28. Chapter Twenty-Eight Dante
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Dante
I reached for my phone, and then practically threw it across the room. I wanted to call Jade. I just knew I shouldn’t.
The morning sun had a way of sneaking past the heavy drapes, casting slivers of light that cut through the darkness of my office. I sat there, engulfed by the scent of aged leather and the sheen of polished wood, papers strewn before me like fallen soldiers on a battlefield. Each sheet was a fragment of a larger scheme, line graphs and pie charts depicting the infancy of our legitimate investments—our future, unchained from the family’s dark legacy.
I sighed, trying to ignore my pounding headache, and went back to work.
I sifted through the numbers, the potential profits from businesses untouched by blood money. The BioHQ data lay amongst them, its implications as potent as the power it promised. It was a game-changer, sure to pivot the Moretti name towards something resembling honor—if such a thing wasn’t too far gone for us.
I was working—I was only working—because I desperately didn’t want to think about Jade. In the background, a news report droned on. One of Caruso’s capos had been indicted, which meant Caruso would be angry.
Fuck.
Without hesitation, I grabbed my phone, feeling its cool surface against my palm. This time, it wasn’t to call Jade. I scrolled to Marco’s contact card and pressed the call button. “Meet me at the new property site. We need to discuss the next steps,” I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument. There was a brief acknowledgement on the other end before the line went dead.
I hung up and leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. My gaze drifted to the hidden compartment in my desk. Inside, the original stolen BioHQ data was tucked away, a constant reminder of the lengths I’d go to protect what was mine—and the power I wielded to sway fortunes in our favor. This was bigger than just us now; it was about carving out a life where the shadows we cast didn’t stretch quite so long or dark.
“Marco, this is the backbone of our future,” I said later that day, standing with him amidst the iron bones of what would soon be not just a building, but a beacon of our new direction. Steel beams rose around us like ribs of some giant beast, the air thick with dust and the clamor of progress.
Marco, clad in his usual sharp attire that seemed oddly out of place against the backdrop of hard hats and concrete, gave me a nod of understanding. “As long as we keep our hands clean, Dante. That’s what you’re aiming for, right?” His skepticism was a thin veil over genuine curiosity.
“Cleaner than they’ve ever been,” I affirmed, feeling the weight of the responsibility settle on my shoulders.
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I mean, worse comes to worst, we can at least charge tenants exorbitant rates. It’s all about location.”
I looked at the workers walking around the construction site. “Yep,” I said. “You’re not wrong. Can you stick around here? I have a feeling Caruso might want to fuck our construction sites over. I can send a couple of guys here, but…”
“No, it’s all good,” he said, smirking at me. “I get a day rate?”
“You don’t need a day rate.”
“And yet…”
I rolled my eyes, smiling. “Yes, you get a day rate,” I said. “And a per diem.”
Marco smiled. “Great,” he said. “I’ll just borrow a hard hat.”
“Right. You don’t need any more brain damage.”
He flipped me off. “Hey, fuck you,” he said with a smile. “That shit’s genetic, so don’t think you’re getting off scot free.”
“Yeah, trust me, I know,” I said, clapping him in the back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. See you later.”
I had a lot of errands to run, but the evening brought me back to my darkened office—a stark contrast to the bright chaos of the construction site. There was comfort in the solitude, in the familiar scent of ink and leather that filled the room. I keyed open the hidden drawer and pulled out the file marked with the BioHQ insignia, its contents as potent as any weapon in our arsenal.
Every document within it was a step towards legitimacy, towards a life where Jade could exist without the taint of my family’s sins. With each report, each piece of paper that bore our name, I was rewriting our story—one where the Moretti legacy meant more than fear and whispered curses.
If I legitimized everything, then…then she could meet my family. Then she wouldn’t be in danger of getting hurt when I introduced her to my dad or my brother.
This is for you, Jade, I thought, allowing myself a moment to imagine her safe, untouched by the darkness that had cradled me since birth. Her brilliance deserved a world free from the shadows that clung to my every move. It was a world I’d build for her, brick by brick, lie by lie, truth by hard-won truth.
I stowed the file away and locked the drawer, its soft click a punctuation in the silent room. Tomorrow, I’d walk into another boardroom, shake hands smeared neither with blood nor grime, and speak of futures bright with promise. But tonight, it was just me, the quiet, and the singular resolve to reshape the destiny of the Moretti name—for profit, for power, and for Jade.
My mom had invited Marco and I over for dinner, but I could tell it was just an excuse for Enzo to check up on us. Though when my mother invited us for dinner, we didn’t say no.
We valued our lives too much for that.
When I got there, she was in the kitchen finishing up the food. I made my way to Enzo’s study, the door creaking open like a confession. The old man sat behind a mahogany desk that had seen more secrets than a confessional. His eyes flicked up, sharp as ever.
