Chapter 3 - The Camera My Family Forgot About
My father entered without knocking.
At seventy-one, Anthony Moretti still had the ability to make a room reorganize itself around him.
He wore a dark charcoal coat over a black suit.
No tie.
No visible weapon.
He never needed one.
Two men remained outside the room.
His eyes found me first.
For half a second, he looked like a father.
Not a leader.
Not the man who had built our organization across three states.
Just my father.
“You’re awake.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
He approached the bed.
His hand landed on my shoulder.
Careful of the injuries.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
I watched his face.
“Where were you yesterday at 3:06 in the morning?”
His hand stopped.
Nobody moved.
My father slowly looked at Detective Reed.
Then at Elena.
Then Caleb.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
“You nearly die and this is how you greet me?”
“Answer.”
His gaze hardened.
“At home.”
“With anyone?”
“Your aunt.”
“My aunt was in Boston.”
A pause.
Small.
“Then I was alone.”
Detective Reed spoke.
“Mr. Moretti, hospital records show your fingerprint opened the ICU medication cabinet at 3:06 yesterday morning.”
My father stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Your fingerprint is enrolled in the hospital’s biometric system.”
“Because I’m the patient’s father.”
“You used it when Dante was admitted.”
“Yes.”
“The system registered a ninety-eight-point-nine-percent match.”
He looked at me.
“You believe this?”
“I believe somebody wants me to.”
That answer surprised him.
Caleb stepped forward.
“Dad, they think someone in the family tried to kill Dante.”
My father’s eyes moved sharply to him.
“Who said that?”
“I did,” I answered.
Anthony looked around the room again.
“And why is the nurse still here?”
Isabella answered before anyone else.
“Because Dante trusts her.”
Something bitter entered her voice.
My father noticed.
“Everyone out.”
“No,” I said.
His head turned.
“Dante.”
“No.”
“I need to speak to my son.”
“You are.”
“Alone.”
“Anything you say can be said in front of Elena.”
His expression changed.
It was not anger.
Confusion.
“Who is she to you?”
“I woke up four days after somebody shot me and found out she stopped somebody from finishing the job.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“It answers enough.”
Elena looked uncomfortable.
Good.
At least one person in the room still understood boundaries.
My family had never been good at them.
Detective Reed held up the access report.
“Mr. Moretti, I need an explanation for your fingerprint.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Has anyone had access to biometric molds, medical scans, or prints?”
My father gave a humorless smile.
“Detective, do I look like someone who keeps copies of his fingerprints?”
“No. But somebody did.”
Marco’s phone vibrated again.
He stepped away.
I watched him answer.
“Yes.”
Pause.
“Where?”
Longer pause.
His face tightened.
“Do not touch anything.”
He ended the call.
“What?” I asked.
“Our team checked the warehouse.”
“The ambush site?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“They found a camera.”
Caleb frowned.
“The city cameras were disabled.”
“Not city.”
Marco looked at me.
“Vincent’s dash camera.”
My dead driver.
I remembered it.
Vincent had installed the stupid thing after a teenager sideswiped his personal car and lied about it.
I had made fun of him for keeping it in the armored SUV.
He told me one day it would save us an argument.
Apparently Vincent had been right.
“Where is it?”
“Damaged.”
“Footage?”
“Card survived.”
My father turned.
“Get it here.”
Marco looked at me instead.
That mattered.
For decades, Anthony Moretti gave an instruction and men followed it.
Now Marco waited for mine.
“Bring it,” I said.
Caleb shifted.
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“I have a meeting.”
Every eye turned toward him.
He realized too late how that sounded.
“You have a meeting?” I asked.
“I didn’t mean—”
“My driver is dead. I almost died. Somebody tried again in this hospital. And you have a meeting.”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“Business doesn’t disappear because we’re frightened.”
“No. But guilty men sometimes do.”
He stared at me.
“You want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
He sat.
For eighteen minutes, nobody spoke about anything that mattered.
Dr. Harris checked my incision.
My father made two phone calls.
Isabella paced by the window.
Elena tried to leave twice.
I stopped her both times.
Not because I needed her near me.
At least, that was what I told myself.
But every time she approached the door, some primitive part of me remembered darkness and her voice dragging me back.
Stay with me.
At last Marco’s man arrived with a laptop and a small plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a black memory card.
Detective Reed took control immediately.
“No one touches that except me.”
My father almost smiled.
“Still pretending you control this room?”
Reed looked him in the eye.
“I control evidence in an attempted murder investigation.”
I liked her.
That was inconvenient.
The footage loaded.
