Chapter 10 - THE MAN WHO CHOSE THE WRONG SIDE
For the first time in my life, I watched Adrien Moretti enter a police station voluntarily.
He arrived without his usual entourage.
No expensive display of power.
No threatening speeches.
Just a man in a navy coat carrying a leather folder.
Detective Brooks greeted him.
"Mr. Moretti."
"Detective."
He looked toward me.
"Natalya."
I folded my arms.
"Your lieutenant threatened my mother."
His expression tightened.
"I know."
"And he may have helped murder my father."
Adrien closed his eyes.
"That is what I fear."
I stared.
"Then why did you trust him?"
A long silence followed.
"Because he worked for my family for twenty years."
"That's not an answer."
Adrien looked at me.
"You're right."
The admission surprised me.
Then he continued.
"I trusted the wrong people because it was easier than questioning the organization I inherited."
I swallowed.
"People died because of that."
His expression changed.
"I know."
Detective Brooks asked him to provide his evidence.
Adrien opened the folder.
Inside were financial records.
Communications.
And internal audit reports.
Salvatore had apparently diverted company funds through shell businesses.
Some transfers were connected to the old Judge Henderson accounts.
Others involved the Brooklyn warehouse fire.
Adrien's attorneys had begun identifying potential victims and financial losses.
Then he placed one final document on the table.
An employee access log.
Someone had used Salvatore's credentials to access Natalya Petrov's employment information months before the Russian negotiation.
My stomach tightened.
"He knew I worked at the restaurant."
Adrien nodded.
"And he arranged to put you at table twelve."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because he wanted the Russians to recognize your name."
My heart pounded.
"The poems?"
Adrien nodded.
"He believed you had the key to the original evidence."
I touched my silver pendant.
For a moment, I wondered whether anyone had ever looked at me without seeing something they wanted.
Adrien noticed.
His expression softened.
"Natalya, I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"Sorry doesn't bring my father back."
"No."
"It doesn't erase seventeen years."
"No."
I looked directly at him.
"Then don't ask me to forgive you."
He nodded.
"I won't."
For the first time, I believed he understood.
Later that afternoon, investigators obtained authorization to examine Salvatore's financial operations.
They discovered payments connected to several false identities.
One belonged to a man named Anton Sokolov.
The scarred Russian from table twelve.
My stomach turned.
"Salvatore hired him?"
Detective Brooks nodded.
"That's what the records suggest."
"And the weapons shipment?"
"We're investigating whether the negotiation was genuine or staged to pressure Moretti."
I stared.
Everything at table twelve had been designed.
The Russian threats.
The poems.
My translation.
The demand for twenty-two million dollars.
And the moment someone discovered who I was.
Then Isabella called.
Her voice sounded frightened.
"Natalya, something happened."
My heart tightened.
"What?"
"Matteo has agreed to speak with investigators."
Relief washed through me.
"Where is he?"
She hesitated.
"He's in protective custody."
I closed my eyes.
Finally.
Then she continued.
"He says there's something wrong with the forty-seven poems."
I frowned.
"What?"
"The last one."
My hand moved toward my necklace.
Isabella swallowed.
"The forty-seventh poem wasn't written by the Russians."
I stopped breathing.
"Then who wrote it?"
Her answer came quietly.
"Your father."
May you like
Then she whispered the final revelation.
"And Matteo says it contains a confession."
