“How sure is he?”
“Sixty percent. Maybe seventy. The girl he saw was working at a bakery, paying rent in cash, keeping her head down. Could be our Kasimira.”
I set down my glass. “Send someone to confirm after the funeral. If she was with Dante for two years, she might know something about his business, his movements before the crash.”
A knock at the door interrupts us. Michael Torrino enters without waiting for permission, followed by his eldest son, Tony, and my nephew, Paolo. The younger generation, hungry for advancement now that Dante’s gone.
“Uncle Alaric.” Paolo’s voice is carefully neutral. “We wanted to discuss security arrangements for tomorrow.”
“Sit.”
They arrange themselves in the remaining chairs while Benedetto pours fresh drinks. Paolo has his mother’s refined features but his father’s ruthless ambition. He’s smart, careful, nothing like the hot-headed boy Dante was.
“The cathedral will be secured by our people,” Tony reports. “Father Romano has agreed to additional screening. No weapons past the vestibule except for family.”
“What about the cemetery?”
“Perimeter teams, snipers on the surrounding buildings, decoy routes for the procession.” Paolo’s planning is thorough. “If anyone’s planning to make a move, they’ll have limited opportunities.”
I nod approval. “What about Luca? I haven’t seen him since I got back from Italy.”
Paolo’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly. “He’s still in Los Angeles, wrapping up the West Coast operations. Sends his regrets about missing the funeral, but there were some urgent contracts that needed his attention.”
Luca Moretti, Dante’s cousin. Another disappointment, though for different reasons than my son. Where Dante was unpredictable, Luca is weak, too concerned with profit margins to understand what leadership really means.
“Tell him to pay his respects when he returns.”
“Of course.”
The conversation shifts to business matters that require attention, contracts that need oversight, and the thousand details that keep an empire running smoothly.
By ten o’clock, the dining room has cleared except for Benedetto and immediate family.
A new arrival makes everyone look up. David Roth, the family lawyer, stands in the doorway—a tall, confident man in an expensive suit who’s handled Moretti legal affairs for fifteen years. He commands respect in courtrooms and boardrooms alike.
“Mr. Moretti,” David says, crossing the room with measured steps. “My condolences for your loss. Dante was a remarkable young man.”
“Thank you, David.”
“There’s something I need to discuss with you before tomorrow’s service.” His voice is professional, controlled. “Dante left a will.”
The room goes silent. Even the ticking of the grandfather clock seems louder.
“A will?” Paolo’s voice carries surprise. “He never mentioned?—”
“He had it drafted six months ago,” David continues, his briefcase at his side like he’s prepared for business. “Very specific instructions. The reading is to take place after the funeral, but only if particular people are present.”
“Who?”
“Kasimira Vale, his fiancée. And you, Mr. Moretti. No one else.”
I feel every eye in the room turn toward me. Benedetto’s jaw tightens—we just spent time discussing how to find this woman, and now she’s apparently essential to my son’s final wishes.
“What’s in the will, David?”
“I can’t discuss the contents until the formal reading.”
“We have a lead on Miss Vale,” I tell him. “I’ll have my men follow up during the funeral tomorrow.”
