“Maybe he wanted to be better than that,” I shot back, my fear giving way to anger. “Maybe he didn’t want to be a killer.”
“HeISa killer,” Enzo snapped. “Or he’s supposed to be. That’s his job. That’s his duty to this family. And instead, he’s been playing hero, relocating witnesses and informants and thinking I wouldn’t find out?”
“He was protecting people,” I insisted. “People who didn’t deserve to die just because they got caught up in your business.”
Enzo moved toward me, and I forced myself not to flinch. Up close, I could see the fury in his eyes, the same dark blue as Dante’s but cold where Dante’s were warm.
“You don’t understand our world,” he said quietly. “You are not a Valenti. You’re a cowboy. The most terrifying thing you deal with on a daily basis is shit on your boots.”
“No, the most terrifying thing I’ve had to deal with is watching the man I love get arrested for a murder he didn’t commit because hisfather, the most powerful man on the east coast, couldn’t take care of a single fucking cop.”
The words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. I watched Enzo’s face go from fury to something colder, more dangerous. The bodyguard by the door shifted, his hand moving toward his jacket, but Enzo held up one finger and the man froze.
“Careful, boy,” Enzo said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt louder than a shout. “You’re talking to me like you have power here. Like you matter in this equation.”
“I’m Dante’s husband,” I said, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs. “That makes me family. And family protects family, isn’t that what you people believe?”
Something flickered across Enzo’s face. Surprise, maybe, or grudging respect. He studied me for a long moment, and I forced myself to hold his gaze even though every instinct screamed at me to look away.
“Angelo,” Enzo said finally, not breaking eye contact with me. “Get me Marco on the phone.Now.”
Angelo fumbled for his phone with shaking hands. I heard the dial tone, then Marco’s voice answering in rapid Italian. Angelo switched to Italian too, speaking so fast I couldn’t catch more than a few words. But I heard “Bensons” and “Costa Rica” and what sounded like a very creative string of profanity.
Enzo finally looked away from me, turning his attention back to Angelo. “Put him on speaker.”
Angelo did, setting the phone on the table between us.
“Marco,” Enzo said, his voice deceptively calm. “I need you to tell me about the Benson family. And I need you to be very, very honest with me right now.”
There was a long pause on the other end. Then Marco’s voice came through, resigned and tired. “They’re alive, boss. Living in San José under the names Rodriguez. Dante set it up. I helped execute it.”
“How many others?”
Another pause. “I don’t know all of them. Dante kept a lot to himself. But I know of at least fifteen families over the past few years.”
I watched Enzo’s jaw clench, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. My father had gone pale, my mother’s hand pressed to her mouth. Even Heather looked shaken.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this?” Enzo asked, his voice still that terrifying calm.
“Dante made me swear,” Marco said. “Said it was better you didn’t know. That way if anyone ever found out, you could honestly say you had no knowledge of it.”
“Plausible deniability,” the lawyer muttered, scribbling notes.
“Shut the fuck up,” Enzo snapped. “That’s not how this works. My son doesn’t get to make these decisions. My son doesn’t get to undermine my authority and make me look like I can’t control my own family.”
“With all due respect, boss,” Marco said carefully, “Dante was trying to protect you. And the family. Every one of those people would have talked, eventually. Would have cut deals, turned state’s evidence. But dead witnesses make martyrs. Missingwitnesses who everyone thinks are dead? They just disappear from the narrative.”
I saw Enzo pause, saw him actually consider Marco’s words. The lawyer was nodding, his pen moving faster across the legal pad.
“He’s right,” the lawyer said. “From a legal standpoint, this is actually brilliant. No bodies means no physical evidence. And if these people are alive and willing to testify that they faked their deaths to escape both the mob and law enforcement?—”
“Then Caruso’s case falls apart,” Enzo finished, his expression shifting from rage to calculation. “Because how can Dante be guilty of murdering people who aren’t dead?”
“Exactly.” The lawyer leaned forward. “We bring the Bensons back. Put them on the stand. Let them tell their story about how they were afraid of both sides and chose to disappear. Caruso looks like an idiot, and Dante walks.”
“It won’t be that simple,” Enzo said, but I could see the wheels turning. “Caruso will claim they’re lying to protect Dante. That we paid them off or threatened them.”
“Let him claim it,” the lawyer replied. “The burden of proof is on the prosecution. They need to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Dante committed murder. But you can’t murder someone who’s alive and well and sitting in a courtroom explaining how they faked their own death.”
