Chapter 6 - THE SECRET DANTE’S FATHER BURIED
Vittorio refused to answer the phone.
Dante called again.
Nothing.
By the time they reached the Moretti family estate in Lake Forest, rain had turned to sleet.
Amara had insisted on going.
Dante had objected.
She had stared at him until he stopped.
It was their first successful negotiation.
The gates opened.
Vittorio stood in the library beside a fire that had nearly burned itself out.
He looked at the silver rattle in Dante’s hand.
Then closed his eyes.
“Where did you get that?”
Dante threw the note onto the desk.
“Explain.”
Vittorio read it.
He aged ten years in five seconds.
Amara watched him carefully.
“What happened in 1998?”
Vittorio poured himself a drink.
Dante knocked the glass from his hand.
It shattered against the fireplace.
“No whiskey. Words.”
Vittorio looked at his son.
“You’re becoming dramatic like your wife.”
Amara folded her arms.
“Best compliment you’ve ever given me.”
Vittorio almost smiled.
Dante did not.
“What happened?”
His father sat.
“In 1998, the Ferraros and Morettis were negotiating peace.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the version I told you.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
Vittorio looked at Amara.
“Isabella Ferraro was nineteen.”
Amara listened.
“My eldest son, Marco, was twenty-four.”
Dante froze.
“Marco?”
The brother Dante had lost.
The brother whose death changed him.
“They were in love,” Vittorio said.
Dante stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Marco hated Ferraro.”
“He hated Luca.”
“But loved Isabella.”
Vittorio nodded.
“They planned to leave Chicago.”
Dante began pacing.
“No. Marco would’ve told me.”
“You were fifteen.”
“He told me everything.”
“Not that.”
Dante stopped.
Vittorio continued.
“Isabella became pregnant.”
The room went silent.
Amara’s hand went automatically to her stomach.
Dante whispered, “Marco had a child?”
“No.”
The answer was too fast.
Too hard.
Amara saw it.
“What happened to the baby?”
Vittorio looked toward the fire.
“Isabella disappeared for several months.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“When she returned, there was no child.”
Dante’s face had gone white.
“You thought she ended the pregnancy.”
“I was told she did.”
“By whom?”
“Her father.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
Amara understood.
“Because a child would have connected the families permanently.”
Vittorio looked at her.
“Yes.”
Dante slammed both hands onto the desk.
“What does that have to do with Marco dying?”
Vittorio said nothing.
Dante’s voice lowered.
“Dad.”
“I ordered Marco away from her.”
“How?”
“I gave him a choice.”
Amara felt sick.
“What choice?”
Vittorio looked ashamed.
“Family or Isabella.”
Dante stared at him.
“And?”
“He chose her.”
Silence.
“So I threatened to cut him off.”
Dante laughed once.
“You mean disown him?”
“No.”
Vittorio’s eyes hardened with memory.
“I mean everything.”
The meaning settled over the room.
Amara looked at Dante.
His face became murderous.
“You threatened my brother?”
“I was protecting the family.”
“From love?”
“From weakness.”
Dante recoiled.
The irony was unbearable.
Vittorio had taught his sons love was weakness.
Dante had spent his adult life believing it.
And Amara had paid the price.
“What happened?” Dante demanded.
“Marco drove to meet Isabella.”
Vittorio’s voice became quieter.
“His car exploded.”
Dante stopped breathing.
“You said Luca Ferraro ordered it.”
“I believed he did.”
“You said you had proof.”
“I had evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“A witness.”
“Who?”
Vittorio looked at him.
“Elias Grant’s father.”
Amara’s mind raced.
The same Grant family connected to Selena.
Dante’s voice became nearly inaudible.
“You started a war based on one witness.”
“I started a war because my son was dead.”
“And Isabella’s husband died because of me.”
Vittorio looked down.
Dante staggered back as if struck.
Amara had never seen him unravel.
Not publicly.
Not privately.
He moved toward the window and stood with both hands against the frame.
“I killed an innocent man.”
“You didn’t know.”
Dante spun.
“That doesn’t make him less dead.”
Vittorio flinched.
