Page 33 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

The Moretti family had been rooted in New York for years. We'd always stayed in our lane with the Mexican cartels. Whywould they suddenly show up at the underground casino? And breaking in late at night—looked like they were searching for something.

"I'll handle the investigation. You focus on recovery." I stood, clapping his uninjured shoulder. "For now, don't worry about anything. Just heal."

"About Elena—"

I paused. "Put that on hold."

Marco nodded, didn't push it.

The next morning, Alfredo came with a message. Salvador wanted to see me.

I entered Salvador's room. He was propped against the headboard, staring blankly out the window. His body was more fragile now, couldn't handle wind, so even wheeling himself outside had become nearly impossible. He spent most of his time confined to bed.

Morning light streamed through the window, making his white hair almost painful to look at. He seemed older than last time, cheeks sunken, skin on the backs of his hands wrinkled like crumpled paper.

"Heard you were injured," Salvador spoke, then started coughing after one sentence. I said nothing, just poured him tea.

Salvador took the tea, gulped it down, and once his breathing steadied, looked up at me. "Know who they were?"

"Looks like Mexican cartel." I had no real leads, sitting in the nearby chair. "I've never dealt with Mexican operations. Maybe they've got eyes on the casino, want a piece."

Salvador pulled a file from his bedside drawer and tossed it in my lap. "See for yourself."

The envelope was thick, containing several photos—blurry surveillance screenshots capturing a few men's profiles and backs. Beneath the photos lay a stack of detailed information about Mexico's Cruz family.

"The Cruz family?" I frowned. "Aren't they based in Mexico?"

I kept flipping through. This file was detailed—didn't look recently compiled, but accumulated over several years. It documented the Cruz family's territorial distribution, their actual operations. All dirty—human trafficking and underground drug trade.

I frowned, still unclear how they'd cross paths with the Moretti family.

Salvador was quiet for a while, as if remembering. He spoke. "Years ago, I dealt with the Cruz family. Their methods were filthy, no moral boundaries, dealing in things I wouldn't touch. So I refused their patriarch's offer to partner. They wanted access to one of our transport routes. What they'd use it for—you can guess."

I looked at the disturbing photos in the file, understanding Salvador's words.

"I never told you—the car accident that cost me my legs, the Cruz family arranged it. After I rejected them, they kept trying to retaliate, wanting to kill me and take the Moretti family. Fortunately, you grew up. You stepped up and took the family burden, so they didn't dare make another move." Salvador talked too much, his body seeming to burn through oxygen, wheezing continuously.

I stared at him in shock, unable to speak for a long time. He'd never told me any of this. I only knew he was strict with me, but I didn't know our family had been targeted like this all along, that he'd suffered such vicious retaliation.

"If you're really going up against them, you can't be careless." Salvador looked at me, his gaze showing rare concern. "I know you want to move the family into more legitimate business. I have no objection. But it'll tie your hands. I'm afraid you won't be able to handle that kind of filth."

He hadn't spoken to me in this tone for a long time.

Not ordering. Not mocking. More like a father warning his son. I'd only heard this tone when I was very young.

"Understood." I put the materials back in the envelope, formulating my next move. Passive waiting wasn't my style. Salvador's legs, Marco's injury—I'd repay them a thousand times over.

"Thanks for the warning." For once, we ended a conversation on relatively easy terms. I stood. "Rest well. I need to get to the office."

"Dante." As I turned to leave, he suddenly called after me.

I stopped, summoning what patience I had. "What now?"

"How are things with Elena?" Salvador started coughing again. I turned to look at him. He couldn't break the habit of interfering in my life.

My tone was impatient. "Nothing's happening. None of your schemes will work out."

Strangely, Salvador didn't explode. He was quiet for a moment, his breathing rough as a bellows. When he spoke again, his voice was slow and heavy. "I know because of Isabella, you've always hated me."