Chapter 17 - No More Secrets Between Us
Marco Caruso was alive.
Dante refused to believe it.
For approximately thirty seconds.
Then he remembered the rule Clare had taught him.
Discomfort was not evidence.
Facts mattered.
Anthony Russo provided facts.
Photographs.
Financial transfers.
A recent passport issued under another identity.
Marco had spent years in South America.
Returned quietly six months earlier.
Moretti's collapse created an opportunity.
Caruso businesses vulnerable.
Federal scrutiny.
Dante distracted.
Exactly what Marco wanted.
“Why kill Dante?” Clare asked after Anthony was brought into federal custody.
Ruiz answered.
“Control.”
Dante remained silent.
Clare knew there was more.
They returned to the townhouse near dawn.
Dante walked straight into the study.
Clare followed.
“No secrets.”
He stopped.
She closed the door.
“Tell me.”
Dante faced the window.
“When my father died, Marco wanted control.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“And Marco?”
“Forty-one.”
“Why didn't he take over?”
“My father left voting authority to me.”
Clare understood.
“Marco hated you.”
“He considered me a child.”
“You were.”
“Yes.”
Dante's voice held no defensiveness.
“I probably should have been allowed to remain one.”
Clare approached.
“What happened?”
“Marco challenged the will. Lost. Then tried to convince senior partners I was incapable.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Clare blinked.
Dante smiled sadly.
“I knew nothing.”
“Then how did you survive?”
“I learned faster than everyone expected.”
Of course.
“What happened to Marco?”
“A yacht accident.”
“No body?”
“Pieces of the boat.”
Clare sighed.
“Has nobody in your world heard of confirming death?”
“Apparently not.”
That made him laugh despite himself.
Clare stepped closer.
“Why didn't you tell me about him earlier?”
“I believed he was dead.”
“Anything else?”
Dante understood.
She wasn't asking about Marco.
She was asking whether there were more buried histories.
More secrets likely to knock on their door.
He opened a safe.
Removed three folders.
Placed them on the desk.
“What are those?”
“Everything.”
She looked at him.
“Everything?”
“Everything I know about my family's illegal history. My own involvement. Business disputes. Enemies.”
Clare did not touch them.
“You don't have to give me corporate secrets.”
“You asked for no secrets.”
“I asked for honesty, not access to classified mob spreadsheets.”
Dante almost smiled.
“You should know who you are choosing.”
Clare's heart tightened.
“Choosing?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“I love you. That does not mean you owe me a future.”
Clare remained still.
“I want you to know exactly what my life has been before you decide whether you want any part of it.”
This was the opposite of control.
He was handing her the exit.
Freely.
Clare opened the first folder.
They spent the morning talking.
Dante had committed crimes.
Mostly financial.
Bribery through intermediaries.
Illegal gambling operations inherited and later closed.
Threats.
Deals with men Clare disliked hearing about.
He did not minimize anything.
Had he personally killed anyone?
“No.”
Ordered anyone killed?
A long pause.
“Once, I gave an order that I knew could lead to violence.”
Clare's stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“The man survived.”
“Would you do it now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was twenty-three and believed fear was leadership.”
He looked at her.
“I was wrong.”
Clare believed him.
Not because she wanted to.
Because his actions over recent weeks supported it.
“What are you doing about the businesses?”
“Ruiz's auditors are reviewing everything.”
“You're allowing that?”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Mostly.”
Clare smiled.
“Progress.”
Dante touched her hand.
“What about you?”
“What?”
“No secrets.”
Clare laughed.
“My life is significantly less interesting.”
“That is irrelevant.”
So she told him.
Her fear of becoming financially trapped like her mother.
Her secret resentment toward Michael.
The fact she sometimes wondered whether she loved Dante partly because danger made every emotion feel larger.
He did not become angry.
They discussed it.
Like adults.
Messy adults.
By noon, both felt emotionally exhausted.
Clare leaned back.
“No more secrets.”
“No more.”
“If Marco contacts you—”
“I tell you.”
“If Ruiz finds something terrible—”
“I tell you.”
“If you hate my coffee—”
“I have always told you.”
“True.”
Dante stood.
“Sleep.”
Clare narrowed her eyes.
“Suggestion?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They slept for four hours.
At six, Marco contacted Dante.
A video call.
Marco looked older than Dante remembered.
Gray hair.
Elegant suit.
Same Caruso eyes.
“Dante.”
“Uncle.”
Marco smiled.
“You grew into your father's face.”
“So people say.”
“I watched what you've done.”
“From a distance.”
“You gave our history to federal agents.”
“I gave evidence of crimes.”
“You surrendered power.”
“No.”
Dante glanced toward Clare.
She sat nearby.
Visible.
Deliberately.
“I chose what kind of power I wanted.”
Marco noticed her.
“Clare Murphy.”
“Yes,” Clare said.
“The waitress.”
“The one and only.”
Marco chuckled.
“You changed him.”
Clare shook her head.
“No.”
Marco seemed surprised.
“He changed himself.”
Dante looked at her.
Marco's smile faded.
“Very touching.”
“What do you want?” Dante asked.
“What belongs to me.”
“Nothing belongs to you.”
“Your father stole my future.”
“You tried to take his company from his twenty-year-old son.”
“Because you were weak.”
Dante smiled faintly.
“Then why did you need to fake your death?”
Marco's face hardened.
There.
A crack.
Dante continued.
“If you want ownership, file a claim in court.”
Clare almost laughed.
Marco did not.
“You think legitimacy makes you safe?”
“No.”
“What makes you safe?”
Dante looked at Clare.
“Nothing.”
Marco frowned.
Dante continued.
“That is the difference between us. I stopped building my life around fear.”
The call disconnected.
Clare exhaled.
“That was either extremely healthy or incredibly stupid.”
“Possibly both.”
Nico entered.
“We traced it.”
Ruiz had coordinated in real time.
Marco was not overseas.
He was in New York.
A warehouse on the Hudson.
Federal agents were already moving.
For once, Dante did not go.
Neither did Clare.
They stayed home.
They trusted the people responsible.
Two hours later Ruiz called.
Marco was in custody.
No shootout.
No dramatic escape.
Just an aging man arrested while trying to leave through a loading entrance.
Dante ended the call.
Stood silently.
Clare approached.
“How do you feel?”
“I don't know.”
“Fair.”
“It is strange.”
“What?”
“To let someone else solve the problem.”
Clare smiled.
“You could get used to it.”
“Unlikely.”
She kissed him.
The wars that had shaped Dante's family for decades were finally ending.
Moretti charged.
Marco arrested.
Old operations dismantled.
Federal scrutiny continued.
But survival no longer required another secret.
For the first time, Dante and Clare had a future not dictated entirely by other people's mistakes.
There was only one problem.
Clare still had not forgiven Michael.
May you like
And before she could begin that future, she needed to decide what kind of daughter she wanted to be.
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