Chapter 10 - THE MAFIA BOSS WHO FINALLY STOPPED RUNNING
Vincent could have disappeared.
He had passports.
Planes.
Properties in countries without convenient extradition arrangements.
Instead, he called Agent Michael Harris and surrendered the next morning.
I found him in his penthouse packing one small bag.
“You’re really going.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
Emily stood beside me.
Vincent looked at her.
He had spent three days learning what she liked.
Astronomy.
Piano.
Chocolate ice cream.
Books about marine biology.
Three days.
Seven years late.
But he remembered everything.
Emily walked toward him.
“Are you going to jail?”
He crouched.
“Maybe.”
“Did you do bad things?”
He didn’t lie.
“Yes.”
She looked at me.
I said nothing.
This answer belonged to him.
Vincent continued.
“I also let bad things happen because they benefited me.”
Emily frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I thought being powerful mattered more than being good.”
She considered that.
“Was that dumb?”
He smiled faintly.
“Very.”
“Are you still dumb?”
“Your mother would probably say yes.”
I almost smiled.
Emily looked serious.
“Are you going to fix it?”
“I’m going to try.”
She stepped closer.
Then hugged him.
Vincent froze.
His eyes closed.
His arms moved slowly around her.
I had seen him face guns without blinking.
That hug destroyed him.
Emily whispered:
“Come back when you’re less dumb.”
He laughed through tears.
“I’ll do my best.”
Federal prosecutors offered Vincent a cooperation agreement.
He gave them everything.
Shipping routes.
Financial accounts.
Names.
Properties.
Crimes he had committed.
Crimes he had ignored.
Crimes his relatives committed.
For six months, the Moretti empire collapsed piece by piece.
Vincent pleaded guilty to financial conspiracy and obstruction charges.
Because he cooperated extensively, prosecutors recommended reduced sentencing.
Still, he went to prison.
Twenty-two months.
The headlines were brutal.
MAFIA HEIR TURNS ON FAMILY NETWORK
MORETTI EMPIRE FALLS
FOUNDATION FOUNDER ADMITS CRIMES
Emily read none of them.
I made sure of that.
Vincent wrote her every week.
Never me.
Her.
He told her about books.
Asked about school.
Sent no expensive gifts.
No manipulative promises.
Only letters.
Emily answered when she wanted.
Sometimes every week.
Sometimes not for a month.
He never complained.
Six months into his sentence, I received my first letter.
Not from Vincent.
From Lucas.
His handwriting was uneven.
Dear Ms. Claire,
Emily said you help her when adults are confusing.
My mom cries a lot and Dominic wants to be my dad too.
Can you have two dads?
I read it twice.
Then cried.
None of these children had created this mess.
Yet they carried it.
I called Sophia.
Our first real conversation in seven years lasted forty minutes.
She apologized.
I did not forgive her.
But I listened.
Lucas continued seeing Vincent in prison.
Vincent had insisted Dominic be included too.
Slowly, painfully, they built something strange but healthy.
Two fathers.
One biological.
One chosen.
Neither pretending the other did not exist.
A year later, Madison called.
“Claire, Anthony’s trial starts Monday.”
“I know.”
“He wants to make a deal.”
“For what?”
“Reduced sentence.”
“In exchange for?”
She hesitated.
“Information about Vincent.”
My stomach tightened.
“What information?”
“A murder.”
I stood.
“Whose?”
Madison exhaled.
“He claims Vincent killed a man eleven years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
“Is it true?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was the victim?”
She told me.
Daniel Carter.
My college boyfriend.
May you like
The man who vanished six months before I met Vincent.
And suddenly, the past I thought I understood opened beneath my feet again.
