.
And one handwritten instruction.
DO NOT KILL HER.
EXTRACT HER.
She may be useful later.
I stared.
Lucia had not ordered my death.
Someone beneath her had changed the instruction.
Dante read over my shoulder.
“Who?”
I turned the page.
Authorization code:
M.D.
May you like
Marco DeLuca.
The man supposedly paying Orfeo to keep Dante alive had been the one who authorized the bomb meant for me.
