Chapter 6 - The Choice Salvatore Never Had
“White,” Damiano said.
Matteo cut it.
Three seconds.
Two.
One.
Nothing.
The timer froze.
Marco exhaled.
Damiano was already running.
“Get him out.”
“Damiano!”
“My house.”
Matteo understood.
Sofia.
They drove faster than Damiano had ever driven.
He called Elena.
No answer.
Security.
No answer.
Then the estate’s emergency line connected.
A guard shouted.
“They rammed the south gate!”
“How many?”
“Three vehicles!”
“Where is Sofia?”
“Upstairs with Elena!”
Gunfire sounded.
The line died.
Damiano pressed harder on the accelerator.
Marco sat bleeding in the back seat.
“Vincent wants the girl.”
“Why now?”
“Because she knows something.”
“She’s three!”
Marco wiped blood from his mouth.
“Gabriella taught her games. Songs. Names. Places.”
“The ledger is recovered.”
“There may be more.”
Damiano remembered Sofia’s words.
Mommy said it opens Grandpa’s room.
“What else did Gabriella hide?”
Marco looked afraid.
“A confession.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know.”
They reached the estate.
One SUV burned near the gate.
Two men lay wounded.
Damiano entered through the kitchen.
Matteo followed.
The main hall was empty.
“Elena!”
No answer.
They moved upstairs.
Sofia’s room was open.
Bed empty.
Rabbit gone.
Damiano’s chest stopped.
Then a sound came from the closet.
He opened it.
Elena sat inside.
Bleeding.
Alive.
“Where is she?”
Elena gasped.
“She ran.”
“Where?”
“Chapel.”
Damiano ran.
The chapel door stood open.
Inside, Sofia crouched behind the altar.
Vincent stood ten feet away.
Gun in hand.
Damiano entered.
Vincent turned.
“So predictable.”
Damiano saw Sofia.
She was alive.
That was enough.
“Let her walk to me.”
Vincent smiled.
“No.”
“Your fight is with me.”
“My fight was always with the future.”
Damiano stepped closer.
Vincent raised the gun.
“Stop.”
Damiano stopped.
Sofia whispered, “Damiano.”
He looked at her.
“Stay down.”
Vincent laughed.
“You care about her.”
“Yes.”
“Then I finally understand you.”
“You never did.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly. Your father’s weakness became yours.”
Damiano thought of Salvatore’s letter.
If you kill Vincent for me, then I still own your future from the grave.
Damiano slowly lifted his hands.
“You’re right.”
Vincent frowned.
“I care about her.”
He removed his gun.
Set it on the floor.
Kicked it away.
Vincent stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Choosing.”
“You think surrender saves her?”
“No.”
Damiano looked toward the chapel entrance.
Matteo appeared behind Vincent.
Silent.
Weapon raised.
Vincent saw Damiano’s eyes shift.
He spun.
Sofia moved.
She crawled behind the altar.
Matteo fired.
One shot.
Vincent’s gun flew from his hand.
He fell.
Alive.
Wounded in the shoulder.
Damiano crossed the room.
For one terrible second, he wanted to kill him.
Twenty years.
His father.
Gabriella.
Marco.
Sofia.
All of it.
Vincent looked up.
“Do it.”
Damiano’s fists tightened.
“Do it!”
Damiano remembered his father.
Free.
He stepped back.
“No.”
Vincent stared.
Damiano looked at Matteo.
“Call the investigators.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“You think prison makes you better than me?”
“No.”
Damiano went to Sofia.
“It makes me done with you.”
Sofia climbed into his arms.
She buried her face against his neck.
“I knew you’d come.”
Damiano held her.
“I promised.”
Vincent was arrested before sunset.
State investigators took Costa’s testimony.
The ledger triggered investigations reaching far beyond the Vitale organization.
Judges resigned.
Officers were suspended.
Old crimes reopened.
Damiano could have used the chaos to expand.
Instead, he began dismantling the criminal side of the empire.
Not overnight.
Nothing real happened overnight.
He sold routes.
Closed shell businesses.
Cut ties.
Moved legitimate holdings into transparent companies.
