Chapter 3 - MY BROTHER KNEW
I stared at the photograph until the faces blurred.
“That can't be Evan.”
“It is.”
“No.”
Dante said nothing.
My brother and Nolan had known each other for years.
Evan had introduced us.
He had called Nolan dependable.
Successful.
The kind of man who could give me stability.
Every time Nolan and I fought, Evan told me relationships were difficult.
Every time I hinted that Nolan had a temper, Evan told me not to dramatize things.
Once, after Nolan shoved me against a kitchen counter, I called Evan crying.
He came over.
He saw the bruise.
Then Nolan took him into the hallway.
Ten minutes later Evan returned and said:
“Nolan told me what happened. Serena, you can't keep provoking people and then rewriting the story afterward.”
I had never forgotten it.
But I had convinced myself my brother simply didn't understand.
Now he was leaving my apartment with Nolan less than twelve hours after I publicly admitted being hit.
“Why?”
Dante answered:
“We don't know.”
I hated that answer.
I wanted something simple.
My brother was manipulated.
My brother was stupid.
My brother didn't understand.
Anything except the possibility that he understood perfectly.
My phone rang.
Evan.
Dante looked at me.
“Your choice.”
I answered.
“Serena?”
“What?”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“With Moretti?”
My silence answered.
Evan exhaled sharply.
“You need to come home.”
Home again.
Everyone kept using that word as though walls automatically created safety.
“Why were you at my apartment?”
“Nolan called me.”
“Why?”
“He's worried.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
“He's worried?”
“Serena, listen to me. Whatever happened last night got completely out of hand.”
“He grabbed me.”
“You kissed another man in front of him.”
“After he grabbed me.”
“You humiliated him.”
I looked at Dante.
He wasn't listening with curiosity.
He was watching my face.
“Evan.”
“What?”
“Nolan hits me.”
Silence.
Then my brother said:
“I know things have gotten physical a couple times.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“You know?”
“Serena—”
“You knew?”
“I knew you two fought.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“You said you believed him.”
“I was trying to save your relationship.”
“You knew.”
“Relationships aren't disposable.”
Neither are women, I wanted to say.
Instead:
“Don't call me again.”
I ended the call.
Then I broke.
Not because Nolan hurt me.
I'd cried over that before.
I cried because my brother knew.
Dante remained where he was.
He didn't touch me.
Didn't tell me to calm down.
Didn't promise revenge.
Eventually I whispered:
“Why aren't you saying anything?”
“Because nothing I say makes what your brother did less painful.”
That was when I understood why Dante frightened people.
He didn't fill silence because silence made him uncomfortable.
He could sit inside it.
---
That afternoon, Rosa accompanied me to a medical clinic.
The bruises were documented.
My shoulder was strained.
No fracture.
Then an attorney met me.
Her name was Leah Morrison.
Not Dante's lawyer.
Mine.
Dante had paid for the consultation but made it clear I could choose someone else.
Leah explained options.
Protective order.
Police report.
Lease arrangements.
Property retrieval.
Evidence preservation.
For the first time, leaving Nolan became a sequence of practical steps instead of an impossible cliff.
---
Then Leah asked:
“Do you share finances?”
I nodded.
“One account.”
“How much?”
“About forty-eight thousand dollars.”
She looked at me.
“Check it.”
I opened my banking app.
Balance:
$312.44.
I stopped breathing.
“Nolan emptied it.”
Leah immediately leaned closer.
“When?”
Transaction history.
6:42 that morning.
$47,800 transferred.
Destination hidden behind an account reference I didn't recognize.
Dante, standing near the window, turned.
“What happened?”
Leah answered:
“Nolan moved the money.”
His expression became cold.
I thought he would threaten someone.
Instead he asked:
“Was the money legally accessible to him?”
“Potentially,” Leah said. “But we need records.”
Dante nodded.
“Then get records.”
No theatrics.
No broken bones.
Just evidence.
Again.
---
That night, another message came from Nolan.
Come home and we can fix everything.
Then:
Your money is safe when you are ready to behave like an adult.
I showed Leah.
She smiled without humor.
“Keep that.”
For the first time in my life, Nolan's arrogance felt useful.
---
But the next morning brought something worse.
A package arrived at the hotel.
No return address.
Inside was a flash drive.
And a note.
ASK DANTE WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS WIFE.
I stared at the words.
Dante was across the room speaking with Rosa.
He noticed my expression.
“What is it?”
I handed him the note.
He read it.
For the first time since I met him, Dante Moretti lost color.
Not much.
But enough.
“Who was your wife?” I asked.
He looked at me.
His answer came quietly.
“Her name was Isabella.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“How?”
May you like
Dante's eyes shifted toward the flash drive.
“In a car that was supposed to be carrying me.”
