Chapter 8 - THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
(Word count: ~1,510 words)
News of Dante Caruso’s engagement to a former home-health nurse sent shockwaves through Boston’s high society and underground circles alike.
The tabloids ran front-page stories featuring photographs of us leaving luxury restaurants in Back Bay, flanked by Dante’s security detail. They called it a real-life fairy tale—the mafia king and the plus-size nurse who saved his grandmother.
To Evelyn, it was simply the realization of what she had known since day one.
“I told you she was the one on her first afternoon,” Evelyn declared proudly three weeks later, sitting in the grand sunroom while a bridal consultant presented lace samples for my wedding gown. “She didn't run away when I fired her, and she didn't blink when Dante glared at her. She’s a Caruso through and through.”
I laughed, running my fingers over a swatch of handmade Italian lace. “Evelyn, you fired me in four minutes.”
“And it was the best four minutes of my life,” Evelyn beamed, taking a sip of her espresso.
However, despite the joy surrounding our upcoming wedding, the dangerous reality of Dante’s world had not entirely vanished.
It was a cold Tuesday evening when Dante’s chief lieutenant, Marco, entered Dante’s study while I was sitting on the window seat reading a book.
“Boss,” Marco said, his face grave and unreadable. “We have a problem at the waterfront terminal.”
Dante set his pen down, his expression instantly sharpening into lethal focus. “What is it?”
“Dominic Moretti,” Marco reported softly, glancing nervously toward me before continuing. “He’s claiming Victor owed his family twelve million dollars in gambling debts before his arrest. Moretti’s men just blockaded Gate 4 at the harbor. He says if you don't pay Victor’s debt by midnight, he’s going to seize the shipment of medical supplies your foundation imported for the city hospitals.”
My hands tightened on my book. The Moretti family was the Caruso family’s oldest and most ruthless rival in New England.
Dante stood up slowly, his tall frame radiating a cold, dark power. “Dominic thinks because I spent the last month focusing on my family, I’ve grown soft.”
“Dante,” I said, stepping out from the window seat and walking toward him.
Dante turned to me, his expression softening instantly as he cupped my face in his hands. “Stay here with Nonna, Tessa. I’ll settle this in an hour.”
“Take Marco and a full detail,” I demanded, looking straight into his eyes. “Dominic is looking for a fight. Don't go alone.”
Dante smiled faintly, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to my lips. “I survived thirty years in this city before I met you, beautiful. But I promise you... I’m coming home for dinner.”
An hour later, Dante arrived at the dark, cavernous waterfront terminal in South Boston. Four black SUVs pulled up behind his sedan, twenty armed lieutenants stepping out into the cold rain.
Dominic Moretti—a fat, arrogant man in a leather trench coat—stood near a stack of shipping containers, surrounded by fifteen of his own hitmen.
“Dante!” Dominic called out, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. “I heard you got soft! Word on the street is you’re getting married to a nurse!”
Dante walked slowly into the center of the terminal, his hands in the pockets of his dark overcoat, entirely unbothered by the fifteen guns pointed in his direction.
“Victor’s debts died the moment he committed treason against my family, Dominic,” Dante said, his voice echoing cold and sharp against the corrugated metal walls. “You don't get a single cent from my accounts.”
Dominic’s grin vanished. He gestured toward the containers behind him. “Then these medical supplies belong to the Moretti family. You can explain to the city hospitals why their shipments were destroyed.”
Dante stopped ten feet from Dominic. He pulled his hands from his coat pockets—not holding a weapon, but holding a heavy leather folder.
He tossed the folder at Dominic’s feet.
“Open it,” Dante commanded coldly.
Dominic frowned, gesturing for one of his men to pick up the folder. The lieutenant opened it, turning pale as he scanned the documents inside.
“What is it?” Dominic spat irritably.
“That is a complete financial ledger of every illegal offshore account owned by the Moretti family,” Dante informed him smoothly, taking a slow step forward. “Along with high-resolution satellite photographs of your warehouse in Providence. I delivered duplicate copies to the Federal Bureau of Investigation twenty minutes ago.”
Dominic gasped, taking a panicked step back. “You... you called the feds? You broke the code?”
“I didn't call the feds as a mobster, Dominic,” Dante smiled—a terrifying, predatory grin that sent absolute terror through the rival family. “I called them as a law-abiding corporate citizen whose logistics terminal was being extortioned by criminals. The SWAT team is forty seconds away.”
As if on cue, the loud, echoing wail of police sirens flooded the night air outside the terminal, accompanied by the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
Dominic’s men panicked, dropping their weapons and scattering into the dark alleys like rats.
May you like
Dante walked up to the trembling Dominic Moretti, leaning down until his dark eyes were inches from the rival boss’s face.
“Never touch my shipments again,” Dante whispered with deadly stillness. “And if you ever speak my fiancee’s name again... I won't call the police next time.”
