Chapter 4 - The Name Dante Never ForgotThe first lie Dante told Mara was that Thomas Bennett had simply worked for the Moretti family.
When her father disappeared when she was sixteen, she worked weekends at a grocery store.
When her mother became ill, Mara dropped out of college for a semester instead of asking relatives for money.
When her first apartment flooded, she slept in her car for eight nights rather than call the boyfriend who had once told her she’d never survive without him.
Independence wasn’t a personality trait.
It was armor.
By six the next morning, Dante Moretti had managed to punch holes through every piece of it.
“You cannot seriously expect me to move into your house.”
They stood in Mara’s hospital room while Adrian held a garment bag containing clothes collected from her apartment.
Dante didn’t blink.
“Temporarily.”
“No.”
“Until I identify whoever broke into your home.”
“No.”
“Your door was forced.”
“I’ll replace the lock.”
“They bypassed the building camera.”
“I’ll get another camera.”
“They knew exactly which apartment was yours less than four hours after you protected Luca.”
That ended her argument.
Dante stepped closer.
“I’m not asking because I enjoy having strangers in my home.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
His mouth twitched.
“I’m asking because someone has decided you’re useful leverage.”
“Against you?”
“Possibly.”
“I barely know you.”
“They know that. Which means they expect me to care anyway.”
Mara stared at him.
Neither spoke.
Adrian suddenly became fascinated by the ceiling.
Finally Mara asked, “Do you?”
Dante’s answer was immediate.
“You saved my son.”
It should have sounded simple.
Instead it sounded dangerous.
Three hours later, Mara left Northwestern Memorial through a private exit and entered a black SUV.
She expected Dante’s house to be a ridiculous mansion downtown.
Instead, after forty minutes of driving, the SUV turned through wooded roads near Lake Forest.
A wrought-iron gate opened.
Beyond it stood a gray stone home overlooking Lake Michigan.
Elegant.
Massive.
Quiet.
No visible address marker.
Cameras watched every angle.
Mara stared through the window.
“You live in a fortress.”
Dante, seated across from her, answered, “I have a child.”
“That doesn’t explain the armed guardhouse.”
“It explains exactly that.”
The front door opened before they reached it.
A woman in jeans and a cream sweater hurried outside.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
Early thirties.
She hugged Dante first.
Then she turned to Mara.
“You’re her.”
Mara blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“The woman Luca has been talking about for twelve straight hours.”
Dante sighed.
“Bianca.”
“What?” she said innocently. “He told the gardener. He told Rosa. He told me. He told your driver. He tried telling the dog.”
Mara laughed despite herself.
Bianca smiled and extended her hand.
“Bianca Moretti. Dante’s younger sister.”
“Mara.”
“I know.”
Dante gave his sister a look.
“She needs rest.”
“She needs food first.”
“I’m standing right here,” Mara said.
Bianca grinned.
“Good. You’ll survive this family.”
The house felt strangely warm inside.
Mara expected marble statues and gold fixtures.
Instead she found family photographs, children’s books, a battered soccer ball near the staircase, and a wooden train set occupying half the living room.
Luca came running.
“Mara!”
Dante caught him by the shoulder before he launched himself into her injured back.
“Careful.”
Luca immediately froze.
His excitement became guilt.
“I forgot.”
Mara crouched as much as her stitches allowed.
“That’s okay.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
His face crumpled.
“Because of me.”
“No.”
She took his hand.
“Because of broken glass. You didn’t throw it.”
Luca nodded reluctantly.
Then he whispered, “Dad said you’re staying.”
Mara looked at Dante.
“For a very short time.”
Luca smiled.
“That’s what Aunt Bianca said when she moved back three years ago.”
Bianca burst out laughing.
Dante closed his eyes.
Mara liked Luca immediately.
That worried her.
Children were dangerous.
They created attachments before adults had time to build defenses.
Rosa, the Moretti family cook, served Mara soup in a sunny kitchen overlooking the lake.
Nobody treated her like staff.
