Chapter 3 - The House With No AddressMara had spent most of her adult life refusing to be rescued.
He wore a charcoal suit.
Broad shoulders.
Folded hands.
Expression like concrete.
When Mara pushed herself upright, he immediately stood.
“You need something?”
She stared at him.
“Who are you?”
“Adrian.”
“That clears up absolutely nothing.”
He almost smiled.
“Mr. Moretti asked me to remain here.”
Mara glanced toward the clock.
2:17 a.m.
“He asked you to sit outside my hospital room all night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Adrian seemed genuinely confused by the question.
“Protection.”
“From what?”
He didn’t answer.
That bothered Mara more than if he had.
She pulled the blanket higher.
“I’d like to speak with the doctor.”
“I’ll get her.”
Adrian disappeared.
Thirty seconds later, Mara heard voices in the hall.
One was low.
Controlled.
Familiar.
Dante.
He entered wearing the same suit, though his jacket was now missing.
Luca wasn’t with him.
Mara’s first question escaped before she could stop it.
“Is your son okay?”
Dante paused.
“Yes.”
The tension around his eyes softened almost imperceptibly.
“He has one small cut on his wrist. Nothing more.”
“Good.”
“You have twenty stitches.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“So you keep saying.”
Mara looked toward the door.
“Where’s Luca?”
“My sister took him home.”
Dante pulled the visitor’s chair closer but didn’t sit.
“You saw the man before the glasses fell.”
It wasn’t a question.
Mara hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why were you watching him?”
“He didn’t look like he belonged.”
Dante’s eyebrow lifted.
“In a restaurant?”
“He wasn’t eating. Wasn’t drinking. Didn’t talk to anyone. He kept touching the inside of his coat and staring at your table.”
“You notice people.”
“I wait tables. Noticing people is the job.”
“No. Remembering what they do is the job. You were calculating what he might do next.”
Mara’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
She disliked how easily he studied her.
“Maybe I’m paranoid.”
“Paranoid people survive.”
The doctor entered before Mara could answer.
Dr. Cho explained that no major nerves or arteries had been damaged. Mara would be sore for weeks. She would need antibiotics, follow-up care, limited lifting, and at least several days away from work.
Mara’s stomach sank.
Several days.
No shifts.
No tips.
No rent.
The doctor kept talking.
Mara stopped hearing.
Afterward, Dante remained beside the window.
“You’re worried about money.”
Mara looked sharply at him.
“You really need to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you can read my mind.”
“I can read your face.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
He walked closer.
“You were injured protecting my son. Your medical costs are covered.”
“No.”
Dante stopped.
“No?”
“I appreciate it, but the restaurant has insurance.”
“The restaurant’s insurer will argue for six months.”
“Then I’ll argue back.”
“You’re going to fight an insurance company while missing work?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because accepting money from you sounds like the beginning of a story where I wake up owning someone a favor.”
Something almost approving passed through Dante’s eyes.
“You think I buy loyalty.”
“I think men with bodyguards rarely give things away.”
“That’s fair.”
He pulled a white card from his pocket and set it on the bedside table.
No logo.
No company.
Just a number embossed in black.
“What’s that?”
“My direct line.”
Mara stared.
“You give waitresses your private number often?”
“Only the ones who bleed for my child.”
The joke died between them.
Dante’s expression hardened again.
“The man you noticed wasn’t carrying a weapon.”
“Then why was he watching Luca?”
“That is what I intend to find out.”
Mara studied him.
“You think what happened wasn’t an accident.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Her chest tightened.
“The tray fell because he bumped into the waiter.”
“Yes.”
“But you think he did it intentionally?”
“I think the distraction was intentional.”
Mara remembered the stranger’s hand going inside his coat.
“What was he reaching for?”
Dante remained silent.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Dante.”
“I’m not calling you Dante.”
“You already did in your head.”
She stared at him.
He allowed himself the faintest smile.
Then it vanished.
“He had photographs.”
Mara stopped breathing for a moment.
“Of what?”
“My son.”
Cold crept across her skin.
Dante continued.
“School entrance. Playground. Our home. Bellanova.”
Mara swallowed.
“That’s stalking.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He claims he’s a private investigator.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I believe very little without verification.”
“Who hired him?”
“He won’t say.”
Mara looked toward the hallway.
Suddenly Adrian’s presence didn’t seem excessive.
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
“You saw him.”
“So did everyone else.”
“You noticed him before anything happened.”
“That makes me observant, not important.”
“Tonight, importance is measured by who someone else believes matters.”
Mara didn’t like that sentence.
Dante noticed.
“I’m not trying to frighten you.”
“You’re doing a terrible job.”
“Good.”
“What?”
“Fear makes people careful.”
She folded her arms and instantly regretted it as pain tore across her shoulder.
Dante reached instinctively toward her, then stopped himself.
Mara saw the movement.
So did he.
He stepped back.
“Adrian will drive you home tomorrow.”
“I can take a cab.”
“No.”
“You know, most people disguise orders as suggestions.”
“I’ve never been most people.”
“I noticed.”
Dante picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
Before leaving, he paused.
“One more thing.”
Mara waited.
“What apartment are you in?”
Her suspicion returned instantly.
“No.”
His expression changed.
“Mara.”
“You don’t need my address.”
“Someone photographed my son from inside that restaurant for three weeks. Tonight you disrupted whatever they planned. If they saw you intervene, they may decide you’re connected to me.”
“I’m not.”
“They won’t care.”
She hated that he was probably right.
Finally she gave him the address.
His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t a nothing face.”
“Your building has almost no security.”
“It has a door.”
“It has a broken lock.”
“How would you know that?”
“Adrian checked.”
Mara’s mouth fell open.
“You sent someone to my apartment?”
“I sent someone to make sure nobody was waiting there.”
“That is insane.”
“That is Tuesday.”
Mara laughed before she could stop herself.
Dante stared at her.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed too.
Briefly.
Quietly.
It transformed his face.
For half a second, he looked less like a man people feared and more like a tired father who had almost lost his child.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
Whatever softness existed disappeared.
“Yes?”
Silence.
Dante’s gaze lifted to Mara.
“When?”
More silence.
“Don’t touch anything.”
He ended the call.
Mara felt the room grow colder.
“What happened?”
Dante looked toward Adrian.
Then back at her.
“Someone entered your apartment thirty minutes ago.”
Mara’s heart stopped.
“What?”
“They didn’t steal anything.”
Her voice dropped.
“Then what did they do?”
Dante’s eyes darkened.
“They left something on your bed.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
That frightened her.
Finally he answered.
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
Dante took one slow breath.
“You and Luca at the restaurant.”
Mara went still.
“There was a message written across it.”
She could barely speak.
“What message?”
May you like
Dante looked straight at her.
“You should have let the glass fall.”
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