Chapter 7 - DANTE VALENTI
Dante Valenti was forty-six.
He had spent half his life outside the city.
Not hiding.
Refusing.
Raffaele had allowed him to live eighteen years ago because Dante was young, uninvolved, and his mother had begged.
Raffaele used to consider that mercy.
Now he wondered if Dante considered survival another punishment.
The restaurant had been closed for years.
Vincent sat at a corner table.
Dante opposite him.
When Raffaele entered, neither reached for a weapon.
Dante smiled.
“Finally.”
Raffaele looked at Vincent.
His oldest friend looked exhausted.
“You ran.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To reach him before you did.”
Dante laughed.
“Your loyalty is touching.”
Raffaele sat.
Sofia had stayed in the car with Anthony despite hating the decision.
This meeting belonged first to the men who created the war.
“What do you know?” Raffaele asked Dante.
Dante poured wine.
“About Beatrice?”
“Yes.”
“My father didn’t kill her.”
“I know.”
Dante’s hand stopped.
That answer mattered.
“How?”
“Emilio.”
Dante laughed.
“At last.”
Raffaele looked at him.
“You knew?”
“My father knew.”
“Why did he never tell me?”
“He tried.”
Raffaele stared.
Dante continued.
“Three days after the war started, he sent a man to meet Vincent.”
Raffaele turned.
Vincent looked down.
“You got the message.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I buried it.”
Raffaele’s voice became quiet.
“Why?”
Vincent looked at him.
“Because Emilio told me if you learned the truth then, Luca would die.”
Raffaele stood.
“Luca died anyway.”
Vincent stood too.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You knew my daughter was alive.”
“Yes.”
“You helped move her.”
“Yes.”
Raffaele hit him.
Once.
Vincent staggered into the table.
Dante did not move.
Raffaele grabbed Vincent by the collar.
“You stood beside me at her funeral.”
“I know.”
“You helped me kill Valenti men.”
“I know.”
“You watched me.”
“I know.”
Raffaele raised his fist again.
Then stopped.
Sofia’s voice lived inside him.
Don’t become Grandfather.
He released Vincent.
Dante looked almost disappointed.
“Age softened you.”
Raffaele turned.
“No.”
He sat again.
“It made me tired of being predictable.”
Dante studied him.
Then nodded slightly.
Vincent wiped blood from his lip.
“Emilio had Beatrice taken because she was going to expose him.”
“Why not kill her immediately?”
“He wanted Luca.”
Raffaele looked at him.
“Bait.”
“Yes.”
“Did Luca come?”
“Yes.”
Raffaele’s breathing changed.
“What happened?”
Vincent sat.
“Luca reached the river house on the second night.”
“Thomas Mercer saw Beatrice.”
“Yes.”
“Did he see Luca?”
“No. Thomas left before.”
“Then?”
“Luca got inside.”
Vincent looked toward Dante.
“Your father helped.”
Raffaele turned.
Dante nodded.
“Luca came to us.”
Raffaele stared.
“My brother went to Valenti.”
“Because he knew my father was being framed.”
“Then your father helped him reach Beatrice.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Emilio was waiting.”
Raffaele knew.
Of course.
“He wanted Luca to take her.”
“No.”
Vincent looked at him.
“He wanted you to see Luca trying.”
Raffaele frowned.
Vincent continued.
“Emilio planned to bring you there.”
“Why?”
“To force a choice.”
“Between?”
“Your brother and your father.”
Raffaele felt cold.
“What went wrong?”
“Beatrice.”
Dante whispered, “She refused.”
Raffaele looked at him.
Dante continued.
“My father told me the story years later. Beatrice realized Emilio intended to make Luca look like her kidnapper.”
“So?”
“She escaped the room.”
Vincent nodded.
“She ran downstairs.”
Raffaele could see it.
Beatrice.
Barefoot perhaps.
Fighting.
Angry.
Alive.
“What then?”
Vincent’s voice cracked.
“She found Sofia.”
Raffaele stopped.
“What?”
“Sofia was in the house.”
“Who brought her?”
“Emilio.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
Raffaele almost stood again.
Vincent continued quickly.
“He knew Beatrice would do anything to protect her sister.”
Raffaele felt sick.
Emilio used a seven-year-old child to control Beatrice.
His own granddaughter.
Dante looked at him.
“Your father was worse than mine.”
Raffaele did not argue.
“What happened?”
Vincent’s eyes lowered.
“Beatrice got Sofia into a car.”
“Which car?”
“Mine.”
Raffaele stared.
“You drove Sofia.”
“Yes.”
“The memory.”
“Yes.”
Sofia remembered the Santoro ring.
Vincent’s honorary ring.
“What did you tell her?”
“Keep Sofia in the car.”
Raffaele closed his eyes.
The voice Sofia remembered was Vincent.
“What happened to Beatrice?”
Vincent whispered:
“She went back for Luca.”
Raffaele stared.
“She could have left?”
“Yes.”
“And went back.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
Dante answered.
“Gunfire.”
“Who fired?”
Vincent shook his head.
“Three men were inside.”
“Names.”
“Emilio. Luca. Another man.”
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
Raffaele’s expression hardened.
“Convenient.”
“It’s true.”
Dante leaned forward.
“My father knew the third man.”
Raffaele looked at him.
“Who?”
Dante took a breath.
“Elias Rourke.”
The man with the burned hand.
The man who had been pressuring Caleb.
Still alive.
Eighteen years later.
Raffaele stared.
“Who was he?”
May you like
Dante smiled without humor.
“The man who taught Emilio how to make families kill each other.”
