Chapter 2 - His Bride Vanished With the Ledger—Then the Mafia Boss Learned His Mistress Had Been Lying to Him TooCordelia was already in New York.
Patricia Reyes met her inside a private conference room at 9:12 that morning.
Patricia was forty-three, elegant, severe, and one of the best forensic accountants in Manhattan.
She looked at Cordelia's wedding clothes folded inside a hotel shopping bag.
Then at Cordelia.
“How bad?”
“My husband spent our wedding night with another woman.”
Patricia blinked.
“That's bad.”
“He also appears to be laundering money through shell corporations tied to politicians and federal officials.”
Patricia leaned back.
“That is considerably worse.”
Cordelia slid her handwritten notes across the table.
“I didn't download anything.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“If Moretti has monitoring software, downloads could alert him.”
“I opened files.”
“That probably alerted someone.”
Cordelia went still.
Patricia noticed.
“What?”
“My father isn't answering.”
They called.
Nothing.
Marisol called Senator Ashford's chief of staff.
Five minutes later, she returned pale.
“Cordelia.”
“What?”
“Your father is missing.”
Cordelia stood.
The room tilted.
“What do you mean missing?”
“His security detail lost contact before five.”
Patricia closed the laptop.
“We leave.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere Dante Moretti doesn't know.”
Cordelia laughed bitterly.
“My husband knows everything about me.”
“Then we go somewhere you don't know.”
Patricia moved them to an apartment in Queens owned by a retired investigator.
No staff.
No family.
No Ashford property.
Cordelia spent the next twelve hours trying not to think about Dante.
That was impossible.
At noon, photographs from their wedding appeared online.
BOSTON'S WEDDING OF THE YEAR.
There she was.
Smiling.
Dante's hand around her waist.
The same hand that had touched Elena hours later.
Cordelia shut the laptop.
At 2:00, Patricia received the first Northstar documents through a secure contact.
“How?”
“You gave me enough account numbers to subpoena public corporate records.”
Patricia spread papers across the kitchen table.
Northstar wasn't one company.
It was nineteen.
Real estate.
Consulting.
Shipping.
Medical imports.
Political strategy.
Most existed before Dante became head of the Moretti organization.
Patricia circled one name.
Vittorio Moretti.
Dante's uncle.
Cordelia knew him.
Everyone did.
Sixty-one.
Silver hair.
Charming.
He had danced with her at the wedding.
Called her “the daughter this family needed.”
Cordelia suddenly felt sick.
“What does he control?”
“More than Dante probably realizes.”
Another document.
Payments to Senator Ashford.
Cordelia stared.
“My father doesn't take bribes.”
“I didn't say he did.”
The payments went to a nonprofit foundation her father chaired.
Cancer research.
Education.
Veterans.
Legitimate causes.
But money entering through dirty sources could destroy his career whether he knew or not.
“Someone was using him.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“To make illegal money appear respectable.”
Cordelia understood.
The marriage.
Her name.
Her father.
Dante.
Everyone was being positioned.
Then Patricia found something worse.
A payment authorized four years earlier.
Recipient:
Elena Vasquez.
Cordelia's hands went cold.
“Three hundred thousand dollars.”
Patricia nodded.
“From Vittorio.”
“Before Dante and I met.”
“Yes.”
Cordelia looked at the other Elena payments.
Most appeared to come from Dante-controlled accounts.
The first didn't.
“Why was his uncle paying his mistress?”
Patricia looked at her.
“Maybe she wasn't his mistress when it started.”
At 6:17 that evening, someone knocked.
Everyone froze.
Patricia reached beneath the table.
Cordelia realized she had a gun.
The knock came again.
Then a woman's voice.
“Cordelia?”
She knew that voice.
Not personally.
But she had heard it in videos attached to Dante's messages.
Elena.
Patricia looked at Cordelia.
Cordelia whispered:
“Open it.”
Elena Vasquez entered wearing jeans, a black coat, and exhaustion.
She was beautiful.
That irritated Cordelia.
Not because beauty made betrayal worse.
Because some primitive part of her had wanted Elena to be easy to hate.
She wasn't.
She looked frightened.
“You have five minutes,” Cordelia said.
Elena nodded.
“I deserve less.”
“Four minutes and fifty-five seconds.”
Patricia almost smiled.
Elena placed a flash drive on the table.
“Northstar.”
Cordelia stared.
“You work for Vittorio.”
“I did.”
“Do you sleep with him too?”
Elena flinched.
“No.”
“Only my husband?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Cordelia folded her arms.
“Why are you here?”
“Because Vittorio has your father.”
Cordelia's composure cracked.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Then you're useless.”
“I know who can find him.”
“Dante?”
Elena shook her head.
“Dante doesn't understand what his uncle built.”
Cordelia laughed.
“Dante runs the Moretti family.”
“No.”
Elena's expression became sad.
“Dante thinks he does.”
She explained.
Vittorio had run the organization alongside Dante's father.
