Chapter 8 - The Price of Telling the TruthThe truth did not fix everything overnight.
Movies lie about that.
Expose the villain, roll the credits.
Real life gives you paperwork.
Interviews.
Lawyers.
News vans.
And strangers arguing about you online.
For twelve days, my face appeared across Chicago television.
FIRED NURSE BECOMES KEY WITNESS.
ST. ALDEN SCANDAL EXPANDS.
MORETTI FOUNDATION UNDER FEDERAL REVIEW.
The last headline made Dante throw a newspaper into the fireplace.
“That one is technically accurate,” I said.
He stared.
“They make it sound like I’m being investigated.”
“You are being investigated.”
“Helpful.”
“You’re welcome.”
Federal agents audited every Moretti business.
Dante allowed it.
That surprised everyone.
Including the agents.
“If something is dirty,” he told Ross, “find it.”
Victor had spent years mixing criminal money into legitimate companies without Dante’s knowledge.
Some Moretti executives resigned.
Two were arrested.
Three disappeared before warrants were issued.
Julian remained missing.
Victor remained missing.
And me?
I was suspended by the state nursing board pending review.
Not fired.
Not reinstated.
Suspended.
Technically, St. Alden’s termination might eventually be reversed.
I did not care anymore.
One afternoon, I sat in Dante’s kitchen filling out legal forms when he walked in wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I had crackers.”
“That is not food.”
“Nurses disagree.”
“Nurses are wrong.”
“That sentence could get you hurt.”
He placed a plate beside me.
Pasta.
Salad.
Actual food.
I looked at him.
“Did you make this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He frowned.
“I can cook.”
“Your chef is standing ten feet away.”
The chef suddenly became fascinated by a saucepan.
Dante sat across from me.
For a while, we ate quietly.
I had been living at the estate for almost two weeks.
For security.
That was what we told everyone.
The problem was, the danger outside had begun to feel less confusing than what was happening inside.
Dante brought me coffee exactly how I liked it.
He knew I hated mushrooms.
He knew I called my mother’s old voicemail when I was scared.
He had heard me do it once.
He never mentioned it.
I knew he slept badly.
That he checked Luca’s medical room every night at 2 a.m.
That he kept his mother’s old rosary in the drawer beside his bed.
That when he became truly angry, he got quieter.
People feared loud men.
They should fear quiet ones.
The kitchen phone rang.
Dante answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then stood.
“Lock the house.”
I stopped eating.
“What happened?”
He disconnected.
“Julian.”
“Found?”
“He contacted Luca.”
“Why?”
Dante looked toward the door.
“To surrender.”
An hour later, Julian arrived alone.
No supercar.
No weapon.
No expensive coat.
He looked exhausted.
Dante met him in the library.
I should not have been there.
Nobody could convince me to leave.
Julian looked at me.
“You’re difficult to kill.”
“People keep giving me opportunities to practice.”
He almost smiled.
Dante did not.
“Talk.”
Julian lowered his head.
“Victor killed Carver.”
“We know.”
“He made me plant Laurel’s badge.”
“We know.”
“He ordered Luca’s shooting.”
Silence.
Luca sat nearby, still recovering.
His face changed.
Julian looked at him.
“I didn’t know.”
“You expect us to believe that?”
“I thought Victor wanted the ledger.”
Luca’s voice sharpened.
“You helped him find me.”
“I thought he was going to scare you.”
Dante laughed once.
Cold.
“Victor Salerno does not scare people.”
“I know that now.”
Julian swallowed.
“He’s leaving Chicago.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“Private airfield near Aurora.”
Dante immediately looked at Marco.
Marco began typing.
Julian continued.
“He has the flash drive.”
“Why tell us?”
“Because he’s taking my mother.”
Dante froze.
Their aunt Rosa.
Victor’s sister.
“He said she goes willingly or dies here.”
Julian’s eyes filled.
“I did terrible things.”
For the first time, his voice broke.
“But she didn’t.”
Dante stared at his cousin.
“What do you want?”
“Help me get her back.”
The air changed.
This was a trap.
Everyone knew it.
But family has a dangerous way of making traps look like obligations.
We contacted federal authorities.
Ross organized the operation.
Nobody was going alone this time.
No hidden heroics.
No nurses in burning basements.
I stayed at the estate with Dr. Bell and Luca.
Dante left at 10:40 p.m.
At 11:16, Marco texted.
TARGET CONFIRMED.
11:32.
Aunt Rosa recovered.
11:38.
Shots fired.
Then nothing.
At 11:42, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Laurel.”
Victor.
My entire body went cold.
“Where is Dante?”
He laughed.
“Busy.”
“What do you want?”
“To tell you something before this ends.”
I put the call on speaker.
Luca sat up.
Victor continued.
“Dante thinks the private airfield is my escape.”
I looked at Luca.
“What is it?”
“A distraction.”
My stomach dropped.
“For what?”
“You.”
The estate lights went out.
Luca whispered, “No.”
Security alarms died.
Somewhere downstairs, glass shattered.
Victor said quietly, “You should have stayed fired.”
The line disconnected.
Dr. Bell locked the medical room.
I helped Luca out of bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Moving.”
“You’re injured.”
“So are my feelings.”
“This is not funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
We entered the service corridor.
Emergency lights flickered.
Then footsteps.
Not security.
Too slow.
We hid inside a linen room.
Someone passed.
A man I recognized from St. Alden.
The transport worker from the surveillance footage.
The one Carver had given the blood cooler.
Victor’s man.
He opened doors.
Searching.
I looked at Luca.
He pointed toward an oxygen cylinder.
I shook my head.
He pointed again.
I understood.
When the man entered, I rolled the heavy cylinder across the floor.
He stumbled.
Luca shoved a cart into him.
Dr. Bell slammed the door.
We locked him inside.
It was the least glamorous takedown in Moretti history.
It worked.
Then more footsteps.
Three men.
We ran.
The estate suddenly filled with engines outside.
Security lights returned.
The front doors opened.
Dante came in.
He saw me.
Every ounce of control vanished.
He crossed the room and grabbed my shoulders.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
“Luca?”
“Alive.”
“Bell?”
“Alive.”
His forehead touched mine for one second.
Then two.
Then he pulled back as though remembering people could see us.
I did not care.
“Victor?”
Dante’s face changed.
“Gone.”
Again.
“But Rosa?”
“Safe.”
Julian?”
Dante looked away.
My stomach sank.
“What happened?”
“He took a bullet getting Rosa out.”
“Is he—”
“Alive.”
I exhaled.
“Good.”
Dante looked at me.
“He gave us Victor’s final account numbers before surgery.”
“Can you track them?”
“Ross can.”
For the first time, we were not chasing Victor.
May you like
We were following his money.
And money, Dante had once told me, was usually more honest than people.
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