Chapter 12 - THE ENVOY FROM THE EAST COASTDante Moretti did not look like a man who belonged in a greasy-spoon diner in upstate New York. Dressed in a charcoal bespoke suit, with his silver-streaked hair immaculate and gold-rimmed glasses catching the harsh fluorescent light, he stood out against the pale-blue vinyl booths like a diamond in a coal chute.
The trucker by the window didn't even look up; local survival instincts in Pine Ridge taught people to ignore expensive-looking men who arrived in town unannounced.
Dante walked slowly down the center aisle, his eyes scanning the cleanliness of the diner with polite clinical detachment before stopping beside booth seven. He offered a courteous, deferential nod to Lena.
“Good evening, Mrs. Marquez. I apologize for the unannounced intrusion.”
Lena’s spine stiffened slightly, her hand instinctively resting near the counter. “Dante. I thought we left the East Coast behind us in Chicago.”
“You did, Lena. But sometimes, geography is irrelevant when the digital world refuses to stay buried,” Dante replied smoothly. He didn't wait for an invitation; he slid into the opposite bench, facing Matteo.
Matteo didn't blink. He slowly lowered his newspaper, folding it with precise, deliberate movements. “Speak, Dante. If this is about Rossi, he’s currently drinking cheap rum in a beach shack in Uruguay. He isn't a problem.”
“Rossi is neutralized, yes,” Dante agreed, pulling a slim, matte-black tablet from his leather briefcase and laying it flat on the table. He tapped the screen, illuminating a series of flashing data lines and bank routing numbers. “That isn't why I’m here. Two days ago, our offshore firewall in Zurich pinged an unauthorized decryption attempt. Someone was trying to claw back the dormant ledger accounts tied to the Marquez family trust.”
Matteo’s expression hardened instantly. The air in the diner seemed to drop ten degrees. “Who?”
“That’s the complication,” Dante said, adjusting his glasses. “It wasn't the Chicago Outfit. And it wasn't a federal agency. The encryption key used to bypass our secondary firewall was a private signature—one that hasn't been active since the European syndicate wars of 2018.”
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Lena leaned closer, her breath catching in her throat. “A signature belonging to whom?”
Dante looked up, his eyes meeting Matteo’s with grim certainty. “Julian Vance.”
