Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF A SONDante reached Elena’s apartment in eleven minutes.
Three police cars arrived seven minutes later.
By then, one guard was unconscious in the hallway, the second had vanished, and Matteo’s nanny was sitting against the kitchen cabinets with blood running from a wound near her temple.
Elena dropped beside her.
“Sarah?”
The woman opened frightened eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Where is he?”
“They took him.”
Elena broke.
Dante caught her shoulders.
“Who?”
Sarah looked at him.
“A man with gray hair. Maybe sixty. He knew Matteo’s name.”
Renzo entered with two Marchetti soldiers.
“The building cameras were cut.”
Dante looked at Sarah.
“Did he say anything?”
She nodded weakly.
“He said to tell Don Vittorio that family debts compound with interest.”
Renzo swore under his breath.
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“Marco.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Dante stood.
His mind became clear in the way it always did when danger removed the luxury of emotion.
“Lock the building.”
Renzo nodded.
“Check traffic cameras.”
“They’re already working.”
“Airports.”
“Yes.”
“Train stations.”
“Yes.”
“Every Marchetti warehouse, apartment, safe house, and property connected to Pier Twenty-Seven.”
Renzo paused.
Dante stared.
“What?”
“Some of those locations answer to Vincenzo.”
“Tonight they answer to me.”
Renzo nodded once.
For the first time, it looked like a lieutenant acknowledging his Don.
Elena watched.
Dante turned back to her.
“I’m bringing him home.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t know Marco.”
“Neither do you.”
“I know what Isabella told me.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“What did she tell you?”
Elena hesitated.
“That Marco was worse than Vittorio.”
Dante almost smiled.
“That narrows nothing.”
“He believed the family should become legitimate only on the surface. Politics, banking, construction. He wanted everything under one network. Judges. Police. Ports. He wanted people indebted before they knew they had borrowed.”
Dante looked toward the window.
“That sounds expensive.”
“He had money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
Renzo answered.
“Enough.”
Dante turned.
Renzo looked uncomfortable.
“Before he supposedly died, Marco controlled several investment companies overseas.”
“And nobody checked whether they survived him?”
“Vittorio ordered everything connected to Marco buried.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“My family’s preferred method of problem solving.”
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
Dante answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice.
Older.
Calm.
“Little Dante.”
His blood turned cold.
“Marco.”
A soft laugh.
“You sound like your father.”
“Where is my son?”
Straight to it. Good. I always disliked men who pretend they care about business when the only thing they care about is blood.”
Dante moved away from Elena.
“If you hurt him—”
“I won’t.”
“You kidnapped a five-year-old.”
“I rescued my grandnephew from people who have been lying about his identity since birth.”
Dante stared at the rain outside.
“What do you want?”
“Vittorio’s succession ceremony.”
“You want the throne?”
“I want the truth witnessed.”
“Then come to the estate.”
“Not yet.”
Dante heard something in the background.
A child laughing.
His chest clenched.
“Put Matteo on.”
Silence.
Then a small voice.
“Hello?”
Dante closed his eyes.
“Matteo.”
“Who is this?”
The question cut deeper than any prison knife.
“My name is Dante.”
“I saw you today.”
“I saw you too.”
“You made Mommy cry.”
Dante swallowed.
“I know.”
“Are you mad at her?”
“No.”
That answer came without hesitation.
“No, Matteo. I’m not mad at your mom.”
“Okay.”
Dante pressed his fist against his mouth for one second.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes. There’s a dog.”
Marco’s voice returned.
“He likes dogs.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Bring him back.”
“Tomorrow at noon. Old Marchetti rail terminal. Come with Vittorio. Vincenzo. Isabella. Elena.”
“No soldiers.”
“Of course soldiers. We are Marchetis. Just don’t insult me by pretending you came alone.”
The call ended.
Elena stared at him.
“What did he say?”
Dante told them.
By dawn, the estate had become a fortress.
Vittorio refused hospital treatment despite the sniper attack.
“The shot missed.”
“By inches,” Renzo argued.
“Then the shooter should practice.”
Dante entered the study.
Isabella stood by the fireplace.
Vincenzo occupied the sofa, furious.
Vittorio looked at Dante.
“My grandson?”
“Alive.”
Something softened in the old man’s eyes.
“He spoke to you?”
“For thirty seconds.”
“Did he know?”
