Chương 14 - THE LAST FORGERY
Arthur had been framed too.
That was the final elegance of Marco's plan.
Kill Nico.
Frame me financially.
Use Arthur's forged witness signature to implicate him.
Then watch the Bellandi organization destroy itself deciding which traitor to punish first.
Forensic analysis proved both signatures had been digitally reconstructed from earlier contracts.
Marco's computer contained the source files.
Arthur was cleared.
So was I.
For the first time in months, there wasn't another secret waiting beneath the one we uncovered.
The federal case became enormous.
Marco faced murder conspiracy, financial crimes, racketeering, attempted murder, forgery, and charges tied to Thomas's death.
Salvatore pleaded guilty to ordering my mother's murder and multiple historic crimes.
Dennis lost his pension and accepted prison time for obstruction, evidence tampering, and conspiracy.
Charles Wexler took a deal.
Sophie cooperated.
I still didn't know what to do with her apology.
Maybe one day.
Maybe never.
Alessandro stepped down from every Bellandi company.
Valentina returned publicly after eleven months “abroad.”
The newspapers loved that version.
Nico dismantled what remained of the criminal side of his organization.
Not overnight.
Not magically.
But methodically.
Illegal gambling operations closed.
Protection schemes ended.
Shipping companies were audited.
Construction contracts cleaned.
Some men left.
Some threatened him.
Some were arrested.
Arthur stayed.
For the first time, he served Nico because he chose to.
Not because of a heroic myth about his father.
And me?
I didn't move back.
That surprised everyone.
Especially Nico.
I rented a small apartment in Brooklyn.
Two bedrooms.
Old floors.
Tiny kitchen.
No doorman.
No bulletproof windows.
I loved it.
I used savings from the career I'd abandoned three years earlier to restart my work as an interior designer.
Nico offered money once.
I looked at him.
He never offered again.
Instead, he hired me.
Professionally.
To redesign an old Bellandi hotel that was being converted into apartments.
I charged him full price.
He complained.
I added ten percent.
Our first date after the breakup happened seven months after I left.
Not at an expensive restaurant.
A tiny place near my apartment.
He arrived without security inside.
“That seems irresponsible.”
“Arthur's across the street.”
“Of course he is.”
Dinner was awkward.
Wonderful.
Real.
Nico asked questions.
He listened to answers.
When his phone rang, he turned it off.
Small things.
But after three years of grand gestures replacing intimacy, small things mattered.
He walked me home.
At my building entrance, he didn't kiss me.
“Goodnight, Elena.”
“Goodnight.”
I went upstairs smiling.
Then found a package outside my door.
No sender.
My heart immediately accelerated.
Old instincts.
I called security.
Police checked it.
Safe.
Inside was the black titanium card I'd left in Nico's safe.
Cut cleanly in half.
Beneath it was a handwritten note.
You were right. This was never love.
I turned the card over.
On the back of the note:
Dinner Friday? Somewhere you choose.
I laughed.
Then I texted him one word.
Maybe.
His response came thirty seconds later.
I'll take it.
A year after I left the penthouse, Nico asked me another question.
Not marriage.
Something harder.
“Will you trust me enough to tell me when I'm becoming the man I used to be?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
Then I asked:
“Will you trust me enough to leave if you refuse to listen?”
He didn't hesitate.
May you like
“Yes.”
That was when I knew we might actually have a chance.
