Chapter 8 – [THE END OF THE SYNDICATE]

The funeral was small.

No massive crowds. No press. No syndicate bosses trying to shake hands and make deals over an empty casket.

Just six people standing under a gray Chicago sky at the private Moretti family plot.

Luca. Me. Daniel. Rosa. Mia.

And a priest.

Luca stood perfectly still as the mahogany casket was lowered into the earth.

This time, it wasn’t a lie.

This time, he got to say a real goodbye.

He stepped forward and tossed a single white rose onto the wood.

He didn’t cry. He had done all his crying on the concrete shores of the lake.

Today, he just looked resolved.

As the priest finished the final blessing, Luca turned to us.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

We drove back to the estate in silence.

When we walked through the massive double doors, the house felt different.

It didn’t feel like a fortress anymore. It felt like a home that had finally been exorcised of its ghosts.

Rosa immediately took Mia to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

Daniel went to the living room and sat at the piano. He didn’t play. He just rested his hands on the wood, finding comfort in the instrument.

Luca turned to me.

“Walk with me,” he said.

We walked down the long hallway toward his father’s old study.

The room that Carlo had used as his command center for two decades.

Luca opened the doors.

The room was dark. Heavy velvet curtains blocked the light.

The walls were lined with leather-bound books and ledgers detailing decades of illegal shipping routes, bribes, and extortion.

Luca walked to the massive oak desk.

He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a heavy metal trash can.

He set it in the middle of the Persian rug.

Then, he started pulling ledgers from the shelves.

Heavy, thick books filled with Carlo’s sins.

He threw them into the metal can.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Ending it,” Luca said simply.

He grabbed a bottle of scotch from the bar cart.

He unscrewed the cap and poured the amber liquid over the ledgers.

He struck a match.

And he dropped it in.

The paper caught instantly.

Flames licked up the sides of the metal can, illuminating the dark study in a warm, flickering orange glow.

“The Moretti syndicate dies today,” Luca said, watching the fire burn.

“I transferred the shipping ports to a legitimate logistics company this morning. The illegal warehouses have been sold. The dirty accounts are frozen.”

I stared at him.

“You dismantled the entire empire in three days?”

“I promised my mother I would be free,” Luca said.

He turned to look at me. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face.

“And I promised you I wouldn’t drag you into the dark.”

He walked over to me.

He took my hands in his.

“I have nothing left to hide, Emma,” he whispered.

“No arranged marriages. No blood debts. No uncles pulling strings in the shadows.”

He let go of my right hand and reached into his pocket.

My breath caught.

He pulled out a small, flat jewelry box.

It wasn’t a massive diamond like the one Vanessa wore.

He opened it.

Inside was a simple, elegant gold band.

Inside the band, an olive branch was engraved, matching the bracelet on my wrist.

“I don’t want a grand wedding,” Luca said softly.

“I don’t want forty-two guests pretending to like us. I want a quiet life. With the woman who saved my soul.”

He looked into my eyes.

“Will you stay, Emma? Not as a housekeeper. Not as a savior. Just as mine.”

Tears spilled over my cheeks.

I didn’t hesitate.

I didn’t need to think.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He slid the gold band onto my finger.

It fit perfectly.

He pulled me against his chest and kissed me.

It was a kiss that tasted like smoke, tears, and absolute freedom.

We stood in the burning light of the old empire, holding each other as the past finally turned to ash.

The big secret was buried.

The villain was gone.

The family was safe.

But as I wrapped my arms around Luca’s neck, my hand brushed against the lapel of his suit jacket.

I felt something stiff inside the inner pocket.

I pulled back slightly.

“What is this?” I asked, reaching into his pocket.

Luca frowned.

“I don’t know. That’s the suit I wore the night of the engagement dinner. I haven’t worn it since.”

I pulled out a small, sealed envelope.

It was addressed to Luca.

But the handwriting wasn’t Lucia’s.

And it wasn’t Carlo’s.

It was Vanessa’s.

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