“No.”
Vittorio nodded.
“Good.”
Dante stared.
“Good?”
“He’s five. Let him have one more morning before learning his entire family is insane.”
Even Dante almost smiled.
Almost.
He faced Isabella.
“Tell me everything about Marco.”
“I already did.”
“No. You gave us the acceptable version.”
Vittorio looked at her.
“Isabella.”
She closed her eyes.
“Marco didn’t disappear because he betrayed Vittorio.”
Vittorio turned sharply.
“What?”
“He disappeared because I tried to kill him.”
Silence.
Vincenzo stared at his mother.
“Why?”
Isabella’s face seemed to age ten years.
“Because Marco knew Dante wasn’t simply Vittorio’s heir.”
Dante frowned.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at him.
“Your mother left you something.”
He touched the silver medal beneath his shirt.
“This?”
“Not the medal.”
Vittorio looked equally confused.
Isabella continued.
“Your mother came from the Bellandi family.”
Renzo went still.
Dante had heard the name.
Old Chicago banking money.
Shipping.
Real estate.
Billions.
The Bellandis had collapsed after an internal scandal when Dante was a child.
Isabella said, “Before your mother died, her father transferred controlling interests in several Bellandi holdings into a trust.”
Dante stared.
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Today?”
She gave him a number.
Dante thought he had misheard.
Vincenzo sat forward.
Vittorio whispered a curse.
Dante laughed once.
“Six point eight billion dollars?”
“Approximately.”
The word approximately almost made him laugh again.
“And I’m hearing about this now?”
“Because the trust activates only when you are both free and thirty-five.”
Dante’s birthday was in three weeks.
He understood.
“Marco wants it.”
“No,” Isabella said. “Marco wants what it buys.”
“Influence.”
“Ownership. Ports. Media. Construction. Political debt.”
Vincenzo stood.
“So this isn’t about succession.”
Dante looked at him.
“It was always about succession.”
Vincenzo’s face hardened.
“You think everything belongs to you.”
“No. I think people keep trying to steal things with my name on them.”
Vittorio raised his voice.
“Enough.”
Dante turned to Isabella.
“You tried to kill Marco because he knew about the trust?”
“I tried to stop him from using you.”
“You mean you wanted to use me first.”
She slapped the arm of her chair.
“I kept you alive!”
“Stop saying that like it absolves you.”
Her eyes filled.
“You have no idea how many times someone tried to reach you.”
That silenced him.
“What?”
“Three kidnapping attempts before you turned twelve. A poisoned driver. A tutor who worked for Marco. A nurse who tried to switch your medication after surgery.”
Vittorio looked stunned.
“You never told me.”
“Because you would have started a war.”
“And you thought secrecy was better?”
“I thought children deserved childhood.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“Apparently except Vincenzo.”
Everyone turned.
Vincenzo’s face became unreadable.
Dante had hit something.
Isabella whispered, “Leave him out of this.”
“Why?”
“Dante.”
“What happened to him?”
Vincenzo stood.
“I said enough.”
Dante stepped closer.
“No. You spent six years sitting in my seat. You can handle one uncomfortable conversation.”
Vincenzo grabbed him.
Dante shoved him away.
Vittorio shouted.
Then Isabella broke.
“Marco is Vincenzo’s father.”
No one moved.
Dante looked at Vincenzo.
Vincenzo looked at his mother.
The color drained from his face.
“What?”
Isabella covered her mouth.
Vittorio stared as though she had stabbed him.
“You told me his father died before we met.”
“He did not.”
Vincenzo whispered, “Marco?”
“Yes.”
The entire family had just changed shape.
Dante looked at the man he had called brother.
Not Vittorio’s stepson.
Vittorio’s nephew.
Marco’s son.
The rival claimant.
And suddenly Dante understood something far worse.
If Marco wanted a throne—
He already had an heir.
Dante looked at Vincenzo.
“So that’s why he framed me.”
Vincenzo shook his head.
“No.”
Dante saw genuine confusion.
“I didn’t know.”
Maybe he was lying.
Maybe he wasn’t.
Then Renzo’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
Renzo looked at Dante.
“We found the missing guard.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
Dante waited.
Renzo swallowed.
“He had a note pinned to his jacket.”
“What does it say?”
May you like
Renzo looked at Vincenzo.
“Bring me my son.”
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