Chapter 7 - The Threat That Came Back to Il Destino

Rico moved Clara’s mother and brother into a guarded guest house before sunset.

Clara argued.

Her mother argued louder.

In the end, Rico won for one reason.

Someone had followed a woman with arthritis from a grocery store and photographed her entering her apartment.

No one was willing to gamble after that.

Clara stood in the mansion kitchen that night furious at everyone.

At Gabriel.

At Rico.

At herself.

At the fact that fear had entered her mother’s life because Clara had carried one glass of warm milk across a restaurant.

Rico walked in.

“You’re done.”

She turned.

“Excuse me?”

“With this.”

He gestured toward the house.

“The investigation. Leo. All of it.”

Her anger sharpened.

“You’re firing me?”

“I’m keeping you alive.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“You have become a target.”

“Your son still asks for me.”

“He’ll survive.”

Clara stared at him.

“You think I’m his medicine.”

Rico went still.

“I told you before. I’m not.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

She stepped closer.

“If I disappear tomorrow because you decide danger means I vanish, what do you think a three-year-old who already lost his mother learns?”

Rico had no answer.

“That people leave when he gets attached.”

His jaw tightened.

“So what do you want?”

“A plan.”

“What kind?”

“One where his therapist helps transition him. One where you learn the same calming routine. One where he sees me leave and come back instead of waking up and finding me gone.”

Rico stared at her for a long time.

Then he said, “Fine.”

Clara blinked.

“Fine?”

“Do not enjoy this.”

She almost laughed.

The next morning, they returned to Il Destino for the first time since Leo’s meltdown.

The restaurant was closed to the public.

Clara needed her locker.

Rico needed security footage.

Leo stayed at the mansion.

Marco Bellini was waiting near the bar.

He looked terrible.

“Mr. Moretti.”

Rico did not slow down.

“My office.”

Marco followed.

Clara went to the staff room.

Her locker had been opened.

Nothing valuable was missing.

Because she owned nothing valuable.

But one thing had changed.

A small envelope sat on top of her shoes.

Inside was two thousand dollars.

And a note.

QUIT.

Clara carried it directly to Rico.

Marco saw the money.

His face changed.

Dante noticed.

“What?”

Marco backed away.

“Nothing.”

Rico closed the office door.

“Marco.”

The manager’s forehead shone with sweat.

“I didn’t put that there.”

“No one said you did.”

Marco swallowed.

That was enough.

Dante took his phone.

Marco protested.

Then stopped when Rico looked at him.

The truth came out in pieces.

Gabriel had paid Marco for information.

Nothing dramatic at first.

When Rico ate at the restaurant.

Which private room he used.

Whether Elena came in.

After Elena died, the payments stopped.

Then they started again two days earlier.

Gabriel wanted to know when Clara worked.

Who she spoke to.

Whether she met investigators.

Marco’s hands shook.

“I never agreed to hurt her.”

Clara stared at him.

“You gave him my schedule.”

“I thought he wanted to scare you.”

“That is supposed to help?”

“I’m sorry.”

Rico’s expression became frighteningly blank.

Dante stepped between them without making it obvious.

Marco unlocked a hidden messaging app.

The account communicating with him was registered to a prepaid number.

Investigators traced its contact history.

One number belonged to Dominic Hale.

Gabriel’s executive assistant.

Another belonged to a man police had questioned years earlier in connection with contract violence.

His name was Paul Serrano.

He had no convictions.

But he had something else.

A phone location record from the night Elena died.

He had been three blocks from the charity event.

Clara felt sick.

Dante kept reading.

“There’s a call.”

Rico looked at him.

“When?”

Dante’s face changed.

“Ninety-four seconds after the first 911 call.”

“From who?”

“Serrano.”

“To?”

Dante looked directly at Rico.

“Gabriel.”

The room went silent.

Marco sat down hard.

Clara stared at the phone.

Six months of rumors had blamed rival families.

Six months of security changes.

Six months of Rico wondering which enemy had tried to kill him and hit Elena instead.

But Elena had known better.

Do not assume it was one of Rico’s enemies.

Rico reached for his jacket.

Dante blocked the door.

“No.”

“Move.”

“Federal investigators already have the number.”

“I said move.”

“And I am saying if you touch Gabriel now, you contaminate everything Elena died trying to prove.”

Rico’s face hardened.

Clara expected an explosion.

Instead, he stopped.

Slowly.

Painfully.

Then his phone rang.

Unknown number.

Rico answered.

“Moretti.”

Gabriel’s voice came through the speaker.

“Cousin.”

Everyone froze.

Gabriel sounded calm.

Almost amused.

“I hear the waitress went back to work.”

Rico’s eyes moved to Clara.

Gabriel continued.

“You really should be more careful with the people you let near your son.”

Rico’s voice went cold.

“If you threaten Leo—”

“Oh, I would never threaten Leo.”

A pause.

“I loved Elena too.”

Rico gripped the phone.

Then Gabriel made his mistake.

“She should never have recorded me.”

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Nobody in that office breathed.

Because the existence of Elena’s recording had never been made public.