Chapter 10 - The Resurrection of the Moretti Crest and the First Supper of the New Order
The dining room of the Moretti estate was a place of legend.
The table was a single slab of ancient oak,
capable of seating thirty people,
though tonight,
there were only six of us.
My five brothers sat in their respective places,
their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the candelabra.
I sat at the head of the table,
the place usually reserved for Dominic.
But tonight,
Dominic had insisted I take the seat of power.
"A toast,"
Matteo said,
raising a glass of deep red vintage.
"To the return of the Moretti Queen."
"To Elena,"
they all echoed,
their voices a low rumble of loyalty.
I raised my glass,
feeling the warmth of the wine as it touched my lips.
For the first time in eight months,
I didn't feel like a victim.
I didn't feel like the 'quiet Elena' the Coles had tried to create.
"The Cole construction assets have been fully absorbed into Moretti Logistics,"
Gabriel announced,
referring to his tablet one last time before setting it aside.
"The contracts for the city infrastructure have been renegotiated under our name."
"And the bridge victims?"
I asked.
"A trust fund has been established,"
Gabriel said.
"The first payments were sent out this afternoon.
They know the money came from you,
Elena."
I nodded,
feeling a sense of closure that the courtroom could never provide.
"What about the father?"
I asked,
looking at Nico.
"Richard Cole had a stroke this afternoon after his bail was denied,"
Nico reported.
"He's in the prison ward of the hospital.
He won't be coming back."
"And Margaret?"
"She's been seen at a local shelter,
trying to trade her remaining jewelry for a place to stay,"
Nico added with a shrug.
"The news hasn't been kind to her."
The conversation flowed easily,
moving from business to family memories,
the dark events of the previous night appearing like a distant storm on the horizon.
But as the main course was served,
the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room opened.
A guard entered,
looking pale.
"Sir,"
he said,
addressing Dominic.
"There’s a man at the gate.
He says he has information about the night of the party."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
"Who is he?"
"He says his name is Julian Thorne,"
the guard replied.
The room went silent.
Julian Thorne was the lead investigator for the city’s DA office—the man who had been trying to take down the Morettis for a decade.
"Let him in,"
I said,
before Dominic could speak.
My brothers all turned to look at me.
"Elena,"
Dominic warned.
"He's a cop."
"He's a man with a piece of the puzzle,"
I said,
standing up.
"And I want to see the whole picture."
Julian Thorne walked into the room,
his suit rumpled and his eyes tired.
He didn't look like a man on a mission of justice.
He looked like a man who had seen a ghost.
He walked to the table and laid a manila envelope in front of me.
"I think you should see this,
Mrs. Moretti,"
he said,
ignoring my married name.
"It’s about the night of your birthday."
I opened the envelope and pulled out a series of photographs.
My breath hitched in my throat.
They weren't photos of the whipping.
They were photos of the guests.
Specifically,
photos of three men sitting in the back of the room,
partially obscured by the shadows.
Men I didn't recognize.
Men who were wearing the same gold lion's head pin that I was wearing.
"Who are they?"
I asked,
my heart pounding against my ribs.
Julian Thorne looked at Dominic,
then back at me.
"They weren't there to watch the Coles,"
Thorne said.
"They were there to watch you."
I looked at my brothers,
realizing that the betrayal didn't just come from my husband.
The silence in the room became deafening.
"Dominic?"
May you like
I asked,
my voice a whisper.
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