Chapter 28 Carmela
CARMELA
Morning light streams through the windows as I sit cross-legged on the floor of Silvo’s office, surrounded by stacks of files.
My back aches from hours hunched over documents, but the pain fades when another puzzle piece clicks into place.
The names and dates blur together in a web of connections that grows more intricate with each file I examine.
I haven’t slept since my phone call with Silvo at three in the morning. After our... intimate conversation, I tried to rest, but my mind wouldn’t stop spinning. The discovery of Maria and Vincenzo’s tragic history opened a floodgate of questions, and I needed answers.
So I came back to the office. Made coffee. And kept digging.
The leather portfolio sits open beside me, those haunting photographs of Salvatore and Vincenzo as young friends a constant reminder of how deeply personal this war truly is. But now I’m looking beyond the emotional core to the tactical implications.
A soft knock interrupts my concentration. Isabella peeks around the door, two steaming mugs in hand.
“I figured you’d still be at it,” she says, settling onto the floor beside me and handing me a cup. “Couldn’t sleep either after what you told me last night about Maria.”
I wrap my hands around the warm mug, grateful for both the caffeine and the company. “I can’t stop thinking about it. A woman’s choice seventy years ago, and we’re still bleeding for it.”
Isabella nods, scanning the documents spread around us. “Did you find anything else?”
“Actually, yes.” I pull up the laptop and show her the timeline I’ve been constructing. “After I understood the Maria connection, I started looking at the attacks differently. Not just as random strikes, but as something more deliberate.”
I bring up a digital map where I’ve marked each attack with a red pin, then overlay it with another map—one showing locations significant to Salvatore and Maria’s relationship.
“Oh my God,” Isabella breathes, leaning closer. “They match.”
“Exactly.” I point to each location in sequence.
“The warehouse in Miami where they first attacked? That’s where Salvatore had his first legitimate shipping business—the one he started to prove to Maria he could provide for her.
The restaurant they hit in South Philly? Salvatore proposed to Maria there.”
Isabella traces the pattern with her finger. “The club on Market Street—that was Salvatore’s first real estate investment after they married.”
“And here,” I tap another pin, “the jewelry store they torched last week. Salvatore bought Maria’s engagement ring there.”
Isabella sits back, processing. “They’re not just attacking us. They’re systematically destroying every place that represents Salvatore and Maria’s love story.”
“Erasing history,” I murmur. “Or reclaiming it. Showing that nothing Salvatore built with Maria can last.”
“This is psychotic,” Isabella says, but there’s a hint of sad understanding in her voice. “Vincenzo must have been destroyed when she left him.”
I pull out the diary entry again, reading it aloud. “‘Blood has been spilled. There can be no reconciliation.’ Someone died the day Maria chose Salvatore. I think it was Vincenzo’s brother.”
Isabella’s eyes widen. “How do you know?”
“This.” I show her an obituary from 1953. “Giuseppe Moretti died May 15th in a ‘tragic accident.’ But the coroner’s report—which someone filed incorrectly in the De Luca archives—shows he was shot. Execution style.”
“Salvatore killed Vincenzo’s brother?”
“Or had him killed,” I say grimly. “The diary entry mentions blood being spilled the same day Maria chose Salvatore. It’s not a coincidence.”
Isabella runs her hands through her hair. “So Vincenzo lost the woman he loved and his brother on the same day. No wonder the Morettis can’t let this go.”
I nod, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy for a man I never knew. “Nico’s continuing what his grandfather started—making sure the De Lucas feel the same loss the Morettis did.”
We sit in heavy silence, the weight of three generations of grief pressing down on us.
“There’s more,” I finally say, pulling myself back to the present. “I found something that doesn’t fit the pattern.”
I spread out financial records across the floor. “These attacks are expensive. The weapons, the manpower, the coordination—we’re talking millions of dollars in operational costs.”
Isabella frowns. “The Morettis have resources, but not unlimited ones. Not for a war of attrition like this.”
“Exactly.” I point to a series of shell company transactions. “Someone’s been funneling money to offshore accounts that trace back to... I’m not sure yet. The paper trail gets murky. But there are payments coming from sources outside both our families.”
“A third party?” Isabella leans forward, her analytical mind engaging. “Who would benefit from our families destroying each other?”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. A text from Silvo: Landing in 2 hours. Miss you.
My heart does a little flip despite the serious conversation. Miss you too. Found something important. Hurry home.
“He’s landing soon,” I tell Isabella, gathering the financial documents. “We should get all this organized for him.”
“Wait.” Isabella grabs my wrist, her expression troubled. “Before Silvo gets back, promise me you won’t tell him about the messages from Maximo.”
My stomach tightens at her tone. “Isabella, he should know.”
There’s an odd flash in her eyes, making me wonder if she’s told me the whole story. Silvo will want to know about this fixation. Emotional investments cloud judgment. We could use that.”
Isabella shakes her head. “I don’t want to be bait, Carmela.”
“I’m not suggesting that.” I squeeze her hand. “But we need to tell Silvo about this. He should know the Morettis are targeting both of us specifically.”
She nods reluctantly. “After you show him everything else you’ve found.”
I return to the financial documents, my earlier discovery nagging at me. “Help me with these shell companies. There’s something here I’m missing.”
For the next hour, we trace money trails through dummy corporations and offshore accounts. Isabella’s knowledge of the family’s legitimate businesses helps identify which transactions are normal and which are suspicious.
