Chapter 10 - Eighteen MonthsVincent Moretti entered federal prison on a cold January morning.
Not because Daniel was famous.
Because half the city’s powerful people seemed connected to him.
Judges resigned.
Two police commanders were indicted.
A former deputy mayor admitted accepting bribes.
Charities returned donations.
Companies collapsed.
Every week brought another revelation.
Charles Whitmore took a plea agreement and agreed to testify.
The public hated him.
Daniel hated him more.
Vincent was the prosecution’s most dangerous witness.
When he entered federal court, reporters shouted from behind barricades.
“Mr. Moretti, are you a government informant?”
“Did you order murders?”
“Do you regret running the Moretti organization?”
“Is your son safe?”
That last question was the only one that made him turn.
“Yes,” Vincent said.
Then he walked inside.
Daniel sat at the defense table.
His shoulder had healed.
His expression had not.
When Vincent took the witness stand, the brothers looked at each other.
Daniel smiled.
The prosecutor began.
“Mr. Moretti, what is your relationship to the defendant?”
“He’s my younger brother.”
“Do you love him?”
Defense counsel objected.
The judge allowed it.
Vincent answered.
“Yes.”
Daniel’s smile disappeared.
The prosecutor continued.
“Did knowing that prevent you from cooperating against him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because loving someone does not make their crimes disappear.”
For four days, Vincent testified.
He admitted his own wrongdoing.
He described Daniel’s role.
He described Luca’s kidnapping.
He described Elena’s disappearance.
Then prosecutors played the recording.
The foster kid goes in the car.
Daniel looked down.
Vincent could not.
In the gallery sat Caroline Carter.
Eli’s mother.
Beside her sat Luca.
Federal prosecutors had advised against Luca attending.
He insisted.
Vincent had initially said no.
Then Luca asked, “If I stay home because I’m scared, doesn’t Uncle Daniel still control me?”
Vincent had no answer.
So Luca came.
When defense attorneys cross-examined Vincent, they attacked everything.
His crimes.
His reputation.
His motives.
“You expect this jury to believe you suddenly became an honest man because a boy appeared at a cemetery?”
Vincent looked toward Luca.
“No.”
“You’re asking them to believe you changed.”
“No.”
The attorney frowned.
“What are you asking them to believe?”
“The evidence.”
That answer ended up on every news broadcast.
Then came Luca’s testimony.
The courtroom was cleared of unnecessary spectators.
Cameras were prohibited.
Luca sat behind a privacy screen.
Vincent waited in another room because witnesses could not watch each other.
It was the longest two hours of his life.
When Luca emerged, he looked exhausted.
Vincent stood.
“How was it?”
“Terrible.”
Vincent hugged him.
“You never have to do that again.”
Luca looked at him.
“I told them about Eli.”
“Good.”
“And Mom.”
“Good.”
“And you.”
Vincent hesitated.
“What about me?”
Luca shrugged.
“They asked why I trusted you.”
His father swallowed.
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t at first.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“Fair.”
“I said trust isn’t something you get because you’re my dad.”
His smile faded.
“That’s true.”
“I said you’re earning it.”
Vincent had received awards.
Money.
Respect.
Fear.
Nothing had ever meant more than that sentence.
The trial lasted eleven weeks.
During that time, Elena’s memory continued improving.
She remembered her marriage.
Not all at once.
Pieces.
Vincent cooking pasta terribly.
Their first apartment.
Luca’s birth.
A fight they had in Paris.
The time Vincent bought a boat despite Elena explicitly saying she hated boats.
One afternoon, she looked at him and said, “You sold it two weeks later.”
Vincent laughed.
“You remember?”
“You claimed the engine was unreliable.”
“It was.”
“You were scared of me.”
“I was.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
There was tenderness between them.
But also distance.
Seven years could not be erased by memory.
Neither tried.
One evening, Elena asked, “Do you want us to be married again?”
