Chapter 9 - THE MOTHER IN THE GRAVEDante could not speak.
Of all the lies he had learned in forty-eight hours, this one was different.
Carlo’s murder had stolen his freedom.
Matteo’s secret had stolen his fatherhood.
But Lucia’s death—
That had shaped him from birth.
He had stood beneath her portrait every Christmas.
Placed flowers at her grave every Mother’s Day.
Worn her medal through six years in prison.
“What do you mean she died three years later?”
Renzo’s eyes filled with shame.
“Vittorio.”
Dante turned.
His father looked defeated.
“You knew.”
Vittorio nodded.
Dante almost hit him.
He wanted to.
Instead he gripped the back of a chair until his knuckles whitened.
“Start talking.”
Vittorio sat.
“Your mother survived childbirth.”
“Why tell me she didn’t?”
“She became ill afterward.”
“What kind of illness?”
“Fear.”
Dante laughed bitterly.
“That’s not an illness.”
“She believed Marco would use you to control the Bellandi trust. She wanted to disappear until legal safeguards were established.”
“So you erased her?”
“She asked me to.”
Dante looked at Renzo.
“And three years later?”
Renzo answered.
“Car accident.”
“Actual accident?”
Silence.
Dante slammed the chair against the wall.
Matteo cried from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
Elena stood behind him.
Dante immediately softened.
“Hey.”
Matteo looked scared.
“Are you mad?”
Dante crouched.
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“Never.”
The answer came instantly.
Matteo walked to him.
Dante took his hand.
A five-year-old boy had become the only person in the room Dante trusted without question.
That realization terrified him.
He stood.
“Take him upstairs.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“He has already heard too many adults lie around him. I’m not making secrets normal.”
Dante looked at her.
She was right.
He hated that she was right.
He lifted Matteo into his arms.
“Stay with me, then.”
The boy rested his head on Dante’s shoulder.
Dante looked at Vittorio.
“Tell me how she died.”
Vittorio’s voice was low.
“She was driving to meet Senator Vale.”
Dante froze.
“Why?”
“To finalize the trust protections.”
“And?”
“A truck crossed the median.”
“Driver?”
“Never found.”
Dante looked at Isabella.
She shook her head.
“I had nothing to do with Lucia.”
For once, he believed her.
Vincenzo closed the laptop.
“If Vale killed Lucia, then he has been controlling this family for thirty years.”
Renzo nodded.
“Possibly.”
Dante looked at the documents Vale had sent.
“Or he wants us believing that.”
A message appeared.
MEET ME ALONE. TONIGHT. BELLANDI TOWER.
Dante almost laughed.
Elena saw the message.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You have the face.”
“What face?”
“The one that means you’re about to do something reckless because a man challenged you.”
Vincenzo nodded.
“She’s right.”
Dante looked offended.
“You’re agreeing with her?”
“Frequently, from now on.”
Despite everything, Elena smiled.
Dante looked at Matteo.
His son had begun falling asleep against his shoulder.
He carried him upstairs.
At the bedroom door, Matteo whispered, “Are you staying?”
Dante’s chest tightened.
“For a while.”
“Tomorrow too?”
Dante looked at Elena.
She stood behind them.
“Yes.”
Matteo’s eyes closed.
Dante placed him in bed.
For several minutes, neither adult moved.
Elena finally whispered, “He likes pancakes.”
Dante looked at her.
“What?”
“You missed five years. If we’re going to fix any of this, you should know things.”
Dante sat beside the bed.
“Okay.”
“He hates tomatoes.”
“I also hate tomatoes.”
“I know.”
“He sleeps with the hallway light on.”
“I did that until I was seven.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
She smiled sadly.
“I knew you.”
The past tense hurt.
Dante looked at her.
“I want to know you again.”
Elena’s smile disappeared.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re vulnerable right now.”
“I spent six years in prison. Vulnerability isn’t new.”
“You know what I mean.”
He stood.
“Elena.”
She stepped back.
“You cannot decide you want me because you discovered Matteo.”
“I wanted you before I knew.”
Her eyes filled.
“You hated me this morning.”
“I hated what I thought you did.”
“That hatred came easily.”
Dante flinched.
She regretted it immediately.
But it was true.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I am.”
He looked toward Matteo.
“I don’t expect six years to disappear.”
“Good.”
“I expect the next six to be different.”
Elena said nothing.
At ten thirty, Dante left for Bellandi Tower.
Not alone.
Vincenzo sat in the passenger seat.
Dante stared at him.
“I said I’m going alone.”
“You tell people many things.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
Dante drove.
Bellandi Tower rose sixty stories above the river.
Vale occupied the penthouse.
Security waved them through.
“Apparently he expected two of us,” Vincenzo said.
Dante disliked that.
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.
Thomas Vale stood beside enormous windows overlooking Chicago.
Seventy-one years old.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
No visible fear.
“Dante.”
“Senator.”
Vale looked at Vincenzo.
“Marco’s boy.”
Vincenzo’s expression hardened.
“Careful.”
Vale smiled.
“You sound like him.”
“People keep saying that. It doesn’t improve my mood.”
Vale poured three drinks.
Neither brother accepted.
Dante said, “Proof.”
Vale placed a metal box on the table.
Inside were old cassette tapes.
Letters.
A ledger.
And Lucia’s wedding ring.
Dante stopped breathing.
“Where did you get that?”
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Three hours before she died.”
Dante picked it up.
His hand trembled.
Vale watched.
“Your mother knew someone inside the Marchetti family intended to use the Bellandi trust.”
“Who?”
“She never learned.”
“Convenient.”
Vale smiled.
“You have your father’s suspicion.”
“I have reason.”
Vale handed him a letter.
Lucia’s handwriting.
Dante recognized it from the notes framed in his childhood bedroom.
My son must never inherit fear disguised as duty.
His vision blurred.
He forced himself to continue.
If Dante chooses the family, let it be his choice. If he chooses Elena, or music, or another country, let him go.
Dante stopped.
“Elena?”
Vale looked surprised.
“Your mother knew Elena’s mother. They were friends.”
Dante’s heart pounded.
Elena’s presence in his life had not been random.
Vale continued.
“Lucia arranged for you and Elena to attend the same school.”
Dante laughed.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
“Perhaps. But families with billions rarely leave relationships to chance.”
Vincenzo opened the ledger.
His expression changed.
“Dante.”
“What?”
He turned the book.
Payments.
One entry dated the week Carlo died.
Five million dollars.
Recipient:
R. BELLINI.
Dante went still.
Renzo.
Vale smiled sadly.
“You have been searching for the man who sold your freedom.”
Dante looked at the ledger.
“He was standing beside you all along.”
Then Vincenzo’s phone rang.
Elena.
He answered.
May you like
Her screaming voice filled the room.
“Dante! Renzo has Isabella at gunpoint!”
