Chapter 17 - DANTE’S OLD WORLD
My father’s Mafia reputation complicated everything.
Reporters called him “veteran mob patriarch” despite the fact his only convictions involved tax reporting from thirty years earlier and the family’s current holdings were legitimate. Every article about Grant’s assault mentioned Moretti history.
Dad hated it until Thomas reminded him history does not disappear because you incorporated.
Fair.
Then one tabloid claimed Grant punched me because Moretti and Hale families were fighting over succession rights.
False.
No gang war.
No succession trigger.
No male-child corporate transfer.
Dad issued one statement through counsel:
This is a domestic violence and financial-governance matter. It is not a conflict between families.
Good.
Then he did something harder.
He stopped attending Hale board conversations even when people invited him informally.
“I have opinions.”
“So?”
“I am learning that opinions are not invitations.”
Growth at sixty-three.
Then his bodyguards.
After the assault, I wanted two with me everywhere.
Months later I realized safety had become another form of confinement.
We reduced.
Risk assessment.
Not emotion.
Dad struggled more than I did.
“Two is minimal.”
“For what threat?”
“Life.”
“Life is not a threat category.”
Thomas nearly smiled.
Dad glared at both of us.
Eventually one driver-protection officer during public events.
None at preschool.
May you like
My daughter would know family history.
She would not grow up believing men in dark suits were furniture required for love.