Vincent looked at his wedding ring.
He still wore it.
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s not very romantic.”
“We were never good at easy romance.”
He laughed.
She took his hand.
“Maybe we don’t start with marriage.”
“What do we start with?”
“Coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Two people. One table. No bodyguards.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
She smiled.
“Terrifying.”
So they started with coffee.
Luca pretended not to care.
He cared enormously.
Meanwhile, Daniel’s defense collapsed.
Whitmore testified.
Keene testified.
Sofia testified.
Digital experts authenticated Elena’s archive.
Then Daniel did something nobody expected.
He took the stand.
His attorney begged him not to.
Daniel insisted.
For two hours, he portrayed himself as a loyal brother who had made impossible decisions to save the family.
Then the prosecutor asked one question.
“Was Luca Moretti six years old when you ordered his kidnapping?”
Daniel paused.
“Yes.”
“And Eli Carter?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“How old?”
Daniel looked toward the jury.
“Six.”
No argument could survive those two numbers.
Six.
And six.
The jury deliberated for five hours.
Guilty.
Kidnapping.
Conspiracy.
Murder of Eli Carter.
Attempted murder of Elena Moretti.
Racketeering.
Obstruction.
Daniel showed no emotion as the verdicts were read.
Then his eyes found Vincent.
For one second, he looked like the little brother Vincent remembered.
The boy who hid behind him when their father shouted.
The teenager who once called Vincent from a police station after crashing their father’s car.
Vincent felt grief.
Not regret.
Grief.
Daniel mouthed:
You chose them.
Vincent understood.
Elena and Luca.
He mouthed back:
Yes.
Daniel looked away.
Outside the courthouse, reporters waited.
Vincent did not speak.
Caroline Carter did.
“My son was treated as if his life could be exchanged for someone else’s secrets,” she said. “Today a jury said what should always have been obvious. Eli mattered.”
Luca watched beside Vincent.
Then asked softly, “Can we go home?”
Vincent looked down.
“Which one?”
Luca considered.
“The cabin.”
It surprised him.
The cabin had become safe in Luca’s mind.
Not the mansion.
Not the penthouse.
A little house with old baseball gloves and pancakes.
So they went there.
That night, Vincent cooked spaghetti.
Badly.
Elena complained.
Luca laughed.
For two hours, they almost felt normal.
Then someone knocked.
Agent Torres stood outside.
Vincent knew immediately.
His own case.
“The U.S. Attorney made a decision.”
Luca went quiet.
Torres looked at Vincent.
“They’re filing charges tomorrow.”
Luca’s fork dropped.
Vincent closed his eyes.
He had known this was coming.
Still, knowing did not make the moment easier.
“How long?” Elena asked.
Torres hesitated.
“Under the cooperation agreement, prosecutors are recommending eighteen months.”
Luca stood abruptly.
“No.”
“Luca—”
“No!”
He ran upstairs.
Vincent started after him.
Then stopped.
Elena touched his arm.
“Go.”
Vincent found Luca packing a backpack.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you’re not leaving.”
“You are!”
Vincent absorbed the words.
Luca’s eyes filled.
“Everybody leaves.”
“Luca.”
“Mom disappeared. You thought I was dead. Mrs. Bell moved me. Uncle Daniel locked me up. Now you’re going away too.”
Vincent sat on the floor.
He did not tell his son to calm down.
He did not explain why prison was necessary.
He simply said, “You have every right to be angry.”
“I hate this.”
“So do I.”
“I hate you for doing bad things.”
Vincent swallowed.
“You’re allowed.”
Luca stared.
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your father, not your boss.”
The boy began crying.
Vincent opened his arms.
Luca hesitated.
Then collapsed against him.
“I just got you back.”
Vincent held him.
“I know.”
“Eighteen months is forever.”
“It’ll feel long.”
“Promise you’ll come back.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
May you like
This was one promise he could make.
“I’ll come back.”
