Chapter 10 - THE ARMY WITHOUT ITS BOSS
When Dante went to prison, everybody expected the Morelli organization to explode.
Instead, Nico called a meeting.
I did not attend.
Obviously.
Then he showed up at my temporary clinic the next morning.
“What happened?”
“We voted.”
I stared.
“The mafia voted?”
“Organization.”
“You murder people.”
“Less than before.”
“That is not comforting.”
Nico put a folder on my desk.
Dante had transferred control of all legitimate businesses into independently managed companies.
Construction.
Freight.
Restaurants.
Security.
He ordered illegal operations dissolved.
Some men left.
Some were furious.
Most stayed.
“Why?”
I asked.
Nico shrugged.
“People have mortgages.”
That was unexpectedly ordinary.
“What happens to you?”
“I run security.”
“Legally?”
He looked offended.
“Yes, doctor.”
“I’ve met you.”
He smiled.
My new clinic occupied two rooms inside a church community center.
Temporary.
Legal.
Ugly.
Perfect.
I worked mornings at St. Catherine under supervision and evenings at the clinic.
The hospital felt different.
Some people avoided me.
Some apologized.
Some hugged me.
Ethan had resigned.
He lost his leadership role and faced disciplinary sanctions.
But he kept his medical license under strict monitoring.
I supported that.
People hated when I said so.
They wanted revenge cleaner.
I wanted fewer destroyed lives.
One night, Ethan came to the clinic.
“I’m moving.”
“Where?”
“Cleveland.”
“Why?”
“Fresh start.”
I nodded.
He handed me an envelope.
“What?”
“Settlement check.”
I frowned.
His personal contribution to the family of the boy who died.
“I can’t take this.”
“It isn’t for you.”
Inside was confirmation of payment into a victim compensation trust.
“I thought you should know.”
I looked at him.
“I hated you.”
“I know.”
“Some days I still do.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t want to.”
He cried.
That was the last time I saw him.
Three months later, another problem arrived.
A teenager named Luis stumbled into my clinic with a stab wound.
I treated him.
His mother could not pay.
I charged nothing.
Two days later, five young men stood outside.
My stomach dropped.
History.
One of them knocked.
I opened the door.
“What?”
“We heard you helped Luis.”
“Yes.”
They placed grocery bags on the steps.
Rice.
Beans.
Coffee.
Canned vegetables.
“What is this?”
“His mom said you don’t take money.”
I stared.
“So you brought groceries?”
The boy shrugged.
“You gotta eat.”
After they left, I laughed for ten minutes.
People always paid somehow.
Not debts.
Relationships.
Dante called every Sunday.
Exactly at seven.
Prison phones changed his voice.
Made him sound farther away.
“How’s the clinic?”
“Still standing.”
“How’s hospital?”
“I yelled at a resident.”
“Deserved?”
“Obviously.”
“How’s my watch?”
“Considering selling it.”
“You won’t.”
“Maybe.”
“It has a tracker.”
I froze.
Silence.
Then he laughed.
I nearly hung up.
“You are an ass.”
“There is no tracker.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Neither of us spoke.
“No,” I whispered.
“I don’t.”
That was the first time either of us admitted it.
Not love.
Not yet.
But not hate.
His release was nine months away when Nico came to my clinic looking worried.
“What?”
“Some of Gabriel’s old crews are reorganizing.”
“Why tell me?”
“They’ve been asking about you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Again?”
“They think Dante dismantled operations because of you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Criminal men are not famous for emotional maturity.”
“What do they want?”
“To convince him to reverse course when he gets out.”
“And I’m leverage.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Does Dante know?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because prison calls are monitored and because he’ll lose his mind.”
“Accurate.”
Nico hesitated.
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“They found Gabriel’s missing account.”
“Money?”
“Forty-two million.”
“Where?”
He looked at me.
“Set aside under your name.”
I stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s real.”
“Why would Gabriel put money in my name?”
Nico slid a document forward.
Beneficiary:
Dr. Mara Ellis
Contingency condition:
Upon death or permanent incarceration of Dante Morelli.
My blood went cold.
Gabriel had built an inheritance that made me look like I profited if Dante disappeared.
Someone wanted that document found.
Not by me.
By Dante.
“Who else has seen this?”
May you like
Nico’s expression told me everything.
“Dante.”
