Chapter 2 - THE PROMISE BENEATH THE HONEY
The stranger stopped ten feet from our table.
He wore a dark leather jacket and carried a white envelope.
“Mr. Russo.”
Dante didn't move.
“Who sent you?”
The man glanced toward me.
“I have something for Miss Whitaker.”
“Then give it to me,” Dante said.
The stranger smiled.
“It's personal.”
Marco stepped forward.
“Nothing gets handed to her without being checked.”
I looked between them.
“Would someone please explain what's happening?”
Nobody answered.
The stranger placed the envelope on an empty crate.
Then he backed away.
“Tell her the past doesn't stay buried forever.”
He returned to the SUV.
Within seconds, the vehicle disappeared.
Dante picked up the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of my farmhouse.
Taken the previous night.
On the back, someone had written:
WE KNOW WHAT HER FATHER HID.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What is this?”
Dante folded the photograph.
“A warning.”
“From whom?”
“A man named Victor Hale.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar.
I searched my memory.
Then I remembered.
My father had once mentioned a businessman named Victor.
He'd told me never to trust men who smiled while threatening people.
“Who is he?” I whispered.
Dante looked toward the road.
“Someone your father tried to stop.”
I stared at him.
“My father was a beekeeper.”
“Before that, he was an accountant.”
“I know.”
“He worked for a company Victor controlled.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of company?”
“Shipping. Construction. Financial services.”
“And?”
Dante hesitated.
“He discovered money being moved through businesses that existed only on paper.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Fraud?”
“Among other things.”
“Did he report it?”
“He tried.”
The answer made my chest tighten.
“What happened?”
Dante looked at me.
“Someone inside the investigation warned Victor.”
I felt sick.
“My father died in a car accident.”
Dante said nothing.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Emma—”
“No. Don't tell me you're about to say what I think you're about to say.”
His expression softened.
“I believe Victor arranged your father's death.”
The market disappeared around me.
For eleven years, I'd believed my father died because a truck driver fell asleep behind the wheel.
I'd spent years wondering whether he'd suffered.
Whether he'd been frightened.
Whether he'd known he wasn't coming home.
Now Dante was telling me it might have been murder.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Your father asked me not to involve you unless Victor came looking.”
“And you agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dante's voice lowered.
“Because your father saved my life.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“Years ago, I was working with people I should never have trusted. Your father discovered evidence that someone planned to betray me.”
“And he warned you?”
“He did more than that.”
Dante looked away.
“He helped me get out alive.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, “Why the honey?”
Dante looked back at me.
“Your father told me that if I ever needed to find you, I'd find you where the bees were.”
My throat tightened.
“He said that?”
Dante nodded.
“He said you loved the farm more than anything.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I looked down.
My father had always said bees were honest creatures.
They worked.
Protected their families.
And never pretended to be something they weren't.
I wished he were here.
I wished I could ask him what he'd done.
Why he'd trusted Dante.
Why he'd kept secrets from me.
Dante waited quietly.
Finally, I whispered, “What do they want from me?”
“Something your father hid.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the photograph of my farmhouse.
May you like
Then at Dante.
“Then I guess we'd better find out.”
