Chapter 7 - THE GHOSTS OF HARBOR NINE
The grandfather clock in the study chimed two in the morning.
The fire had died to a bed of glowing orange embers.
Dante sat behind his massive oak desk, a crystal glass of amber scotch untouched before him.
Clara stood by the high French doors, looking out into the mist.
Leo was finally asleep.
Clara had sat by his bed until his breathing turned deep and rhythmic, the blue stone clutched tight in his hand.
She turned to face the man across the room.
“Elena didn't die in the mountains, did she?” Clara asked.
Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of an accusation.
Dante picked up the crystal glass.
He swirled the amber liquid, watching the light refract through the heavy base.
“My wife died on the Santa Maria,” Dante said.
His voice was so flat it sounded dead.
“A container ship berthed at Harbor Nine.”
“Three years ago.”
“Why lie to the police?”
Dante raised his eyes, dark and hollow.
“Because in our world, Clara, showing weakness invites the hyenas.”
“If the Commission knew Elena had been executed inside our own perimeter, the war would have started that night.”
“Leo was only five.”
“He was hidden in the forward locker.”
“He watched the entire thing through an iron grate.”
Clara pressed a hand to her mouth.
The horror of it washed over her like an icy wave.
A five-year-old boy.
Trapped in the dark, watching his mother die while smoke filled the hold.
“He stopped speaking that night,” Dante said.
“The doctors called it selective mutism.”
“They called it trauma-induced sensory processing dysfunction.”
“They gave me twenty Latin names for a child whose heart had been torn out.”
Dante set the glass down with a sharp clink.
“For three years, I believed it was Don Cavallo’s hit squad.”
“I hunted his capos across three states.”
“I seized his distribution warehouses in Providence.”
He looked down at his own clenched fists.
“And all this time, it was Luca.”
“Leo said Luca locked the hatch,” Clara repeated.
“Why would your own cousin murder Elena?”
“Because Elena was the daughter of the Port Commissioner,” Dante said.
His eyes burned with lethal realization.
“Her marriage to me gave the Moretti family exclusive access to the deep-water berths.”
“As long as Elena lived, the harbor belonged to my line.”
“With Elena dead, the commissioner had no reason to protect me.”
“And if Leo is removed... Luca inherits the entire coastal corridor.”
Clara walked across the Persian rug until she stood on the other side of the desk.
“Then tomorrow’s meeting is not an arbitration, Dante.”
She used his first name without realizing it.
He noticed.
His eyes flickered.
“It’s an execution,” she said.
“Luca invited the Commission here because he knows Leo won't speak.”
“He knows Don Bernardo will vote to strip your title.”
“And once your title is gone, they will kill you in your own courtyard.”
Dante stood up slowly.
He was tall, broad, and imposing, but for the first time, Clara did not feel intimidated.
She saw the father behind the Don.
A man who had spent three years fighting shadows while the real viper sat at his Sunday dinner table.
“Luca will not leave this house alive,” Dante said.
“No,” Clara said firmly.
“If you murder Luca in front of the Commission, you prove them right.”
“They will declare you a mad dog and hunt you down together.”
“What choice do I have?” Dante demanded, his voice rising for the first time.
“They are coming for my son, Clara!”
“They want to lock him in a cage in Zurich until he rots!”
“I will burn this entire city to ash before I let them touch him!”
“Then let him speak,” Clara said.
Dante froze.
“He will not speak to the Commission. The noise, the voices—it will crush him.”
“He doesn't have to speak to them,” Clara said.
Her heart began to race with a daring, terrifying plan.
“He can speak through the piano.”
Dante looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
“A song will not convince five ruthless old men, Clara.”
“It’s not just a song,” Clara whispered, leaning over the desk.
“Did Elena play?”
Dante’s breath caught in his throat.
His pupils dilated.
“Every evening,” he breathed.
“She played an Italian lullaby on the grand piano in the salon.”
“*Dormi, O Bambino*.”
“Did Luca know the song?”
“Everyone in the family knew it,” Dante said, his voice trembling slightly.
“Elena played it while Luca drank his coffee in the drawing room.”
Clara smiled.
May you like
It was a fierce, sharp smile born of survival.
“Then tomorrow morning, we teach Leo how to pull the trigger with eighty-eight keys.”
