Declan #2
Dante Moretti arrives at my office looking relaxed and confident. "Boss." He nods respectfully as he enters. "You wanted to see me?"
"Sit." I gesture to the chair across from my desk.
He sits, crossing one ankle over his knee casually. He looks unconcerned. "What can I do for you?"
I study him for a moment, looking for tells, for signs of nervousness or guilt. But he's good. His expression is open, his posture relaxed. If he's hiding something, he's hiding it well.
"I wanted to talk about the shipment," I say finally.
"The one that was attacked?" He shakes his head. "Terrible business. I heard you lost a lot of good men."
"Eight of them. The last one passed this morning."
"I'm sorry." He sounds like he means it. "If there's anything I can do—"
"Actually, there is." I lean back in my chair. "I'm trying to understand what happened. How they knew where we'd be."
"Inside information, probably." He shrugs. "Someone must have talked."
"That's what I thought too." I watch his face carefully. "But here's what I don't understand. If the goal was to stop Irish-Italian cooperation, why only attack my men? Why not hit the Capettis too?"
Something flickers across his face, just for a second. Then it's gone, replaced by that same easy confidence. "Maybe they didn't have the resources to hit both sides."
"Or maybe they only wanted to hit one side." I lean forward. "Maybe they wanted to make me look weak while keeping the Capettis clean."
"That's an interesting theory."
"Isn't it?" I hold his gaze. "Tell me something, Dante. When you came to me, when you said you wanted to defect from the Capettis—was that true?"
"Of course it was true." But there's an edge to his voice now. A hint of defensiveness. "I believe in what you're trying to do. Building alliances instead of starting wars. That's the future."
"Is it?" I stand up, moving around the desk. "Because it’s starting to look like the only thing I've built is a target on my back."
He stands too, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Boss, I don't know what you're implying—"
"I'm not implying anything." I move closer, crowding his space. "I'm asking directly. Did you know about the attack?"
"No." But his eyes dart to the door, just for a second. "I swear, I had no idea—"
"You're lying."
"I'm not—"
"You are." I grab his collar, slamming him back against the wall. "And you're going to tell me the truth. Right now. Or I'm going to make you tell me."
His facade cracks. I see fear flash across his face. "I didn't know the specifics," he says quickly. "I swear, I didn't know when or where. I just—I heard rumors. That something was being planned."
"And you didn't think to warn me?"
"I thought it was just talk!" His voice is rising now, panic setting in. "I didn't think they'd actually do it. I thought—"
"You thought what?" I tighten my grip. "That you could play both sides? Feed information to the Capettis while pretending to work for me?"
"No! I mean—" He's sweating now. "It wasn't like that. I was just… they asked me to keep an eye on things. To report back. But I wasn't… I didn't—"
"You were a spy." My teeth grit together. "You came to me, pretended to believe in what I was doing, and all along you were gathering intelligence for the Capettis."
He doesn't deny it. The truth is written all over his face.
“You think I had a choice?” The words burst out of him suddenly, fury overtaking the fear. “You think I could just walk away from the Capettis without consequences? They would have killed me. They would have killed my family."
"So you got my men killed instead."
"I didn't—" His voice breaks. "I didn't know they were going to do that. I swear, I didn't know."
I want to believe him, that he's just a man trying to survive in a world that doesn't allow for mercy or mistakes. But I can't. Because eight of my men are dead, and this man—this fucking spy—is at least partially responsible.
"Who gave the order?" I ask.
"I don't know—"
"Who. Gave. The order."
"I don't know!" He twists in my grip. "I reported to a capo. He reported up the chain. I never dealt with the don directly."
"What's the capo's name?"
He hesitates, just for a second. "Salvatore Russo."
I let him go, stepping back. He slumps against the wall, gasping for breath. "What are you going to do?" he asks.
"I'm going to call your former boss," I say. "And we're going to have a conversation about loyalty and consequences."
"Please—" He reaches for me. "Please, you don't understand. If you tell them I talked, they'll kill me. They'll kill my family—"
"You should have thought of that before you betrayed me."
I walk to my desk and pick up my phone. Dante is still pleading, still begging, but I tune him out. I have more important things to focus on, like calling my father-in-law.
Enzo Capetti answers on the third ring. "Declan. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We need to talk about Dante Moretti."
"What about him?"
