Chapter 7 - The Account That Finally Closed
The arrest of Sebastian Russo did not destroy the Russo family overnight.
It nearly destroyed Dominic instead.
Within forty-eight hours, newspapers reported that a prominent Chicago businessman had been arrested in connection with financial crimes and a fifteen-year-old homicide investigation.
They did not initially name Dominic as the cooperating witness.
That secret lasted three days.
Then somebody leaked it.
The calls began.
Traitor.
Coward.
Rat.
Some came from enemies.
Others came from men Dominic had known since childhood.
One captain quit.
Two demanded Dominic step down.
Another disappeared with nearly half a million dollars.
A brick came through the window of Russo Produce.
Dominic’s mother refused to leave her house until somebody fired three bullets into her garage door.
Then she moved.
Dominic sent her to Florida under protection.
Beatrice became a target too.
Not publicly.
But threats arrived at Bellandi’s temporary office.
Some attacked her appearance.
Some attacked her father.
Others simply contained photographs of guns.
She reported every one.
Dominic wanted twenty-four-hour protection around her.
She compromised at twelve.
“I have a life,” she told him.
“You also have people threatening to kill you.”
“Those things can coexist.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“They do for you.”
“That’s different.”
Beatrice stared.
Dominic sighed.
“I heard it.”
“Good.”
Bellandi Imports had suffered severe damage, but the building survived.
Insurance covered much of it.
Dominic quietly offered to pay the difference.
Beatrice quietly returned the check.
He sent another.
She returned that too.
The third time, she came to his office.
Dominic looked up from a stack of legal papers.
“You could call.”
“You could stop sending money I’m not taking.”
“It’s not charity.”
“I know.”
“Then take it.”
“No.”
“Beatrice.”
“Dominic.”
He leaned back.
“Your store burned because of my family.”
“My store burned because Sebastian ordered Carlo to burn it.”
“Same family.”
“No.”
She sat opposite him.
“That’s exactly the thinking you’re supposed to be escaping.”
Dominic looked at her.
She continued.
“You aren’t responsible for every Russo who makes a terrible choice.”
“I inherited their consequences.”
“That doesn’t mean you own their guilt.”
Dominic looked toward the window.
Chicago stretched beyond the glass.
He had once believed the city looked different from high floors.
Smaller.
Controllable.
Now he knew better.
“I’m considering selling everything.”
Beatrice blinked.
“Everything legitimate?”
“Everything.”
“What would you do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good.”
He looked at her.
“Good?”
“You’ve spent your entire adult life knowing exactly what you were supposed to become.”
“My father’s successor.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Now you have the uncomfortable luxury of choosing.”
Dominic smiled faintly.
“You make unemployment sound philosophical.”
“You’re not going to be unemployed.”
“You sound certain.”
“You own nine legitimate companies.”
“Seven after the government finishes.”
“Still more than most people.”
He laughed.
It felt strange.
There had not been much laughter lately.
The trials took months.
Carlo pleaded guilty to financial crimes, arson, kidnapping, and conspiracy.
Sebastian fought everything.
The blue ledger made that difficult.
So did Daniel Hayes’s tape.
So did Beatrice.
She testified for three days.
Sebastian’s attorneys tried to undermine her.
They called her bitter.
Unqualified.
Emotionally motivated.
They suggested Daniel had fabricated evidence.
One attorney made the mistake of implying Beatrice lacked sophistication because she managed a retail store.
Beatrice smiled.
Then spent forty-five minutes explaining offshore laundering structures so clearly that the prosecutor stopped taking notes and several jurors began doing it instead.
Dominic watched from the back row.
Afterward he found her outside the courthouse.
“You enjoyed that.”
She smiled.
“A little.”
“His face when you explained nominee shareholders…”
“Beautiful.”
Dominic laughed.
Then grew serious.
“You did well.”
“So did you.”
“I answered questions.”
“You testified against your godfather.”
Dominic looked toward the courthouse doors.
“Should have done more sooner.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I knew enough about other things.”
Beatrice said nothing.
That was one of the things Dominic appreciated most about her.
She did not rush to rescue him from uncomfortable truths.
She let them exist.
Six months after the fire, Sebastian Russo was convicted.
Daniel Hayes’s name was formally cleared.
That mattered more to Beatrice than any sentence.
The newspaper headline sat framed inside Bellandi Imports when it reopened.
DANIEL HAYES EXONERATED IN DECADES-OLD RUSSO FINANCIAL SCANDAL.
Lucia hung it beside the cash register.
Beatrice complained that it looked dramatic.
Lucia ignored her.
The rebuilt shop was brighter.
Same dark wood.
Same marble counter.
New windows.
Dominic stood near the entrance on reopening morning.
No guards.
No white shirt.
He wore a navy sweater and looked almost normal.
Almost.
Beatrice came from the stockroom carrying bottles.
“You’re early.”
“I brought something.”
“If it’s another check, leave.”
“It’s not.”
He handed her a small box.
She opened it.
Inside was a blue pen.
Expensive.
Silver trim.
Her initials engraved near the clip.
B.H.
She looked at him.
“You replaced my three-dollar pen with this?”
“It was evidence.”
“It was stolen by federal agents.”
“Temporarily borrowed.”
“I liked that pen.”
“This one writes better.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I tested it.”
“You used my gift?”
“One line.”
“That’s very rude.”
“I’ve been told my manners need work.”
Beatrice smiled.
Dominic watched her.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Lucia appeared.
She looked at Dominic.
Looked at Beatrice.
Rolled her eyes.
“You two have been staring for six months. Either kiss or buy something.”
Beatrice nearly dropped the box.
“Lucia!”
Dominic laughed.
Lucia walked away muttering in Italian about young people wasting time.
Beatrice’s cheeks turned pink.
Dominic stepped closer.
“Was she serious?”
“She is always serious.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Dominic looked at her.
“Dinner.”
“What?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“We’ve had dinner.”
“With lawyers.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“We had pizza at Lucia’s.”
“She spent forty minutes asking when I planned to marry you.”
Beatrice smiled.
“She likes efficient timelines.”
Dominic’s expression softened.
“I mean dinner. Just you and me.”
Beatrice studied him.
“You’re asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“The former mafia boss.”
Dominic grimaced.
“I’m trying to retire that description.”
“The man who insulted me in Sicilian.”
“I apologized.”
“Eventually.”
“The man whose security chief burned my store.”
“He’s in prison.”
She made him wait.
Dominic Russo, who had once commanded rooms with a glance, stood nervously in front of a woman holding a blue pen.
Finally she smiled.
“Friday.”
His shoulders relaxed.
“Seven?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Why?”
“I want to make you wait.”
“That seems cruel.”
“Character building.”
Dominic laughed.
He bought two bottles of wine he did not need.
At the door, he looked back.
Beatrice was helping a customer.
Warm light surrounded her.
No fear.
No secrets.
For the first time in years, Dominic walked outside without a guard and did not feel exposed.
He felt free.
May you like
But freedom, he was learning, was not the end of a story.
Sometimes it was the first honest page.