“How’s it progressing?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing but a hint of curiosity.
“Better than expected,” I replied, handing over the financial reports. My fingers brushed against the leather-bound ledgers, thick with the scent of ink and power. “The legitimate fronts are booming, and BioHQ’s little gifts are paying off. We’re on track to eclipse our old income from the rackets within a year.”
Enzo studied the figures, his expression unreadable as he turned each page. Finally, he looked up, and for a moment, I saw something like pride flash in his eyes. “Good work,” he grunted, and that was all the praise I was going to get.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
Everything after that happened so quickly. Jade wouldn’t text me, she wouldn’t answer my tests. I didn’t call her. I understood she needed space, even though the desire to reach out to her clawed at me.
A few weeks later, I swapped the dimly lit streets for the sterile glare of corporate America. The boardroom of the pharmaceutical company we now controlled–through a corporation that had been pursuing a merger for four years, but with a nudge in the right direction with some strategic…contributions–was a world away from Little Italy. Here, the sharks wore Armani, not leather jackets, but the glint in their eyes was every bit as cold and calculating as the glint of a gun barrel.
As I took my seat at the head of the table, I felt the shift in me. The transition from mafia prince to corporate mogul was seamless; it was a game of power, just played on a different board. The executives eyed me warily, sensing the predator beneath the polished exterior.
“Our focus will be on neurogenetic research,” I announced, my voice calm and decisive. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order, and they all knew it. The BioHQ data had given us an edge, and I intended to use it. Every nod around the table was another piece moving into place, another silent victory.
“Are there any objections?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
Silence greeted me, confirming my control was as absolute here as it was on the streets. I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile. This was the future—a future where the Moretti name didn’t echo with the sound of gunshots and whispered threats.
It was a future I could offer to Jade, if only she’d take it.
The city never really slept, but as night cloaked it in a deceptive calm, I found myself alone in the penthouse that scraped the heavens. The view stretched out like a canvas of flickering lights and dreams just out of reach. In that moment, with a glass of scotch in hand, I was both master and servant to the life I had carved out.
I savored the taste, the warmth spilling down my throat, a fleeting comfort against the cold reality. Each sip was a reminder of the duality I juggled—mafia don by night, entrepreneur by day. Jade was the linchpin to it all, the reason for this double-edged existence. I did it all so that the shadows would only ever kiss her edges, never swallow her whole.
I imagined as she stood among her test tubes and microscopes, her sanctuary of science and progress. She would note the new equipment, the accounts flush with funds that seemed too good to be true. She wouldn’t know it was me.
But there was still work to do. The next day, I had to meet with my uncles to make sure everything was in order.
The next day, I made my way back to my childhood home. “Uncle Tony, Uncle Leo,” I greeted them with a nod as we settled in the fortress of tradition that was the Moretti home’s study. My father, Enzo, sat in with us, but he didn’t say a fucking thing. Marco was there too, leaning against the bookshelf, playing absentmindedly on his phone.
Tony, all sharp angles and scrutiny, leaned forward, his fingers steepling like the spires of an old cathedral. “We need to ensure there are no gaps,” he insisted, the skepticism in his voice slicing through the thick air of cigar smoke and aged leather.
I laid out the spreadsheets before them, a tapestry of numbers and projections that spoke of clean profits and cleaner consciences. “Look at the margins here and here,” I pointed out, tapping on the paper for emphasis.
“BioHQ’s data is gold, and our experts are turning it into something even more valuable—legitimacy.” My voice was steady, my gaze unflinching. “We’re clean, Tony.”
Leo, ever the silent observer, gave a slow nod of approval, his eyes reflecting the firelight like polished onyx.
“Alright, Dante,” Tony conceded, but his tone suggested he still held reservations only time could erode. “Enzo?”
“The boy’s numbers are solid,” my father said.
I wonder how old I’d have to be before he stopped calling me the boy.
With their nods of reluctant agreement, we wrapped up the meeting, and I stepped out into the crisp autumn evening, the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot marking my passage.
The community clinic we now owned stood like a beacon, its sterile walls and the hum of efficient activity a stark departure from the world I knew too well. I watched as patients were ushered in, each one a testament to a future where the Moretti name meant healing, not harm.
“This is for you, Jade,” I whispered to myself, a mantra that had woven itself into my very being. But the words fell flat in the empty air, unanswered just like my calls to her.
Jade’s silence was a verdict I couldn’t appeal—a guilty sentence I had to serve. It didn’t matter that the clinic’s existence was because of her, that every life it saved was a tribute to her brilliance. She wouldn’t see it, couldn’t see it, because of what I had done.
Still, I allowed myself a moment to watch, to hope. For Jade, for us, for a chance at redemption I wasn’t sure I deserved but was determined to fight for. Even if I had to do it alone.
But I wouldn’t do it alone.
Because I was going to get her back.