Chapter 11 - The Trial That Put Chicago on Edge
Salvatore’s trial began eight months after the slap.
The courthouse was surrounded by reporters.
I was the prosecution’s central financial witness.
Salvatore’s defense tried to destroy my credibility.
They said I hated the Moretti family.
They said grief had biased me.
They said I manipulated financial evidence because I wanted revenge for my father.
I answered every question with documents.
On the third day, Salvatore’s attorney asked:
“Ms. Russo, isn’t it true that you are romantically involved with Adrian Moretti?”
The courtroom erupted.
The judge demanded silence.
I looked toward Adrian.
Then back at the attorney.
“Yes.”
“And you expect this jury to believe you’re objective?”
“I expect them to believe bank statements.”
A juror hid a smile.
The attorney tried again.
“You benefit if Adrian controls the company.”
“No.”
“You’re dating him.”
“Yes.”
“Then you benefit.”
“I have my own career, my own apartment, my own money, and apparently my own newspaper photographers. I’m doing fine.”
Even the judge almost smiled.
Then I returned to the evidence.
Transaction by transaction.
Company by company.
Dollar by dollar.
The defense couldn’t argue with arithmetic.
But the biggest moment came when Marco entered the courtroom wearing prison clothing.
Adrian’s face tightened.
Marco testified against Salvatore.
He admitted everything he had done.
No excuses.
Then Salvatore’s attorney asked:
“Mr. Moretti, aren’t you blaming your uncle to reduce your own sentence?”
Marco looked toward me.
Then Adrian.
“Yes,” he said.
Everyone reacted.
Marco continued.
“I cooperated partly because I hoped it would reduce my sentence. That’s true.”
The attorney smiled.
Marco wasn’t finished.
“But I also cooperated because I spent my whole life thinking being a Moretti meant nobody could tell me no.”
His voice cracked.
“I grabbed a woman because I thought she was beneath me.”
Silence.
“She slapped me.”
A few people smiled.
“I hated her for about ten minutes.”
Even I smiled.
“Then she showed me eighteen million reasons why my real problem wasn’t her.”
He turned toward Salvatore.
“My uncle taught me that family means protecting each other from consequences. Elena taught me the opposite.”
Salvatore stared at him.
Marco finished:
“If you love someone, sometimes you make them face what they did.”
Adrian lowered his head.
I saw tears in his eyes.
The jury convicted Salvatore on nearly every major count.
My father finally had justice.
But when reporters asked how I felt, I couldn’t say happy.
Justice didn’t resurrect people.
It simply told the truth about why they were gone.
That night, Adrian took me to my father’s grave.
We stood quietly.
Then Adrian placed something beside the headstone.
A photograph.
Vittorio and Lorenzo.
On the back, Lorenzo had written:
The best man in this company is the only one brave enough to tell me when I’m wrong.
I cried.
Adrian held me.
And somewhere between grief and relief, I realized I loved him.
I didn’t tell him.
Not yet.
Because life had one more surprise waiting.
The following morning, my mother called screaming.
Not frightened.
Excited.
“Elena! Turn on the news!”
I did.
A reporter stood outside Moretti headquarters.
Behind her was a massive sign.
MORETTI URBAN DEVELOPMENT HAS A NEW CEO.
The name underneath wasn’t Adrian.
May you like
It was mine.
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