Chapter 4 - THE GHOST IN DANTE’S HOUSE
Dante did not ask me to trust him.
That was the first reason I started to.
We viewed the flash drive with Leah present.
The files contained newspaper articles from seventeen years earlier.
CHICAGO BUSINESSMAN'S WIFE KILLED IN EXPRESSWAY CRASH.
Another:
POLICE INVESTIGATE POSSIBLE VEHICLE TAMPERING.
Dante's name appeared repeatedly.
So did Isabella Moretti.
Thirty-two years old.
Teacher.
Wife.
Mother.
I looked up.
“Mother?”
Dante's face hardened.
“I had a son.”
Had.
My stomach sank.
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
The room went silent.
Dante sat.
“My son Matteo was six. He was in the car with Isabella.”
I couldn't speak.
“They were supposed to take another vehicle. At the last minute Isabella used mine.”
“Someone sabotaged it?”
“Yes.”
“Because of you?”
“Yes.”
There was no self-defense in his answer.
No attempt to soften it.
“My world killed my family.”
That sentence changed the shape of Dante Moretti.
Not innocent.
Never that.
But not the monster Nolan's package wanted me to imagine either.
“Who did it?”
“The man responsible died years ago.”
“How?”
Dante looked at me.
“Don't ask questions if you aren't prepared for answers.”
I understood.
I didn't ask again.
---
“Why would Nolan know about Isabella?”
Dante looked at the articles.
“Public history.”
“But why send it?”
“To make you afraid of me.”
“Should I be?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
Dante continued.
“You should be cautious around any man with power.”
“Including you.”
“Especially me.”
I stared.
Nolan spent two years insisting I was safe with him while proving otherwise.
Dante had spent three days warning me not to surrender judgment simply because he helped me.
It was a strange kind of honesty.
---
I moved out of the hotel one week later.
Not into Dante's home.
Into an apartment arranged through Leah's office under appropriate privacy measures.
My belongings arrived in boxes.
Rosa supervised the movers.
Nolan did not appear.
My brother did.
He stood across the street.
I almost went to him.
Then remembered:
I knew things have gotten physical.
I closed the curtain.
---
The protective order was granted.
Nolan violated it forty-eight hours later.
Not dramatically.
He sent flowers.
The card read:
YOU'LL COME BACK WHEN MORETTI GETS BORED.
Leah documented it.
Another violation followed.
Email.
Then a call from an unknown number.
Nolan whispered:
“You think a gangster can make you respectable?”
I hung up.
The pattern built itself.
---
Dante and I did not become lovers overnight.
That mattered.
For weeks, we mostly talked.
Sometimes over coffee.
Sometimes at a restaurant Rosa chose because it had three exits.
Dante was absurdly security-conscious.
I teased him once.
“You count doors?”
“Always.”
“Windows?”
“Yes.”
“Waiters?”
“Yes.”
“That's exhausting.”
“It is.”
He looked older when he admitted that.
Not physically.
Tired in a way money could not fix.
---
I learned Dante loved opera and hated golf.
He cooked surprisingly well.
He had not dated seriously since Isabella died.
“Seventeen years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I had enough people close to me buried.”
That answer ended the teasing.
---
One evening he drove me to Lake Michigan.
We sat overlooking the water.
“I need to ask you something,” I said.
“Ask.”
“Why did you hold me when I kissed you?”
He was silent.
Then:
“Because you were shaking.”
“That's all?”
“No.”
My heart changed rhythm.
“What else?”
“I wanted to kiss you back.”
I swallowed.
“But?”
“But wanting something does not make the timing right.”
I stared at him.
Nolan had taught me desire was entitlement.
Dante was teaching me desire could stop at a boundary.
“Would you kiss me now?”
His eyes met mine.
“Are you asking because you want me to?”
“Yes.”
“Or because you think you owe me?”
I almost laughed.
“No one has ever made kissing this complicated.”
“It should be simple.”
“Then kiss me.”
He did.
Slowly.
No ballroom.
No panic.
No audience.
And this time, when Dante's hand touched my waist, I didn't need protection.
I wanted him there.
---
The next morning Nolan disappeared.
His apartment was empty.
His phone was off.
And $47,800 was still missing.
Then Leah called.
“We found the account he transferred it to.”
“Whose?”
May you like
She hesitated.
“Your brother's.”
