Chapter 8 - The Uncle Who Knew the Truth
Josephine insisted on going.
Dante refused.
Andrew refused louder.
Helen cried.
Rebecca called it suicide.
Josephine listened to all of them.
Then she picked up her coat.
Dante blocked the door.
“No.”
“Move.”
“He asked for you alone.”
“Yes.”
“That is exactly why you’re not going alone.”
“You think I trust Vittorio?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She stepped closer.
“But I’m tired of everyone deciding which truth I can survive.”
Dante studied her.
“There are truths people don’t survive.”
“And there are lies people don’t recover from.”
Andrew looked away.
Josephine noticed.
Dante finally moved aside.
“You won’t be alone.”
“He said—”
“He’ll believe you are.”
They built the plan in twenty minutes.
Josephine would enter through the front.
Dante’s men would approach through neighboring properties.
Andrew would remain in the surveillance vehicle.
Dante would enter only if Vittorio threatened her.
“What about Carlo?” Josephine asked.
“We assume he’s watching.”
“Comforting.”
“Again, not intended to be.”
Josephine returned to her townhouse shortly after midnight.
Her key turned normally.
That felt almost insulting.
Inside, lamps were on.
Soft jazz played from Andrew’s old speakers.
Vittorio Moretti sat in the living room.
Seventy-two.
Silver hair.
Perfect black suit.
No visible weapon.
He looked at Josephine and smiled sadly.
“Michael’s eyes.”
Josephine remained standing.
“You murdered him?”
“No.”
“Did you help?”
His smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
She appreciated the directness.
It did not make her hate him less.
“Why?”
“Cowardice.”
That answer surprised her.
Vittorio gestured toward the chair.
Josephine did not sit.
“Carlo discovered Michael intended to testify. He ordered the killing before I knew.”
“But you covered it up.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Carlo knew things about me.”
“Crimes.”
“Yes.”
“Murders?”
Vittorio looked at her.
“Yes.”
Josephine swallowed.
“My father died because your family protects itself.”
“Our family.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Michael wrote that.”
“I know.”
“You read the letter?”
“Many times.”
“Then give me the missing half.”
Vittorio tapped the table.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Like Michael.”
“Stop comparing me to him.”
“You should want to know him.”
“I wanted to know him thirty-two years ago.”
Pain passed across Vittorio’s face.
Josephine wondered whether guilt could survive decades without becoming self-pity.
“Why now?” she asked.
“Because Carlo is dying.”
Josephine paused.
“What?”
“Pancreatic cancer. Months, perhaps weeks.”
“So he wants one final war?”
“He wants to die as head of the family.”
“And Dante threatens that.”
“Dante modernized everything. Reduced violence. Cut narcotics. Pulled money into legitimate holdings.”
Josephine almost smiled.
“You’re describing organized crime like corporate restructuring.”
Vittorio smiled faintly.
“Dante would appreciate that.”
“What does Carlo want from me?”
“Your name.”
“My name?”
“Michael’s daughter endorsing Carlo would destroy Dante’s legitimacy.”
“I don’t have legitimacy.”
Vittorio leaned forward.
“You underestimate mythology.”
Josephine stared.
“Then I’ll publicly reject both.”
“That could work.”
She blinked.
“You want that?”
“I want Carlo finished.”
“Why not help Dante?”
“Because my son would never trust me.”
Josephine could not argue.
Vittorio slid the missing letter fragment across the table.
Josephine took it.
Michael’s handwriting continued:
—never trust Carlo when he claims Vittorio ordered my death. My brother is guilty of many things, but not that. If anything happens to me, protect Elena. She found evidence Carlo has been working with federal agents and using them against our own people.
Josephine stopped.
“Carlo worked with federal agents?”
Vittorio nodded.
“Robert Shaw.”
“Andrew’s supervisor.”
“Yes.”
The entire puzzle shifted.
Carlo had not merely infiltrated law enforcement.
He had shaped investigations.
Used federal power to remove rivals.
Andrew had unknowingly worked as a tool inside the operation.
“Where is Carlo?”
Vittorio looked toward the window.
“Closer than Dante thinks.”
Josephine’s phone vibrated.
Dante.
She ignored it.
Vittorio said, “He worries about you.”
“That doesn’t make him safe.”
“No.”
“You sound proud of him.”
“I am.”
“Does he know?”
Vittorio looked down.
“No.”
Josephine thought of all the things families kept until funerals made them useless.
“Tell him.”
“If I survive tonight.”
Her body tensed.
“What does that mean?”
Vittorio looked past her.
The music stopped.
Josephine heard a faint click from the hallway.
Vittorio stood.
“Get down.”
The window exploded.
Gunfire tore through the room.
Josephine dropped.
Vittorio drew a pistol from beneath the table.
Shots answered from outside.
Dante’s men.
Josephine crawled toward the kitchen.
A figure entered through the rear door.
Andrew.
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving my wife.”
“I did not ask—”
“Later.”
He pulled her behind the island.
Dante entered from the front.
Gunfire continued.
For several minutes Josephine understood nothing except noise.
Then it stopped.
Dante stood over Vittorio.
His father had been hit.
Blood spread across his abdomen.
Dante knelt.
“Dad.”
Vittorio looked almost surprised by the word.
“Carlo,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“No.”
He grabbed Dante’s shirt.
“You don’t.”
Dante leaned closer.
Vittorio coughed blood.
“He isn’t dying.”
Dante froze.
“What?”
“That was bait.”
“For what?”
Vittorio looked toward Josephine.
“To bring her here.”
Josephine felt cold.
Andrew’s phone rang.
He answered.
No one spoke on the other end.
Then Andrew’s face changed.
He placed the phone on speaker.
Lucas was crying.
“Andrew?”
Rebecca screamed in the background.
A man’s voice interrupted.
Carlo.
“Bring me Josephine.”
Dante stood.
May you like
Carlo continued.
“Or I start with the boy.”