“There,” Isabella points to a series of wire transfers. “These don’t match any known Moretti business activity. The amounts are too irregular, and the timing...”
“Corresponds with the attacks,” I finish, excitement building. “Someone’s paying for these operations, and it’s not coming from Moretti accounts.”
“Could it be the Russians?” Isabella suggests. “Funding the attacks to weaken both families?”
“Maybe.” I make notes on my pad. “Or someone else entirely. A third player we haven’t identified yet.”
The sound of a car door slamming outside makes us both jump. I check the security feed—it’s just Fed returning from an errand.
“Speaking of Fed,” Isabella says with a knowing smile, “I saw him with Sophia in the hallway last night. They looked pretty cozy.”
I can’t help but grin. “I noticed that too. Your brother’s smitten.”
“About time,” Isabella laughs. “He’s been alone too long. Sophia’s good for him—keeps him grounded.”
“Like Silvo’s good for me,” I say softly, surprising myself with the admission.
Isabella’s expression softens. “You really have fallen for him, haven’t you? My grumpy, overprotective brother.”
“Completely.” I look down at my wedding ring, remembering how much I’d resented it at first. “I fought it so hard, but somewhere along the way...”
“You realized he’s worth fighting for instead of against,” Isabella finishes.
“Exactly.”
We continue working in comfortable silence, organizing evidence and building a comprehensive brief for Silvo. By the time we’re done, the sun has climbed higher in the sky, and my exhaustion is catching up with me.
“You should rest before Silvo gets here,” Isabella suggests, noting the dark circles under my eyes.
“Can’t.” I gulp more coffee. “Too much adrenaline. Besides, I want to be sharp when I show him all of this.”
Isabella stands, stretching. “Then at least eat something. You’re no good to anyone if you pass out from exhaustion.”
She’s right, of course. We head to the kitchen, where Sophia is making breakfast, Fed leaning against the counter watching her with obvious appreciation.
“Morning, sleepyheads,” Sophia greets us cheerfully. “I’m making pancakes. Who wants some?”
“Me,” I say, sliding onto a barstool. “I’m starving.”
Fed pours me orange juice. “My brother texted. Says he’s landing soon and that you found something important?”
“Very important,” I confirm. “We’ve been up all night piecing it together.”
“Should I be worried?” Fed’s casual tone doesn’t match the sharpness in his eyes.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “But not in the way you think.”
Sophia sets a plate of pancakes in front of me, and I dig in gratefully. The normalcy of this moment—breakfast with friends and family—feels surreal given everything swirling around us.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a call.
“Silvo?”
“I just landed,” his voice comes through, rough with exhaustion. “I’ll be home in forty minutes. Whatever you found, we’ll handle it together.”
“Together,” I echo, warmth spreading through my chest at the word. “Drive safe.”
“Always.”
When I hang up, I find three pairs of eyes watching me with various degrees of amusement.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“Nothing,” Sophia says innocently. “Just nice to see you so happy. Remember when you wanted to murder him?”
“I still do sometimes,” I mutter, but I’m smiling. “He’s infuriating.”
“But he’s your infuriating husband,” Isabella adds with a grin.
Fed pushes off the counter. “Alright, lovebirds and love-adjacent people, I’m going to make sure the house is secure before Silvo gets here. He’ll want to dive straight into whatever intel you’ve gathered.”
“Good idea,” I say, finishing my pancakes and draining my juice. “Isabella and I will get everything set up in the office.”
As Fed heads out, Sophia begins clearing plates. “You know, Carmela, when you first got here, I never thought I’d see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Happy. Settled. Like you belong.” She smiles warmly. “It’s good to see.”
Her words touch something deep inside me. She’s right—I do belong here now. This house, this family, this life I initially resented has become mine in ways I never expected.
“Thanks, Soph,” I say, hugging her. “For coming here with me. For staying. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Please,” she waves me off. “Like I’d let you face the mafia alone. Besides, the view isn’t bad.” Her eyes drift toward where Fed disappeared.
Isabella and I exchange knowing glances.
“Come on,” I tell Isabella. “Let’s make sure everything’s perfect for Silvo’s arrival. I want to hit him with all of this at once—show him what his wife is capable of.”
Isabella grins. “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees what you’ve put together.”
We return to the office, making final adjustments to the presentation. I arrange the photos in order of importance, stack the financial documents by category, and ensure the maps are clearly labeled.
By the time we’re finished, the office looks like a professional intelligence briefing room. Every surface covered with evidence, every connection clearly marked. This is more than just research—it’s a complete breakdown of our enemy’s strategy, psychology, and vulnerabilities.
“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Isabella says, surveying our work with obvious pride.
“We did this together,” I remind her.
“True. But you’re the one who saw the bigger picture. Who connected the emotional history to the tactical reality?” She squeezes my shoulder. “Silvo’s lucky to have you.”
The sound of a car engine makes my heart leap. I rush to the window and see Silvo’s black sedan pulling into the driveway.
“He’s here,” I breathe, suddenly nervous.
Isabella heads for the door. “I’ll give you two some privacy. But call me when you’re ready to discuss next steps.”
“Thank you, Isabella. For everything.”
She pauses at the doorway, looking back with a soft smile. “That’s what sisters do.”
Then she’s gone, and I hear the front door opening, Silvo’s deep voice greeting Fed in the foyer. My pulse races as his footsteps approach.
This is it. Time to show my husband exactly what I’ve become.