Chapter 6 - The Fall of the King
The collapse of the Moretti empire didn't take months; it took seventy-two hours.
With the black ledger in the hands of federal prosecutors, arrest warrants were issued at a speed unprecedented in Chicago history. By Tuesday evening, eighty percent of Dante’s high-ranking lieutenants had been picked up in coordinated federal raids.
Those who weren't arrested fled the state or were eliminated by the Falcone family, who seized control of the vacuum Dante left behind.
Dante didn't flee. He refused to leave Chicago.
He sat alone in the dark living room of his empty mansion, surrounded by unread court summonses, silence, and the ghost of his past. The staff had fled. Selena had packed her bags and boarded a flight to Miami forty-eight hours ago after realizing Dante was financially ruined and completely indifferent to her existence.
Dante didn't care about Selena. He barely remembered her face. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was Amara sitting across the kitchen island, resting her hand beneath the curve of her belly, quietly saying: “Okay.”
The front door kicked open with a loud, resounding crash.
Dante didn't reach for the gun sitting on the table next to his glass of whiskey. He didn't even flinch.
A team of FBI tactical agents flooded into the grand foyer, their weapons trained on him, laser sights painting bright red dots across his chest and forehead.
"Dante Moretti! Hands where we can see them! On the floor, NOW!"
Dante slowly picked up his glass, took one last sip of his bourbon, and set it down softly on the mahogany coaster. He stood up slowly, raising his hands into the air, a faint, sad smile playing on his lips.
The lead agent, a veteran named Special Agent Miller, stepped forward, pulling out a pair of heavy steel handcuffs.
"Dante Moretti, you are under arrest for racketeering, grand conspiracy, and federal tax evasion," Miller announced, pulling Dante’s arms behind his back and clicking the cuffs tightly around his wrists.
As they dragged him toward the door, Dante paused, looking back at the empty, shadowy mansion.
"Where is she?" Dante asked, his voice low and raspy.
"Mrs. Moretti is in a secure, undisclosed location under federal custody," Miller replied coolly. "And before you ask—no, you won't be getting bail. Your own wife made sure the evidence against you is airtight."
May you like
Dante let out a soft, broken laugh as they led him out into the cold rain toward the waiting police car.
"She always was the smartest person in the room," Dante whispered to himself. "And I was too blind to see it."
