Together, the three of us walk out of the ruined cathedral.
We step over bodies, around pools of blood, through ash and destruction. I keep Luca’s face pressed against my leg so he doesn’t see the worst of it. When we reach the broken doors, I don’t look back. There’s nothing behind us now except ghosts.
Outside, the cold dawn is waiting for us.
Snow is falling. Soft white flakes drifting down from a grey winter sky, covering the blood and death in a blanket of pure white. It’s peaceful out here. Almost beautiful.
Luca reaches up to catch a snowflake on his palm, awe and excitement momentarily replacing the fear in his tired eyes.
Children, how precious and pure their souls are.
“Look, Mama. Snow.”
“I see it, baby.” Scarlett manages a tired but genuine smile. “It’s beautiful.”
We walk into the falling snow together, a family leaving the ruins and the ghosts behind.
A family forged in fire and in blood, finally choosing light over darkness.
37
SCARLETT
“He’s going to be fine,” the psychologist says, giving Luca and I a reassuring smile.
We’re in his office for Lucas’s third appointment since the cathedral incident. The weeks following it has been filled with recovery. Luca has nightmares from his experience and we had to seek professional help.
The first few days had been worse. I barely remember them as I survived in a morose state.
There were Just flashes of police sirens and hospital visits and holding Luca while he slept, afraid to close my eyes in case I woke up back in that nightmare. Dante was on the phone constantly, meeting with people I didn’t recognize, and making plans I’m sure are connected to the ledger. I didn’t question him, I just trust his leadership and trust him to do the right thing.
Then he started releasing the ledger. Piece by piece at first, through journalists he trusted and law enforcement contacts he’d built over years, until it became a full blown pandemic.Every few days, another story would emerge. Another big name would appear in the headlines. Another corrupt official would be led away in handcuffs while cameras flashed.
The five families’ power structure crumbled slowly and spectacularly before the eyes of the public.
I watched it happen from the safety of our estate, holding my son and trying to process the fact that we’d survived. That Isabella was dead, and the nightmare I’d been running from for six years was finally and truly over.
Family heads turned on each other trying to save themselves. Alliances that had lasted for decades crumbled overnight as everyone scrambled to make deals, point fingers, throw each other under the bus. It was almost satisfying to watch, if I’m being honest. These men who had constantly terrorized people for generations, suddenly reduced to rats fleeing from a heavy rain.
But the one that shook the entirety of New York was Salvatore Moretti’s arrest. Dante’s father.
One of the biggest underground power and had the most influence in politics.
I watched the news coverage with Dante beside me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. His father was led out of his mansion in handcuffs, looking old and frail and nothing like the monster he really was. The charges were read out in a monotone voice by a reporter who seemed shaken reading out the atrocities.
Crimes against children. Trafficking. Conspiracy. Murder.
He would spend the rest of his life in prison. He would die there, alone, with the whole world knowing exactly what he was.
The Moretti name was destroyed forever.
I thought Dante would fall apart. Thought watching his father’s arrest, seeing his family’s legacy burn to the ground, would break something in him. But when I looked at his face, I didn’t see grief or regret. I saw relief. Like a weight he’d been carrying his whole life had finally lifted.
“It’s done,” he said quietly. “It’s finally done.”
But the cost of doing the right thing was enormous. Dante lost connections he’d spent years building, even if he wasn’t tied to his father’s businesses. Allies who had sworn loyalty turned their backs. Most of his criminal empire evaporated as people distanced themselves from the toxic Moretti name. The money, the power, the influence, all of it slipping away.
But according to him, he gained something more valuable. The ability to look Luca in the eye without shame. The ability to answer his son’s questions about right and wrong without being a hypocrite. The ability to build something new, clean, and worth passing down.
