Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH WORTH A MILLION DOLLARS
Dante led me into a private lounge overlooking Fifth Avenue.
A fireplace burned beneath a marble mantel.
Two men stood near the doors.
Security.
Of course.
I stopped.
“Mr. Moretti.”
He turned.
“Dante.”
I stared.
“What?”
“My name is Dante.”
I folded my arms.
“Fine. Dante. What is happening?”
He studied me.
Then gestured toward a chair.
“Sit.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Ask.”
For the first time, he looked surprised.
Then smiled faintly.
“Would you please sit down?”
I sat.
He took the chair opposite me.
“Those men on the terrace weren't robbers.”
I swallowed.
“I figured that out.”
“They work for a rival organization.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then why were they threatening you?”
Dante's expression darkened.
“Because they're afraid of losing something.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Power.”
Silence.
Then he continued.
“The photographer wasn't there by accident.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He was waiting for an opportunity.”
I looked toward the door.
“An opportunity to photograph you?”
Dante nodded.
“Yes.”
“With me?”
He leaned forward.
“Now they have something more valuable.”
My heart raced.
“What?”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“A woman the city thinks I care about.”
I stared.
Then whispered:
“Oh, no.”
Dante's expression softened.
“Clara.”
I stood.
“No. Absolutely not.”
He watched me.
I continued.
“I have a job. Rent. Student loans. A mother who calls me every Sunday. I cannot become some Mafia gossip headline.”
Dante rose.
“I understand.”
I stared.
“Do you?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
May you like
Then he said something that made my stomach drop.
“Unfortunately, the people who took that photograph may not care what you want.”
