Dante Moretti was arrested three days after Vanessa's testimony.
Not in the cinematic way Alessandro had been dragged from his home, not with flashing lights or cameras waiting to catch every angle of disgrace. There was no spectacle. No chaos. Just a quiet surrender inside a polished office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view that used to mean something.
Dante had walked in wearing a tailored suit. He had spoken briefly with his lawyer. Then he had signed the necessary documents, handed over his phone, and allowed himself to be processed.
By the time the news broke, he was already in custody.
Sienna read about it alone.
She had been sitting by the small kitchen window in their Astoria apartment, a chipped mug of coffee growing cold in her hands. The article loaded slowly, as if even the internet understood that this moment carried weight.
She stared at his mugshot longer than she expected to.
Dante looked… different.
Not broken. Not yet.
But stripped.
