Chapter 4 - The Ghost of the French Quarter
The name echoed off the high walls like a death sentence: *Uncle Carlo.*
Carlo Moretti was Dante’s last living blood relative—his father’s younger brother, a ruthless traditionalist who controlled the riverfront docks, the union payouts, and the old-school extortion rings. While Dante had modernized the family, moving their wealth into high-tech logistics, real estate, and legitimate international shipping, Carlo had remained in the muck, clinging to violence and illicit contracts.
Dante didn't flinch, but Luca visibly stiffened beside him.
"Uncle Carlo," Dante repeated, the words tasting like poison on his tongue. "My father's brother."
"He told me Marcus Vance was nobody," Victoria wept, her defiance instantly collapsing back into terror as the weight of what she had confessed settled upon her. "He said Marcus was an insignificant cockroach who sat on prime logistics land! He told me if I used the security locks from our armory and posed as an inspector to lock the fire exits from the alley, he would make me head of logistics at the new terminal! He gave me Marcus's jewelry box as a bonus!"
Isabella let out a broken, agonizing wail. She fell to her knees beside the table, her hands clutching her head as the gruesome imagery of her father's final, trapped moments tore through her mind. "You killed him for money... you burned my daddy for a promotion..."
Dante knelt beside Isabella.
For a man whose name made governors tremble and cartel bosses sweat through their suits, his touch was impossibly tender. He placed a large, calloused hand on the young girl's trembling shoulder.
"Look at me, Isabella," he commanded softly.
She lifted her tear-streaked face.
"Your father saved my life when I was nothing," Dante said, each word a vow forged in iron and blood. "He gave me food when I was starving. He held my hand when I was dying. The debt I owe Marcus Vance cannot be measured in all the gold in this city. I failed to protect him then because I was blind to the vipers in my own nest. But I swear on my mother's soul, every single person who had a hand in that fire will pay in blood."
He turned his head slightly toward Luca.
"Take Victoria to the sub-basement. Put her in the quiet room. Strip her of all devices. If she bites her own tongue to die before I give the order, I will hold you personally responsible."
"Understood, Boss," Luca said coldly. Two massive guards dragged Victoria away by her armpits, her screams of mercy muffled as the heavy steel doors of the service corridor slammed shut behind them.
Dante stood up, offering his hand to Isabella. She took it, feeling the immense strength within his grip. He pulled her to her feet with gentle ease.
"You are no longer a maid in this house, Isabella," Dante said, looking down into her wide, frightened eyes. "From this moment forward, you are a protected ward of the Moretti bloodline. Anyone who touches you, touches me. Anyone who disrespects you, answers to my gun."
"I... I don't want money, Mr. Moretti," Isabella whispered, her voice shaking with raw grief. "I just wanted justice. I wanted people to remember that my father was good. When the fire happened, the newspapers said he was negligent... they said he burned his own shop down for insurance fraud! They destroyed his name!"
Dante’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to pierce the skin. "We will clear his name before sunrise. But first, we have to deal with the rot inside our house."
Luca stepped back into the room, wiping his hands with a handkerchief. "Dante. We have a problem. Carlo's men just pinged Victoria's private burner phone. Three incoming calls in the last five minutes from the Port 4 warehouse. Carlo knows something is wrong."
Dante checked his platinum watch. It was 10:45 PM.
May you like
"Call our strike team," Dante ordered, his voice dropping into the terrifying cadence of a general preparing for war. "And tell them to prepare the convoy. We are going to visit my uncle."
***