That made her more uncomfortable than condescension would have.
After lunch, Bianca showed Mara to a guest room.
“This used to be mine.”
“Before you moved into another wing of the same house?”
Bianca laughed.
“You understand my brother already.”
Mara lowered herself carefully onto the bed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Probably.”
“Who would want to hurt Luca?”
Bianca’s smile vanished.
“Lots of people hate Dante.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the safest one.”
Mara watched her.
Bianca walked toward the window.
“Our father built something complicated. Dante inherited the complicated parts when he was twenty-six.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means some businesses are legitimate. Some people connected to us aren’t.”
“So the stories are true.”
“Some.”
“Has Dante killed people?”
Bianca looked at her.
“That’s the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one?”
“Would Dante let someone hurt Luca?”
Mara already knew.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
A knock sounded.
Adrian entered.
His expression was serious.
“Ms. Bennett, Mr. Moretti asked if you’re able to come downstairs.”
Mara stood.
“Why?”
“We identified the man from the restaurant.”
They found Dante in a study with three men.
Photographs covered the desk.
The stranger.
Mara’s apartment.
Her building entrance.
The threatening photograph left on her bed.
Dante held a folder.
“His name is Evan Cole.”
“Private investigator?”
“Former private investigator.”
“What happened?”
“License revoked two years ago. Blackmail charges. Evidence tampering.”
“Who hired him?”
“We don’t know.”
Mara stared at one photograph.
Evan entering Bellanova.
Another showed him outside Luca’s school.
“Why would someone follow a five-year-old?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“To learn patterns.”
Her stomach turned.
Adrian pointed to another photograph.
“This was recovered from Cole’s motel room.”
Mara leaned closer.
It wasn’t Luca.
It was her.
A photograph of Mara leaving her apartment three days earlier.
Before the restaurant incident.
Before she saved Luca.
Before she had ever spoken more than twenty words to Dante Moretti.
Mara stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
Dante’s gaze sharpened.
“You recognize something?”
“He was already watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
Dante placed another image beside the first.
Mara leaving Bellanova.
Another at a pharmacy.
Another beside her mother’s apartment.
Her skin went cold.
“My mother.”
Dante immediately looked at Adrian.
“Send two men.”
“No.”
Mara stood too quickly, pain ripping through her shoulder.
“I’m going there.”
“You’re not.”
“That’s my mother.”
“And if someone is waiting?”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
The room went silent.
Dante looked as surprised by his words as Mara felt.
He recovered first.
“You’re injured.”
“I’m still going.”
For several seconds they stared at each other.
Finally Dante swore softly.
“Fine.”
The SUV reached Mara’s mother’s apartment twenty-five minutes later.
Two security men entered first.
Mara followed with Dante.
Her mother, Elaine, opened the door.
“Mara?”
Relief flooded Mara.
“Mom.”
She hugged her gently.
Then Elaine noticed Dante.
Her eyes widened.
“You’re…”
“Dante Moretti.”
“I know who you are.”
Most Chicagoans did.
Elaine looked at Mara’s bandages.
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
Then Mara noticed something on the kitchen table.
An envelope.
No stamp.
No address.
Just her name.
MARA.
Dante saw it too.
“Don’t touch it.”
Adrian opened it with gloves.
Inside was an old photograph.
Mara at maybe six years old.
Her father stood beside her.
Thomas Bennett.
The man who had vanished eleven years later without saying goodbye.
Mara turned the photograph over.
Four words were written on the back.
ASK MORETTI ABOUT YOUR FATHER.
Mara slowly looked up.
Dante’s face had changed.
For the first time since she met him, the powerful, controlled Dante Moretti looked genuinely shocked.
“You knew him,” Mara whispered.
Dante said nothing.
Her voice hardened.
“You knew my father.”
Finally he answered.
“Yes.”
And suddenly Mara understood something terrifying.
May you like
The shattered glass had never introduced her to Dante Moretti.
Someone had been guiding them toward each other long before that night.
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