Amara watched her husband.
For years, Dante had carried Marco’s death like a sacred wound.
Now someone had ripped open the story beneath it.
“Where is Isabella’s child?” Amara asked.
Both men looked at her.
“What?”
“The note says one daughter for one husband.”
Amara touched her belly.
“If Isabella lost Marco, and later lost her husband, maybe this isn’t only revenge.”
Vittorio’s expression changed.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m asking whether her baby actually died.”
Silence.
Dante looked at his father.
Vittorio whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“I tried.”
“Try harder.”
A crash sounded upstairs.
Everyone froze.
Dante reached inside his jacket.
Caleb stepped in front of Amara.
Another crash.
Then a woman screamed.
Housekeeper.
Footsteps thundered through the hallway.
Security moved.
A young guard appeared.
“Mr. Moretti, we have a breach.”
“How?”
“East service entrance.”
“Who?”
The guard shook his head.
“Gone.”
Dante looked at Amara.
“Get her downstairs.”
“No.”
“Amara.”
“Stop sending me away from answers.”
Another guard rushed in carrying a photograph.
“Sir.”
Dante took it.
His face changed.
It was an old Polaroid.
A young Marco Moretti stood beside a dark-haired girl.
Isabella.
She was visibly pregnant.
On the back:
HE CHOSE US. YOU CHOSE POWER.
Vittorio sat heavily.
Another photograph had been taped beneath it.
A baby girl.
Perhaps six months old.
Dark curls.
Huge eyes.
The handwriting beneath it read:
HER NAME WAS SOFIA.
Dante looked at his father.
“You said there was no child.”
“I didn’t know.”
The alarm began screaming.
A guard shouted from the hall.
“We found something in the nursery!”
They ran.
The nursery had been prepared for Amara’s baby months earlier.
White furniture.
Soft gold stars.
A crib Dante had assembled himself.
On the mattress sat a red folder.
Amara opened it.
Inside were birth records.
Hospital records.
Adoption documents.
All dated 1999.
Sofia Ferraro.
Name changed.
Adopted privately.
Destination unknown.
Rachel, who had arrived with Caleb’s second security unit, flipped through the papers.
“These are copies.”
“Can we trace them?” Amara asked.
“Maybe.”
Dante stared at one signature.
His expression hardened.
“What?”
Amara stepped closer.
The adoption authorization was signed by a lawyer.
Charles Ward.
She frowned.
“Ward?”
Dante looked at her.
Selena Ward.
Rachel immediately began typing on her phone.
Thirty seconds later, she looked up.
“Charles Ward died twelve years ago.”
“Relation?”
Rachel’s expression became grim.
“Father.”
The room went silent.
Amara stared at the document.
Selena’s father had arranged the disappearance of Marco and Isabella’s daughter.
Dante whispered, “How old is Selena?”
Rachel answered.
“Twenty-seven.”
Dante looked at the date again.
Sofia had been born twenty-seven years earlier.
Amara felt cold.
“No.”
Rachel’s phone buzzed.
She looked at it.
Then slowly lifted her eyes.
“I found Selena’s birth certificate.”
Dante stared.
Rachel swallowed.
“It was amended after adoption.”
Vittorio gripped the crib rail.
“What was her birth name?”
Rachel looked at Dante.
“Sofia Isabella Ferraro.”
Nobody spoke.
Dante sat down.
Hard.
Amara understood the horror before anyone said it aloud.
Selena was not simply Isabella’s employee.
Not merely a spy.
She was Marco Moretti’s daughter.
Dante’s niece.
And nobody had told Dante.
Not before the affair.
Not during it.
Not while someone carefully guided him into the most devastating betrayal possible.
Dante’s face turned gray.
“No.”
Amara’s heart pounded.
He stood too quickly.
“No.”
He backed away.
“Dante.”
“No.”
He looked at the documents as if they were burning.
Then at Amara.
For the first time, the most feared man she had ever known looked absolutely terrified.
Amara understood why.
Someone had not merely wanted to destroy Dante’s marriage.
May you like
They wanted to destroy Dante himself.
And they had succeeded.