Men called him weak.
Others called him insane.
Damiano discovered he no longer cared.
Marco recovered.
Slowly.
Sofia became the center of the estate.
She drew on documents.
Hid shoes.
Fed expensive steak to the gardener’s dog.
Made Matteo wear a paper crown during tea.
And slept in Damiano’s room for three weeks.
Not beside a gun.
The gun stayed locked away.
One night, Sofia asked a question.
“Where’s Mommy?”
Damiano sat on the edge of the bed.
Marco had explained death to her before.
Children asked again because understanding was not permanent.
“She died.”
“I know.”
Sofia looked at him.
“Where is she now?”
Damiano had no answer.
He had never believed in heaven strongly enough to describe it.
So he said, “Wherever people go when we love them and can’t see them anymore.”
Sofia considered this.
“Is Grandpa there?”
“Probably.”
“Your dad?”
“Yes.”
“Do you miss him?”
Damiano looked toward the dark window.
“Every day.”
She patted the mattress.
He lay beside her.
She tucked the rabbit between them.
“Then maybe he misses you.”
Damiano stared at the ceiling.
No threat had ever hurt him like kindness.
The next morning, the prosecutor called.
Vincent had agreed to speak.
Full confession.
But only to Damiano.
Damiano went.
Vincent looked older behind glass.
Without the coat.
Without the ring.
Without the authority.
Just an old man.
“Why?” Damiano asked.
Vincent leaned forward.
“Because Salvatore chose you.”
Damiano waited.
“He was older. Stronger. Everyone followed him. Our father loved him. The men respected him. Then he had you.”
Vincent smiled bitterly.
“And suddenly there was another Vitale who would inherit everything.”
“So you killed your brother because you were jealous.”
“I killed him because he was going to abandon the organization.”
“You keep changing the reason.”
Vincent said nothing.
Damiano understood.
There was never one reason.
Men like Vincent collected excuses until murder felt necessary.
“Was Gabriella’s accident really an accident?”
Vincent looked away.
Damiano’s stomach turned.
“No.”
Vincent whispered, “Costa arranged it.”
Damiano closed his eyes.
A sister he would never meet.
Gone because of the same war.
Vincent added, “But Sofia was not supposed to be in the car.”
Damiano’s eyes opened.
“What?”
“Gabriella left her with Marco that day.”
Damiano stood.
He could not remain.
At the door, Vincent spoke.
“You’ll come back.”
Damiano turned.
“To what?”
“This life. Men like us always do.”
Damiano thought of Sofia.
“No.”
He left.
That evening, Marco approached him in the library.
“I need to tell you something.”
Damiano poured coffee.
“Everyone says that before ruining my day.”
Marco almost smiled.
“This may improve it.”
He handed Damiano an envelope.
Inside were guardianship papers.
Gabriella’s handwriting.
If anything happened to her and Marco could not care for Sofia, guardianship was to pass to Damiano Vitale.
Damiano stared.
“She chose me?”
“She never met you.”
“Then why?”
“She knew about you.”
“How?”
“Salvatore wrote letters. I kept them. Gabriella read them.”
Damiano looked at the document.
“Why would she trust me?”
Marco’s eyes softened.
“She believed you were the only person powerful enough to protect Sofia and lonely enough to love her completely.”
Damiano laughed once.
Then stopped.
Because his eyes had filled.
Marco placed a hand on his shoulder.
“The court hearing is next week.”
“What hearing?”
“To confirm guardianship.”
Damiano looked up.
Marco smiled.
“If you want it.”
Before Damiano could answer, Sofia ran into the library.
She held a crayon drawing.
Three figures.
One tall.
One small.
One gray-haired.
Above them she had written crooked letters.
MY FAMILY.
Damiano stared.
Then the estate phone rang.
Elena answered in the hallway.
Her face changed.
She looked toward Damiano.
“It’s the prosecutor.”
Damiano stood.
Elena covered the receiver.
“They found another recording in Vincent’s private vault.”
Damiano’s stomach tightened.
“Whose voice?”
Elena looked at Sofia.
May you like
Then back at him.
“Gabriella’s.”
