Chapter 4 - THE MORETTI TABLE
The Moretti family arrived at Villa Rizzano at nine the next morning without Bianca.
Her father, Salvatore Moretti, was sixty-seven and had spent forty years looking like he had been carved from expensive stone. Her older brother Matteo came with him. So did their attorney.
No capos.
No soldiers.
No theater.
I kept it that way.
We met in the council room where I had been working when Livia cried.
Salvatore looked at the empty chair beside me.
“Bianca?”
“Not invited.”
His expression hardened.
“She is my daughter.”
“And Livia is mine.”
Silence.
Then the lawyers took over before fathers became stupid.
The so-called Moretti agreement was not a marriage contract.
It was a proposed commercial transaction.
Moretti Legacy Holdings owned several properties, restaurants, a small casino-management interest in another state, and a historic private club that lost money mostly because old men refused to update the kitchen.
The company had debt.
Not insolvency.
Pressure.
One warehouse redevelopment had gone badly. Refinancing matured in six months. Moretti needed new capital or asset sales.
My team had been reviewing a possible joint venture.
Rizzano Capital would invest up to eighteen million dollars into a newly formed property vehicle containing three Moretti assets.
Commercial deal.
Not rescue gift.
No wedding condition.
I had not approved it yet.
Then Salvatore showed me a draft term sheet.
At the top:
RIZZANO-MORETTI STRATEGIC ALIGNMENT.
My name was not signed.
His was.
Then the cover letter.
Prepared by Bianca.
She had written:
Following completion of the marriage between Alessandro Rizzano and Bianca Moretti, the families intend to formalize economic cooperation reflecting their restored unity.
I looked at Salvatore.
“Who authorized her to write this?”
He looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“We believed you knew.”
“Why?”
“She said the commercial discussions were yours.”
“They are.”
“And that timing after the wedding was intentional.”
“No.”
Michael asked:
“Did any Moretti entity make commitments based on expected Rizzano funding?”
Their attorney answered.
“Yes.”
How much?
A bridge facility of six million had been extended by a private lender based partly on a plan showing expected new equity from the proposed joint venture within four months.
Was Rizzano legally obligated?
“No.”
Was the marriage itself a contractual condition?
“No.”
Then why was Bianca afraid when I canceled the wedding?
Because she had told her family the Rizzano investment was effectively assured once she became my wife.
It wasn’t.
Then Salvatore said something worse.
“She told us your hesitation was internal.”
“What internal?”
“Livia.”
The room went cold.
Explain.
Bianca had told the Morettis I was emotionally stuck after Elena’s death and reluctant to make decisions that might make Livia feel her mother was being replaced.
True in part.
Then she said the commercial deal had become entangled with “household unity.”
False.
She told them that once the wedding established her as first woman of Villa Rizzano, my resistance would disappear.
I stared.
Salvatore’s voice dropped.
“I told her not to pressure the child.”
“Did you know she was?”
“I knew there was tension.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He looked at me.
“I knew she believed Livia needed stronger boundaries.”
There.
Another adult hearing vague language and choosing not to ask what it meant.
Then Bianca’s brother Matteo spoke for the first time.
“She kept saying the house had two dead women in it.”
“Two?”
“Elena. And your father’s sister?”
No.
He corrected.
“Sorry. She meant Elena and the old Rizzano way of doing things. She said you were pretending both still had a vote.”
Strange sentence.
Then Michael asked for every communication in which Bianca linked marriage, Livia, or Rizzano funding.
Their lawyer agreed to voluntary review within privilege limits.
Good.
No family seizure.
No hacked phones.
Then Salvatore stood to leave.
At the door he turned.
“If the wedding is canceled, does the commercial review end?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He seemed surprised.
“If the deal is good, it remains good. If it is bad, marrying your daughter would not make it good.”
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That was the first moment he understood this was not old Mafia politics.
At least, not the version Bianca had been selling.
