Chapter 2 - The Return to an Empty Throne
The iron gates of the Moretti estate swung open slowly, slicing through the heavy Chicago fog.
I sat in the back of Aaron’s bulletproof black town car, watching the stone mansion loom against the gray morning sky. My body was still battered; my ribs throbbed with every breath, and a deep, physical ache lingered in my lower abdomen—a cruel, constant reminder of what had been stolen from me on that icy road.
"Are you sure you want to go in there alone, Carmela?" Aaron asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "The paperwork is filed. I can have a court order served on him at his office before noon."
"No," I said softly, smoothing down the front of my black wool coat. "Enzo needs to hand me the keys to my father's assets himself. If I serve him from a distance, he'll treat it like a negotiation. I need him to see that there is nothing left to negotiate."
I stepped out of the car. The morning air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of lake water and exhaust. I walked up the marble steps where guards usually stood at attention. Today, the porch was empty. Enzo’s men were likely nursing hangovers or running errands for Bianca’s new townhouse in Gold Coast.
I entered the grand foyer.
The house was deathly quiet. The scent of fresh lilies—the ones I had ordered three days ago when I still believed I was preparing a home for our child—filled the high-ceilinged room.
I walked down the long corridor toward the east wing, where the nursery was located. The door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open.
Standing inside the pale blue room, holding a roll of masking tape, was Dante—Enzo’s right-hand lieutenant. The man who had lied to Enzo, claiming I was home watching a movie while I was bleeding out in the snow.
He froze when he saw me.
"Mrs. Moretti," Dante stammered, his hand dropping to his belt where his sidearm hung. "I... we didn't expect you back from the spa today."
"The spa?" I repeated, my voice ice cold. "Is that what you told him, Dante?"
Dante swallowed hard, adjusting his leather jacket. "Boss said you were throwing a tantrum over the phone last night. He told me to start clearing out the crib to make room for a home office for Luca’s tutoring."
I looked at the crib. The hand-carved mahogany frame my father had commissioned from an artisan in Naples was pushed against the far wall, covered in plastic drop cloths.
"You lied to him about my whereabouts on Tuesday night," I said, stepping into the room. "The Tatalias ambushed my car on Archer Avenue. I called the house landline four times before I called Enzo."
Dante’s eyes shifted nervously toward the hallway. "Look, Carmela... Bianca’s brother owes fifty grand to a Tatalia loan shark. Enzo told us to keep the Tatalias away from Gold Coast. If Enzo knew they were tracking you, he would’ve called off the hit on their warehouse in Cicero. It was a tactical call."
A tactical call.
My baby's life had been weighed against a mob debt belonging to Bianca Rossi’s deadbeat brother, and Dante had decided I was acceptable collateral damage.
"Where is Enzo?" I asked quietly.
May you like
"He went to the airport," Dante said, regaining his cocky posture. "Bianca’s son wanted to see the private jets. They'll be back by lunch."
"Good," I said, turning toward the door. "Tell him I’m waiting in the study."