After his brother died, Vittorio allowed twenty-three-year-old Dante to become the public head because youth, violence, and reputation made Dante useful.
But Vittorio kept financial control.
Northstar.
Politicians.
Law enforcement.
Shell companies.
Information.
“And you?” Cordelia asked.
“I was recruited to monitor Dante.”
“Then you slept with him.”
Elena looked away.
“Yes.”
“For four years.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
“No.”
Cordelia laughed without humor.
“So while Dante used me, you used Dante.”
“Yes.”
“And everyone used everyone.”
“Yes.”
Patricia interrupted.
“Why reveal yourself now?”
Elena looked at Cordelia.
“Because Vittorio ordered me to arrange Dante's death.”
Silence.
Cordelia hated herself for the fear that instantly entered her chest.
Dante had betrayed her.
Used her.
Humiliated her.
But the thought of him dead still hurt.
She despised that.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How?”
“He wants Dante to believe your father is responsible for the financial leaks. Dante moves against Ashford. Federal pressure increases. Vittorio removes Dante and inherits what remains.”
Cordelia understood.
“And me?”
Elena's silence answered.
Cordelia stared.
“Say it.”
“You disappear.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Vittorio cannot allow you to explain what you saw.”
Patricia picked up the drive.
“What is on this?”
“Enough to destroy Northstar.”
“Why didn't you use it?”
“Because Vittorio has something on me.”
Cordelia waited.
“My younger sister.”
Elena's voice broke.
“She disappeared six years ago. Vittorio found her. He has controlled me with her ever since.”
Cordelia looked at the woman her husband had chosen on their wedding night.
She wanted to hate her.
Part of her still did.
But betrayal had layers.
Elena had betrayed Cordelia.
Vittorio had enslaved Elena.
Neither erased the other.
Cordelia asked:
“Does Dante love you?”
Elena closed her eyes.
“I thought he did.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“I don't know.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt.
Elena continued.
“But love doesn't excuse what I did to you.”
For the first time, Cordelia respected her.
Not forgave.
Respected.
Patricia connected the drive to an isolated laptop.
Files opened.
Photographs.
Payments.
Recordings.
Then one video.
Cordelia pressed play.
Her father appeared.
Alive.
Seated in a chair.
Vittorio stood behind him.
“Cordelia.”
Her father's voice was strained.
“If you're seeing this, don't come for me.”
Vittorio smiled.
Then addressed the camera.
“Mrs. Moretti, congratulations on your marriage.”
Cordelia's blood turned cold.
“I understand your wedding night was disappointing.”
Elena went pale.
Vittorio knew.
Everything.
He continued.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
Cordelia frowned.
She had nothing.
Then Vittorio said:
“Your husband placed a wedding gift inside your mother's diamond bracelet.”
Cordelia instinctively touched her wrist.
The bracelet.
Dante had given it to her before the ceremony.
It had belonged to Cordelia's mother.
Or so he claimed.
She removed it.
Patricia examined the clasp.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a microdrive.
Elena whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Cordelia stared.
“What is it?”
Elena looked terrified.
“The original Northstar ledger.”
Cordelia's voice became quiet.
“Why would Dante give it to me?”
“He probably didn't know.”
But someone had.
Someone had hidden the most dangerous evidence in Boston inside the bride's wedding jewelry.
And now Vittorio wanted it back.
Cordelia's phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Dante.
“Cordelia.”
Her entire body reacted to his voice.
She hated that.
“Where are you?”
“That's no longer your concern.”
“Your father is missing.”
“I know.”
“Vittorio has him.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“How?”
“Elena.”
Another silence.
Then Dante's voice became deadly.
“She's with you?”
“Yes.”
“Get away from her.”
Cordelia looked directly at Elena.
“No.”
“Cordelia, listen to me.”
“I listened to you for three years.”
“This is different.”
“You spent our wedding night in her bed.”
Dante stopped breathing.
Cordelia's voice remained calm.
“You told her our marriage was business.”
“Core—”
“Don't call me that.”
The pain in his silence almost satisfied her.
Almost.
“I can explain.”
“No.”
“I need to know where you are.”
“No.”
“Vittorio will kill you.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn't have married me into your criminal family.”
Dante's voice cracked.
“I know.”
That surprised her.
No defense.
No excuse.
Just:
“I know.”
Cordelia looked at the drive in Patricia's hand.
Then made a decision.
“If you want to see me again, find my father.”
“I will.”
“Alive.”
“Yes.”
“And Dante?”
“Yes?”
“Do not mistake this for forgiveness.”
“I won't.”
She ended the call.
Dante stood inside his Boston study holding a silent phone.
Salvatore watched him.
“What did she say?”
Dante looked toward the wedding photograph on his desk.
“Find Senator Ashford.”
“And Cordelia?”
Dante picked up his gun.
“My wife doesn't want to be found.”
Sal waited.
Dante continued:
“So we respect that.”
Sal looked surprised.
“And Vittorio?”
May you like
Dante's eyes became cold.
“We find him first.”
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