Timestamp.
9:42 p.m.
My SUV moved through an industrial district.
Vincent’s voice came through the speakers.
“You sure about tonight?”
My own voice answered.
“We inspect the containers and leave.”
Then Vincent said something I didn’t remember.
“Your brother already called twice.”
Caleb straightened.
On screen, headlights appeared behind us.
“What did you call me about?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“I don’t remember.”
The footage continued.
A black sedan passed.
Nothing unusual.
Then another vehicle appeared ahead.
A delivery van.
It stopped sideways across the intersection.
Vincent swore.
Gunfire.
The windshield cracked.
The camera shook.
Someone shouted.
We watched my own near-death from ten feet away.
Isabella covered her mouth.
Elena looked down.
I didn’t.
I needed to see.
The SUV struck the van.
Vincent collapsed.
I opened my door.
The camera caught only pieces after that.
Legs.
Shadows.
Muzzle flashes.
Then a man approached the windshield.
Mask.
Dark coat.
He leaned toward Vincent.
Then toward my empty seat.
His sleeve pulled back.
A watch appeared.
Caleb’s hand immediately moved beneath the table.
I saw it.
“Stop.”
Reed froze the image.
“Zoom.”
She did.
Silver watch.
Blue face.
Engraved bezel.
A limited-production Vacheron Constantin.
My father had given one to Caleb on his thirtieth birthday.
I looked at my brother.
His wrist was empty.
“Where’s your watch?”
Caleb stared at me.
“Being repaired.”
“Since when?”
“Last week.”
“Where?”
“Dealer.”
“Which dealer?”
He stood.
“This is insane.”
Marco stepped between him and the door.
“Sit down.”
Caleb stared at him.
“Move.”
Marco did not.
My father rose slowly.
“Caleb.”
“Dad.”
“Sit.”
Something passed between them.
Something I could not read.
Caleb sat.
Detective Reed resumed the footage.
The masked man stepped out of frame.
Another figure appeared.
Smaller.
Walking from the opposite side.
A woman.
Her face was obscured by the shattered windshield.
But her coat was visible.
Cream-colored.
Isabella went still.
I looked at her.
She was wearing burgundy now.
But I remembered the coat she had worn to dinner two nights before the attack.
Cream cashmere.
Italian.
A belt with gold hardware.
Exactly like the one on the screen.
“No,” she whispered.
Nobody had accused her.
Not yet.
“That could be anyone.”
I said nothing.
The woman moved closer to the SUV.
The camera caught her hand.
A bracelet.
Four diamonds around an emerald.
I had bought Isabella that bracelet for our engagement.
She lifted her wrist instinctively.
Bare.
My father closed his eyes.
Caleb whispered something I couldn’t hear.
I looked at Isabella.
“Where is it?”
Her voice shook.
“At home.”
“Which home?”
“My apartment.”
“Marco.”
He was already texting.
Isabella’s face sharpened.
“You cannot search my apartment.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You don’t own me.”
“No. But I own the building.”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Detective Reed resumed the clip.
The woman leaned toward the windshield.
For one second, her face reflected in the rearview mirror.
Blurred.
But recognizable.
Blonde hair.
High cheekbones.
Isabella.
Elena whispered, “Oh my God.”
Isabella backed away.
“No.”
I watched her.
“You were there.”
“No.”
“Isabella.”
“I came after.”
“After what?”
She stopped.
The wrong answer had escaped.
Everyone knew it.
I felt something inside me become very cold.
“After what?”
She looked at Caleb.
Not me.
Caleb stood.
“Don’t.”
My father’s head snapped toward him.
“What did you just say?”
Caleb realized his mistake.
Too late.
Isabella began crying.
Not loudly.
No collapse.
Just panic finally breaking through the polished surface.
“I didn’t know they were going to shoot you.”
The room disappeared around me.
My heart monitor accelerated.
Elena moved toward me.
“Dante, breathe.”
I stared at the woman I was supposed to marry.
“What did you know?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I can explain.”
“You have ten seconds.”
“Dante—”
“Ten.”
She looked at my father.
Then Caleb.
Nobody saved her.
“I knew they were going to stop your vehicle.”
“Why?”
“To scare you.”
“Who?”
She started trembling.
“Isabella.”
Her lips parted.
Before she could answer, Marco’s phone rang.
He listened.
Then looked straight at me.
“We found her bracelet.”
“Where?”
“Not at her apartment.”
My eyes stayed on Isabella.
“Where?”
Marco swallowed.
May you like
“In Caleb’s safe.”
And my brother suddenly ran for the door.
