Chapter 2 - THE DEAD MAN WHO HAD A DAUGHTER
At 11:43 that night, Anna Miller sat across from Dante Moretti in the library.
Sophie was asleep upstairs.
Henry stood outside the door.
Dante placed the photograph between them.
“Start at the beginning.”
Anna stared at her hands.
“Daniel survived the explosion.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“That's impossible.”
“I know what the police report says.”
“I buried two men.”
“You buried Luca. The second coffin contained remains that were never conclusively identified.”
Dante went still.
Anna continued.
“Daniel was thrown clear before the car exploded. He was badly injured, but he survived. Someone helped him disappear.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed anyone who knew the truth would be killed.”
Dante leaned back.
He remembered the funeral.
The two coffins.
His father's refusal to permit an independent investigation.
He had been twenty-nine, angry and grieving, and his father had convinced him that asking questions would only prolong the family's suffering.
“Where did you meet Daniel?”
“In Providence. Five years after the explosion. He was working under the name Miller.”
“And you married him?”
Anna nodded.
“He told me about his past before the wedding. Not everything, but enough.”
Dante looked at the photograph.
“What happened to him?”
Anna's eyes filled.
“He was killed three years ago.”
“How?”
“A hit-and-run.”
Dante's expression hardened.
“Accident?”
Anna shook her head.
“He received threats for weeks beforehand.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
Dante studied her.
“Why did you come here?”
Anna looked toward the door.
“Because Daniel left instructions.”
She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small brass key.
“He told me that if anything happened to him, I should wait until Sophie was old enough to travel safely, then find work at the Moretti estate.”
Dante frowned.
“Why wait?”
“He said the people watching us would eventually believe the evidence was gone.”
“And the key?”
Anna placed it on the desk.
“I don't know what it opens.”
Dante examined it.
Seven tiny stars had been engraved along one side.
He felt a chill.
“Did Daniel tell you anything else?”
Anna hesitated.
“He said Luca didn't die because of you.”
Dante's breath caught.
For nine years, he had blamed himself.
He had sent Luca to deliver documents that evening.
He had ignored his brother's warning that something was wrong.
He had spent almost a decade replaying their last argument.
Dante looked away.
Anna continued softly.
“Daniel said Luca was trying to protect you.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Dante asked, “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
Anna's eyes flashed.
“Because I was afraid.”
He looked at her.
“I had a baby. No money. No protection. My husband had been murdered. And every time I searched your name, I found stories about people who crossed the Moretti family and disappeared.”
Dante said nothing.
Anna swallowed.
“I didn't know whether you were the man Daniel wanted me to find or the man he was trying to protect us from.”
The words struck harder than any accusation.
Dante looked at the photograph again.
Then he pushed the brass key back toward her.
“Keep it.”
Anna frowned.
“Why?”
“Because it belongs to your family.”
She stared.
“And what happens now?”
Dante looked toward the ceiling.
Above them, Sophie slept beneath a blue blanket.
“Now we find out who killed my brother.”
The next morning, Marcus Vale entered Dante's office carrying shipping reports.
He noticed the photograph immediately.
For a fraction of a second, his face changed.
Then he smiled.
“Where did you find that?”
Dante looked up.
“Recognize it?”
Marcus shrugged.
“Luca's old car.”
“And the man beside him?”
“Daniel Cross.”
Dante watched him.
“Thought he died in the explosion.”
“He did.”
“Are you certain?”
Marcus's smile faded.
“Dante, we went through this nine years ago.”
“I remember.”
“The investigation was conclusive.”
“Was it?”
Marcus closed the folder.
“What's going on?”
Dante smiled faintly.
“I'm remembering my brother.”
Marcus studied him.
Then his gaze fell on the gold star attached to Dante's jacket.
“Be careful with memories,” he said.
Dante raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
Marcus's voice became colder.
“Sometimes they make men forget what's important.”
After Marcus left, Dante called Henry.
“Find me an independent investigator. Someone Marcus doesn't know.”
Henry nodded.
“And the Millers, sir?”
Dante looked toward the garden.
Sophie was chasing butterflies while Anna watched from the terrace.
“Make sure they're safe.”
That afternoon, Sophie appeared in Dante's office carrying a green star.
“Walking star.”
Dante smiled.
“Do I need to go somewhere?”
She nodded solemnly.
“Outside.”
“Why?”
“Because you're sad.”
He stared at her.
Sophie climbed onto the chair opposite him.
“Mama says when you're sad, you have to go where the sun can find you.”
Dante looked at the child.
Then at the photograph of Luca.
For nine years, he had avoided sunlight whenever he could.
He stood.
“All right, princess.”
Sophie grinned.
She took his hand.
And Dante Moretti, who had once ordered men to wait hours for an appointment, abandoned a multimillion-dollar meeting to walk through his garden with a three-year-old girl.
From an upstairs window, Marcus Vale watched them.
Then he took out his phone.
“The widow is here,” he said quietly.
A voice answered.
“Does Dante know?”
Marcus watched Sophie place another star on Dante's sleeve.
“Not everything.”
May you like
The voice paused.
“Then make sure he never does.”
