Chapter 6 - The Mafia Boss's Only Rule
Alexander Moretti's house did not look like a fortress.
That surprised me.
I had imagined black gates, marble statues, armed men standing beside expensive cars.
Instead, it was an old brick estate near a quiet wooded road.
There were security cameras.
There were guards.
But there were also flower beds, a vegetable garden, and a white dog sleeping beneath a porch swing.
"That's Biscuit," Alexander told me.
I stared.
"You named your dog Biscuit?"
"My housekeeper did."
"What's his real name?"
"Don Vito."
I laughed for the first time that day.
Alexander looked pleased.
"He responds better to Biscuit."
I had come to the estate with Rebecca and Lily to review documents connected to his mother's case.
Alexander's legal adviser had arranged the meeting.
He showed us into a sunlit library.
There were books everywhere.
History.
Architecture.
Poetry.
Children's novels.
I ran my fingers along a shelf.
"You read all these?"
"Some."
"Which ones?"
He pointed to an old copy of Jane Eyre.
"My mother used to read that to me."
I looked at him.
"That doesn't seem like the usual childhood reading for a mafia boss."
His mouth curved slightly.
"I wasn't born a mafia boss."
Something in his answer stayed with me.
---
During the meeting, Sofia explained that Alexander had been trying to separate certain legitimate family businesses from criminal operations inherited from his father.
Progress had been slow.
Several associates resisted.
Some records had disappeared.
And Martin Vale's network appeared connected to people who once worked for the elder Moretti.
I listened carefully.
Then asked Alexander something I had been afraid to ask.
"Are you a good man?"
The room went silent.
Sofia looked up.
Lily froze.
Alexander studied me for several seconds.
"No," he said.
The answer startled me.
He continued.
"I've done things I regret. I've allowed people around me to commit crimes. And there are decisions I made when I was younger that I can't undo."
I swallowed.
"Then why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't trust me merely because I helped you."
He leaned forward.
"You should verify what I say. Keep your own lawyer. Have your own money. And walk away whenever you want."
I stared at him.
Derek had demanded trust.
Alexander was telling me to question him.
"Do you have rules?" I asked.
He smiled faintly.
"Many."
"What is the most important one?"
"Nobody under my roof gets to decide another adult person's freedom."
I looked toward the garden.
"Did your mother teach you that?"
His expression changed.
"She tried."
---
That afternoon, Alexander showed me a small room near the library.
It contained his mother's belongings.
A sewing basket.
Several notebooks.
An old radio.
A framed photograph of a boy standing beside a dark-haired woman.
Alexander touched the frame.
"I was fourteen here."
"You look happy."
"I was."
He stared at the photograph.
"My father told me my mother betrayed our family. Then he told me she'd been killed by enemies."
"Did you believe him?"
"At fourteen? Yes."
"And later?"
"I found documents that didn't match his story."
His voice roughened.
"I spent years wondering whether I'd failed her."
I looked at him.
"You were a child."
He smiled sadly.
"That's what my therapist says."
I blinked.
"You see a therapist?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
He laughed.
"Apparently terrifying people for a living doesn't make a person emotionally healthy."
I smiled.
Then grew serious.
"Do you think she's alive?"
He looked at the photograph.
"I don't know."
For the first time, I heard something fragile in his voice.
Hope.
---
While Lily met with Sofia, Alexander and I walked through the garden.
Biscuit followed us.
The afternoon sunlight made the trees glow.
For a few minutes, I forgot about Derek.
The court filings.
The stolen money.
The threats.
Then Alexander asked, "What did you want to be before you got married?"
I looked at him.
"What?"
"When you were younger. What did you imagine doing?"
I hesitated.
"I wanted to restore old books."
He smiled.
"That's very specific."
"My mother taught me. I loved repairing damaged pages."
"Why did you stop?"
"Derek said it wasn't practical."
Alexander glanced at me.
"What did you think?"
"I thought it mattered."
"Then perhaps it still does."
I looked away.
The simplicity of his response made something ache inside me.
For three years, Derek had treated every dream I expressed as a problem he needed to correct.
Alexander was asking what I wanted.
Not what I could provide.
Not how useful I might be.
Just what made me happy.
---
Later that evening, Derek appeared outside the estate.
He didn't get past the gate.
Security informed Alexander that my husband was demanding to speak with me.
My stomach tightened.
"I don't want to see him."
Alexander nodded.
"Then you won't."
But Derek refused to leave.
He called my phone repeatedly.
Then sent a photograph of our wedding.
Beneath it, he wrote:
You promised forever.
I stared at the message.
I remembered standing beneath white flowers while Derek held my hands.
He had seemed kind.
Protective.
Certain.
I had believed forever meant safety.
Now I understood that promises didn't give anyone ownership of another person.
I blocked the number after preserving the message.
Then asked Rebecca to handle further communication.
Alexander stood nearby.
"Are you all right?"
"No."
He nodded.
"Would you prefer to stay here until your ride arrives, or leave through another exit?"
I looked at him.
"You're not going to go outside and threaten him?"
"No."
"Even though he came here?"
"Your lawyer is handling it. If he's trespassing, security can contact the authorities."
I stared.
"You're surprisingly reasonable for a terrifying criminal."
Alexander laughed.
"Don't spread that around. It'll ruin my reputation."
---
As I prepared to leave, he handed me a small notebook.
Its cover was faded blue.
"My mother kept this," he said.
I opened it carefully.
Inside were sketches of old books and notes about repairing damaged bindings.
I looked up.
"She restored books?"
"Occasionally."
"Why give it to me?"
"Because I think she'd have liked you."
My chest tightened.
"Alexander..."
He held up a hand.
"It's only a loan."
I smiled.
"Good. Because I don't want to owe you."
"I remember."
Then his expression turned serious.
"Emily, there's something I need to tell you."
I waited.
"The investigator found an address associated with my mother's relocation record."
My heart accelerated.
"Where?"
"Michigan."
"Is she there?"
"We don't know."
He looked toward the library.
"But someone has been paying the property taxes for twenty-five years."
"Who?"
May you like
Alexander's eyes darkened.
"Derek Carter's father."
