Chapter 7 - The Shadow of the Past
Two months later.
The Bellavita estate had undergone a complete transformation.
The dark, gloomy corridors that had once reeked of paranoia and fear were now filled with light, music, and life. The corrupt guards on Vincent’s payroll had been thoroughly purged, replaced by young, fiercely loyal men who viewed Rocco not just as a boss, but as a legend who had survived the ultimate inside coup.
It was a crisp Saturday morning in October.
Rocco sat in his master study, sipping hot espresso, reading the financial reports from the Newark territory. Under the new management, the legitimate shipping docks were generating thirty percent more revenue now that Carmine’s corrupt skimming had been eliminated.
A soft knock came at the door.
Dante stepped inside, carrying a small leather satchel.
"Boss," Dante said quietly. "The federal investigators finished searching Dr. Voss’s private residence in Vermont."
Rocco didn't look up from his paper. "Did they find anything useful?"
"They found Voss’s private journals," Dante said, setting the satchel on the desk. "It goes back twenty years, Rocco."
Rocco paused, lowering the newspaper. "Twenty years?"
Dante opened the satchel, pulling out an old, yellowed leather notebook stamped with a medical seal.
"Voss didn't just start working for Carmine three months ago," Dante revealed, his voice solemn. "Carmine had a hook in Voss for two decades. Blackmail over a botched surgery in Chicago."
Rocco’s jaw tightened. He reached out, opening the yellowed notebook to a page marked with a red ribbon.
The entry was dated August 14, 2011—the night Rocco’s father, the legendary Don Giovanni Bellavita, had passed away.
"August 14: Received final payment from C.M. Administered 50mg of Potassium Chloride through the IV line at 0200 hours. Cardiac arrest registered as natural failure at 0215 hours. Death certificate signed. C.M. assured me my record in Chicago remains wiped."
Rocco stared at the handwritten words.
The room grew so quiet that the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner sounded like heavy hammer blows.
His father hadn't died of heart failure.
Carmine Moretti had murdered Giovanni Bellavita fifteen years ago to take control of the Newark docks—and had then spent fifteen years waiting for the right moment to kill Rocco the same way.
Dante stood silently, waiting for the storm.
Rocco slowly closed the journal. He didn't yell. He didn't smash his desk. The sheer, overwhelming rage inside him condensed into a cold, diamond-hard resolve.
"Dante," Rocco whispered.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Where is Carmine right now?"
"He’s living in the villa in Argentina, Boss. Under twenty-four-hour surveillance by our local team, just as you ordered."
Rocco stood up, walking over to the fireplace. He tossed the old medical journal into the dying embers, watching the yellowed pages catch fire, curling into black ash.
"Call our team in Buenos Aires," Rocco commanded softly, staring into the flames. "Tell them Carmine’s exile is over."
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"What are the instructions?" Dante asked.
"Tell them to give him a bottle of white pills," Rocco said, his voice dropping into the darkness of absolute vengeance. "And tell him it’s a gift from my father."
