Chapter 2 - The Scent of Treason
Luke Moretti’s smile remained fixed on his face, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating Moretti eyes—flickered. A micro-expression of tension flashed across his jaw before he smoothed it over with a practiced chuckle.
"Family?" Luke walked in, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "At three in the morning? You usually save the family lectures for Sunday dinner, big brother."
He crossed the threshold. Gordon closed the heavy oak door behind him and locked it with a sharp, metallic *clack*.
Luke paused at the sound. He glanced back at Gordon, then at Dante, whose arms hung loosely at his sides. In the underworld, anyone who knew Dante Moretti understood that when his hands were empty and relaxed, he was at his most lethal.
"Anna," Dante said without turning his head. "Take Mr. Buttons. Go upstairs to Sophie’s room. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone except Gordon or me."
Anna did not hesitate. She grabbed the stuffed bear from the desk, clutching it to her chest as if it were a shield. She kept her eyes cast down, avoiding Luke entirely, and slipped past him as Gordon unlocked the door just enough for her to slip through.
The door clicked shut once more.
Now, only four remained in the room: Dante, Luke, Gordon, and Rex. The Malinois sat rigid by Dante’s left heel, his golden eyes locked onto Luke. Animals had an instinct for deceit; Rex had never growled at Luke before, but now a low, almost imperceptible vibration resonated in the dog's deep chest.
"Easy, boy," Luke murmured, extending a hand toward the dog.
"Don't touch him," Dante commanded.
Luke’s hand froze in midair. Slowly, he withdrew it and shoved it into the pocket of his dressing gown. The playful smirk finally vanished, replaced by an impassive mask.
"All right, Dante. What's this about? If this is about the shipping discrepancy in New Jersey—"
"Take a look at the monitor, Luke."
Luke didn't move for several beats. Then, projecting an aura of bored indifference, he strolled over to the mahogany desk and looked down.
The color drained from his face so fast it was as if someone had drained his veins.
The image of Victor Kane beneath the bridge. The Swiss bank statements. The security logs detailing the guard rotations for the 35th Street warehouse. And above all, the audit notes signed with Marcus Carter's triangular seal.
"Where did you get this?" Luke’s voice lost its smooth cadence. It sounded thin, cracked at the edges.
"From a dead man," Dante said, stepping closer. Every step he took toward Luke felt like a heavy stone dropping into deep water. "From an accountant who believed that loyalty meant something. A man who died twenty-four months ago because he saw you bleeding our family to feed Victor Kane."
Luke swallowed hard. He backed up until his waist struck the edge of the leather sofa. "Dante... listen to me. It’s not what it looks like."
"It looks like treason," Gordon said from the shadows near the door, his voice dripping with venom. "It looks like three men dead in a warehouse fire. It looks like Marcus Carter’s car burning at the bottom of an overpass while his wife scrubbed our floors to buy milk for his daughter."
"I didn't kill Marcus!" Luke shouted, his voice cracking under the pressure. The highball glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the parquet floor, splashing bourbon and ice across the dark wood. "Dante, you have to believe me! I never ordered Marcus killed! I swear to God, I didn't know Kane was going to touch him!"
"You gave Kane the route Marcus took home from the terminal," Dante stated, his tone chillingly even. "We pull the cell tower pings from that night, Luke. What will they show? Did you call Victor Kane at 11:14 PM, six minutes before Marcus went over the railing?"
Luke sank onto the sofa, burying his face in his trembling hands. The charming, untouchable prince of Chicago was gone; in his place sat a terrified young man realizing the gallows had been constructed around him while he slept.
"I didn't have a choice," Luke whispered hoarsely.
"A Moretti always has a choice!" Dante roared, the sudden explosion of his voice like thunder in the enclosed room. Rex barked once, sharp and menacing.
Dante crossed the remaining distance in a blur, his hand clamping around the collar of Luke’s silk robe, hauling his younger brother upright with enough force to lift Luke’s heels off the floor. Dante shoved him back against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Bound leather volumes rattled against the wood.
"Give me one reason," Dante hissed, his face inches from Luke’s, his dark eyes ablaze with cold fury. "One reason why I shouldn't take you out to the pine woods behind the estate and put a bullet through the back of your skull right now. Father gave us the city. I gave you half the empire. What did Victor Kane offer you that was worth more than our blood?"
"He had Elena!" Luke sobbed, tears finally breaking past his defenses.
Dante froze. The name hung in the air like a poisoned dart.
Elena. Luke’s college sweetheart, the woman Luke had claimed died in a hit-and-run in Rome four years ago. The woman Luke had mourned in solitude, spiraling into reckless gambling and late-night brawls before Dante dragged him back into the business.
"Elena is dead," Dante growled, his grip on Luke's collar not loosening an inch. "I saw her death certificate."
"It was forged!" Luke gasped, clawing at Dante’s iron wrists. "Kane staged the accident. He took her! He kept her in a private medical facility outside Toronto for two years. He sent me a video, Dante... a video of her in an induced coma, hooked to a ventilator. He told me that if I didn't give him the shipping manifests and the blind spots in our harbor security, he would pull the plug. He said he would send her to me in a pine box!"
Gordon stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "And you didn't come to your brother? You didn't come to the head of this family?"
"How could I?!" Luke cried out, looking desperately at Dante. "You would have told me she was a liability! Father always said sentiment makes a man weak. You would have told me to let her go and burn Kane's house down! But I couldn't let her die, Dante! I loved her!"
Dante stared into his brother’s tear-streaked face. The rage in Dante’s chest did not vanish, but it shifted, solidifying into something heavier, darker, and infinitely more complicated.
"Marcus Carter loved his wife," Dante said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Sophie loved her father. Did you think about their love when you handed Kane the keys to our house?"
Luke had no answer. He could only weep, his head drooping against Dante’s chest.
Slowly, Dante released his grip. Luke slumped back onto the couch, completely broken.
Dante turned to Gordon. "Call Nick. Tell him to bring six trusted men from the inner circle. Put Luke in the wine cellar beneath the south compound. Strip him of all communication devices. Post two guards at the door and four on the perimeter. If he takes one step outside without my permission, shoot him in the leg."
Luke didn't fight. He didn't even look up as Gordon pulled him to his feet.
"And Dante?" Gordon asked quietly from the doorway.
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"Find out if Elena is really alive," Dante ordered, his eyes staring blankly at the shattered glass on the floor. "And tell the surveillance team to double the perimeter around this house. Kane knows the memory card is missing. When he realizes Marcus's daughter brought it here... he will come for her."
***