"He's been spying for you. Gathering intelligence on my organization." I keep my voice level. "He admitted it."
There’s a long pause. "I see."
"Did you know?"
"No." The word is firm. "I had no knowledge of this. If Dante was acting as a spy, he was doing so without my authorization."
"He says he was reporting to Salvatore Russo."
"Salvatore is... ambitious." Enzo's voice is carefully neutral. "He may have taken it upon himself to gather intelligence without consulting me. If that's the case, I'll deal with him."
"And Dante?"
"What about him?"
"He's here. In my office." I look at the man in question, who's gone pale. "If you're telling the truth—if he really was acting without your knowledge—then I'll bring him to you tonight. You can deal with him yourself."
"That's... generous of you."
I lean back in my chair. "We're supposed to have dinner tonight anyway.
I'll bring Dante with me. You can question him, verify his story, and handle it however you see fit.
But Enzo—if I find out you're lying to me, if I find out you authorized this, then we're going to have a very different conversation. "
"I understand." His voice is cold now. "Bring him tonight. I'll take care of it."
He hangs up without saying goodbye. I look at Dante. He's shaking, his face white as paper. "You're taking me to him?"
"That's what I said."
"He'll kill me."
"Probably." I stand up. "But that's not my problem anymore. You made your choice when you decided to spy for the Capettis. Now you get to live with the consequences."
"Please—" He's on his knees now. Actually on his fucking knees. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll tell you everything I know. I'll work for you for real this time. Just don't—"
"Get up." I can't look at him like this; I can't stand the sight of a man begging for his life. "You're going to be held in one of the buildings on the Capetti estate until dinner. Then we'll see what your former boss has to say."
I call for two of my men. They come in and haul Dante to his feet, dragging him out of the office. He's still pleading, but I close the door on his voice. Then I sit down at my desk and put my head in my hands.
Elena was right. She saw what I couldn't see, and now I have to deal with the consequences of my own stupidity. Eight men dead. A spy in my organization. And a father-in-law who may or may not be telling me the truth.
I need to talk to Elena and tell her what happened, get her perspective. But first, I need to get through this dinner.
And hope like hell that Enzo Capetti is being honest with me.
—
The Capetti estate is even more impressive at night. Lights illuminate the mansion and grounds, making the whole place look like something out of a movie. We arrive early, and I leave Elena in the main house with instructions to wait for me.
The building where they're keeping Dante is at the far edge of the property. It's small and nondescript, like just another outbuilding, but I’m well aware of what kind of business is conducted in a spot like this.
Enzo is already there when I arrive. He's standing outside the building, smoking a cigarette, looking relaxed and unconcerned. Like this is just another evening, just another problem to solve.
"Declan." He nods in greeting. "Thank you for bringing him."
"Is Salvatore here?"
"No." He takes a drag of his cigarette. "I'll deal with him separately. Tonight we’ll deal with Dante."
We go inside. The building is sparse—concrete floors, bare walls, and a single chair in the center of the room. Dante is tied to the chair, his face bruised and bloody. Someone's already worked him over.
"Jesus," I mutter.
"He tried to run." Enzo drops his cigarette and grinds it out with his heel. "My men had to… convince him to stay."
Dante's eyes find mine. There's no hope in them anymore, only resignation. He knows how this ends.
"Dante." Enzo moves to stand in front of him. "I'm disappointed in you."
"Don." Dante's voice is hoarse. "Please, I was only ever working for you. I did everything you asked—"
"I never asked you to spy on my son-in-law."
"But you did!" Dante's voice rises, desperate. "You told me to keep an eye on him. To report back on his operations—"
"I told you no such thing." Enzo interrupts him coldly. "You're a liar, Dante. And liars have no place in my organization."
"No!" Dante is struggling against his restraints, panic overtaking him. "No, you can't—I did everything you asked! I gathered intelligence, I reported back, I—"
Enzo pulls out a gun.
My stomach clenches. I can’t help but feel that there’s more to this, that it’s moving too quickly. But if Dante betrayed us both, he was never really my soldier. This is Enzo’s responsibility, and his right to punish him.
The shot is deafening in the small space. Dante's head snaps back, and then he's still. Blood pools beneath the chair, spreading across the concrete floor.
Enzo holsters his gun. "A shame," he says calmly. "He was a good soldier once. But he let ambition cloud his judgment."