Chapter 6 - The Bride Who Was Never an Enemy
By dawn, Moretti House smelled of smoke, gunpowder, and antiseptic.
Six attackers were dead.
Four were captured.
Marcello Vane was not among them.
He had escaped through the kitchens.
Dario was also still missing.
Salvatore stood in the library while his men turned the estate upside down.
Isabella Romano sat across from him.
She had changed from the white silk dress she wore during the marriage meeting into black trousers and a sweater borrowed from one of his cousins.
Matteo slept upstairs under guard.
Salvatore placed a cup of coffee in front of Isabella.
“You shot my security chief.”
“He was shooting at you.”
“That has never prevented anyone from marrying into this family.”
She almost smiled.
“Should I be offended?”
“You should be explaining.”
Isabella lifted the cup.
“My father wanted the marriage.”
“So did my uncle.”
Vittorio, standing near the fireplace, raised a hand.
“Past tense.”
She continued.
“I came because my younger brother owes money to people my father cannot control. He thought marrying me to you would solve it.”
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.”
“I have been trying for two years.”
She reached inside her coat.
Carmine moved.
Isabella froze.
“Photograph.”
Salvatore nodded.
She placed it on the table.
The image showed Marcello leaving a restaurant beside another man.
Dario.
“They’ve been meeting for months,” she said.
“How did you get this?”
“I followed Marcello.”
“Why?”
“Because somebody has been stealing weapons from my father’s warehouses and moving them through Moretti shipping routes.”
Vittorio leaned over the photograph.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Isabella said. “It was designed to look impossible.”
Salvatore studied her.
“You intended to marry a man you suspected might be involved?”
“I intended to get close enough to learn whether you knew.”
“And?”
“Tonight answered that.”
Salvatore looked toward the ceiling, toward the room where Matteo slept.
“Not enough.”
Isabella’s expression softened.
“He’s really Elena’s?”
Salvatore’s eyes hardened.
“That stays inside this room.”
“I’m not your enemy.”
“Everyone says that before I discover the price.”
Isabella stood.
“Then discover mine.”
She walked to the door.
Salvatore stopped her.
“You said you’d help cancel the wedding.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“I said you could cancel it.”
“Aren’t you insulted?”
“I’ve been proposed to three times by men whose fathers arranged the conversation first. At this point I’m mostly tired.”
Something almost human passed between them.
Then Carmine entered.
“We found Dario.”
Salvatore stood.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“South gate.”
A pause.
“Tied to the fence.”
They went outside.
Dario hung by his wrists from the iron bars, barely conscious.
A piece of paper had been pinned to his coat with a knife.
Salvatore removed it.
ONLY ONE MORETTI HEIR LEAVES THIS WEEK ALIVE.
Vittorio cursed.
Isabella looked toward the house.
“Matteo.”
Salvatore read the note again.
Only one Moretti heir.
Not Salvatore and Matteo.
There was another meaning.
“Cut him down.”
Dario collapsed into Carmine’s arms.
His lips moved.
Salvatore leaned closer.
“Marcello…”
“What about him?”
“Didn’t…”
Dario coughed blood.
“Didn’t betray you.”
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“He found out…”
“Found out what?”
Dario struggled.
“There’s someone above him.”
Then he lost consciousness.
Salvatore stared toward the estate.
Someone above his security chief.
Someone powerful enough to use Marcello, Vittorio, Romano weapons, and men from his father’s old network.
Vittorio whispered:
“Antonio had only one person he answered to.”
Salvatore looked at him.
“My father answered to no one.”
“He did once.”
“Who?”
Vittorio’s face had gone gray.
“Your grandmother.”
Salvatore laughed in disbelief.
“My grandmother has been dead twelve years.”
Vittorio shook his head.
“No.”
The wind seemed to stop.
Salvatore stared.
“What did you say?”
Vittorio looked toward the old northern hills beyond the estate.
“Maria Moretti never died.”
Isabella slowly set down her coffee.
“Then where has she been?”
May you like
Vittorio answered with visible dread.
“Waiting for Salvatore to produce an heir.”
