Chapter 6 - The Man Behind Seventeen
Vivian stared at the photograph.
“That’s impossible.”
Elena had told her that her grandfather, Lorenzo Moretti, died thirty years earlier.
Edmund looked at Luca.
“Verify it.”
“Already did.”
“And?”
“It’s him.”
Vivian sat down.
“How many dead people are alive in this family?”
Edmund almost smiled.
“Statistically, too many.”
They found Elena that afternoon.
She was not kidnapped.
She had gone willingly.
That hurt almost as much.
Elena agreed to meet at the old Moretti mansion.
Vivian entered with Edmund beside her.
Her grandfather waited in the library.
Lorenzo Moretti was eighty-two.
Age had bent his body but not his eyes.
“Vivian.”
“Don’t call me like you know me.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Elena stood behind him.
Vivian looked at her mother.
“You lied again.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because my father started all of this.”
Lorenzo did not deny it.
Decades earlier, he had built the network that Teresa later inherited.
Pier Seventeen had been his.
Victor had grown up around corruption and gambling because Lorenzo taught him power mattered more than restraint.
Elena discovered the truth as a young woman.
She tried to expose him.
Then she met Antonio Costa.
Together, they began collecting evidence.
Teresa learned what they were doing.
The warehouse fire followed.
“So Teresa didn’t create the organization,” Vivian said.
“No,” Lorenzo replied. “I did.”
“And now?”
“Now I want it destroyed.”
“Convenient.”
“I’m dying.”
Vivian stared at him.
“I don’t care.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
He slid a box across the table.
Inside were account books, photographs, recordings, and original ownership documents.
Evidence.
Enough to finish what Elena and Antonio had started.
“Why give this to me?”
“Because everyone else tried to decide your life.”
Lorenzo looked at Edmund.
“Your father. Your mother. Victor. Me. Him.”
Edmund did not object.
Lorenzo continued.
“You should decide what happens next.”
Vivian looked at the box.
For the first time, power did not feel like something being used against her.
It felt like responsibility.
She turned everything over to investigators.
Teresa was arrested forty-eight hours later while attempting to leave Bellhaven under another name.
Victor accepted responsibility for fraud, conspiracy, and financial crimes. His cooperation reduced his sentence, but Vivian refused to rescue him from consequences.
“You hate me,” he said during their final meeting before sentencing.
“No.”
That surprised him.
“I spent years hating Edmund because it was easier than hating you.”
Victor lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Can you forgive me?”
“Not today.”
He nodded.
Vivian stood.
“But maybe someday.”
Outside, Edmund waited.
Not inside.
Not controlling the conversation.
Waiting.
Vivian walked toward him.
“What happens now?” he asked.
She looked at him.
“You tell me.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You decide.”
The words mattered.
More than he knew.
Vivian took his hand.
“Take me home.”
His expression softened.
“Which home?”
She smiled slightly.
“Let’s figure that out.”
For three weeks, they did.
Vivian reclaimed control of Moretti Shipping.
Illegal routes were closed.
Legitimate employees kept their jobs.
Elena began the difficult process of becoming Vivian’s mother again.
Antonio tried to become Edmund’s father again.
Neither reunion was easy.
Neither was magically repaired.
But they began.
Edmund recovered.
He also kept the annulment papers available.
He never asked Vivian to tear them up.
One evening, exactly twenty-nine days after the wedding, Vivian found him on the balcony.
“You know tomorrow is thirty days.”
“Yes.”
“If I sign the annulment, it ends.”
“Yes.”
“If I don’t?”
“We remain married.”
“You sound very calm.”
“I’m trying.”
She stepped closer.
“Are you?”
“No.”
Vivian smiled.
“I noticed.”
She held up the papers.
Then tore them in half.
Edmund stared.
“That’s dramatic.”
“I learned from your family.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Vivian had almost never heard it.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
The laughter disappeared.
“Who is it?”
“No number.”
He answered.
Silence.
Then a distorted voice said something Vivian could not hear.
Edmund’s face went pale.
“What?” Vivian asked.
The call ended.
He looked at her.
“That was the sniper from our wedding.”
Vivian froze.
“I thought your mother hired him.”
“So did I.”
The phone vibrated again.
A video arrived.
It showed their first dance from the sniper’s scope.
The crosshairs rested on Edmund’s forehead.
Then moved deliberately.
Away from Edmund.
Onto Vivian.
A message appeared beneath it.
I WAS NEVER AIMING AT YOUR HUSBAND.
Another message arrived.
ASK HIM WHY HE KNEW YOUR WEDDING DRESS WOULD STOP A BULLET.
May you like
Vivian slowly turned toward Edmund.
And for the first time since choosing to stay, he could not meet her eyes.
