Chapter 4
Emily woke at 5:43 the next morning in a bed large enough to qualify as commercial real estate.
For several seconds, she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and tried to understand why she could hear absolutely nothing.
No radiator knocking.
No upstairs neighbor dropping shoes.
No garbage truck grinding through Logan Square.
Only silence.
Then memory returned all at once.
Carlo Moretti.
The dark apartment.
Two men.
Dante breaking through her door.
Blood on the floor.
Lake Forest.
His hands around her waist.
His mouth on hers.
Emily closed her eyes.
“Oh, excellent.”
Her voice sounded painfully loud in the enormous bedroom.
She had kissed her employer.
Technically, she had done considerably more than merely kiss him before common sense had eventually dragged itself back into the room and reminded both of them that attempted murder was perhaps not the ideal prelude to making irreversible personal decisions.
Dante had stopped.
That surprised her more than anything.
He had rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard, and told her she had been through enough for one night.
Then he had taken her to a guest bedroom.
Not his bedroom.
Not some calculated seduction.
A guest room with fresh clothes waiting in the closet because apparently the Marino estate possessed an entire emergency wardrobe for women approximately Emily's size.
That detail had produced questions she had decided not to ask at one in the morning.
Now daylight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking acres of wet woodland.
Emily climbed from the bed.
Someone had left her phone charging on the nightstand.
There were 17 messages.
Three were from Tommy regarding payroll.
Two were from HR.
One was from Oakridge confirming Leo's Thursday psychiatric review.
Eleven were from unknown numbers.
Emily opened the first.
YOU THINK MARINO CAN KEEP YOU SAFE FOREVER?
The second contained a photograph of her apartment building.
The third showed Oakridge's front entrance.
Every trace of sleep vanished.
Emily was dressed and downstairs within seven minutes.
She found Dante in the kitchen.
He stood at the marble island wearing black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. A pistol lay beside his coffee as casually as another person might leave a set of car keys.
Three men stood near the windows.
Tommy was among them.
They were discussing security rotations.
Dante looked up when Emily entered.
His expression changed immediately.
It was subtle.
But every man in the room noticed.
The ruthless concentration in his eyes softened for exactly one heartbeat.
Then he saw her phone.
“What happened?”
Emily placed it on the island.
Dante read the messages.
The softness disappeared.
The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop ten degrees.
Tommy came closer.
“Boss?”
Dante handed him the phone.
Tommy scrolled.
His face hardened.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Get a team to Oakridge.”
Emily stepped forward.
“No.”
Four men looked at her.
She folded her arms.
“Not a team.”
Dante stared at her.
“Emily.”
“Leo is schizophrenic. His routine is extremely important. Strange armed men suddenly filling the facility will terrify him. It could trigger an episode.”
“They photographed the building.”
“I understand that.”
“Then you understand why I am sending protection.”
“I understand why you want to. I am telling you how to do it without harming the person you're supposedly protecting.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
Emily pointed toward Tommy.
“Two people. Plain clothes. They stay outside. Oakridge management gets a discreet warning. No visible weapons. Nobody approaches Leo unless there is an immediate threat.”
Tommy looked at Dante.
Dante continued staring at Emily.
Finally, he nodded once.
“Do it exactly as she said.”
Tommy left.
The other two men followed.
The moment the kitchen doors closed, Dante picked up Emily's phone again.
“You are changing your number.”
“Fine.”
“You are not leaving this property without me.”
“Absolutely not.”
His eyes narrowed.
“We are not negotiating that.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Carlo sent men into your apartment.”
“And your solution is what? Imprison me?”
“My solution is keeping you alive.”
“My solution is not allowing Carlo Moretti to destroy my life simply by threatening it.”
Dante planted both palms on the island.
“Emily, I watched my wife die because someone wanted to punish me.”
There it was.
Not anger.
Fear.
Pure, ancient fear buried beneath layers of control.
Emily became quiet.
Dante looked away.
“Clara wasn't involved in the business. She didn't know most of what I did. She went to lunch one Tuesday afternoon. I was supposed to be in the car.”
His voice remained controlled, but Emily heard the fracture underneath.
“The bomb was under my seat.”
Emily said nothing.
“She changed plans. Took my car because hers wouldn't start.”
His hand closed around the edge of the marble.
“I heard the explosion from two blocks away.”
Dante had mentioned Clara only indirectly before.
Nine years of silence suddenly had a shape.
Emily moved around the island.
“This isn't the same.”
“It is exactly the same.”
“No.”
She stopped in front of him.
“Because I'm not Clara.”
His eyes snapped toward hers.
“I know what you are. I know what you do. I know what your enemies are capable of. And unlike your wife, apparently, I audit your criminal distribution network.”
“That does not make me feel better.”
“It should. I am extremely difficult to kill.”
A startled sound escaped him.
Almost a laugh.
Emily touched his wrist.
“Dante.”
He looked down at her hand.
“I won't behave recklessly. I'll accept protection. I'll stay here until the immediate threat is contained. But I will not become furniture in your fortress.”
Dante was silent.
“Those are my terms.”
“You have terms now?”
“I have always had terms. You simply weren't listening.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he caught her wrist gently and pulled her closer.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Protection. Driver. Security at Oakridge. You work from here until I deal with Carlo.”
“And after?”
“You go back to the office.”
Emily nodded.
“Acceptable.”
Dante looked down at her.
“Now my terms.”
“I knew there was a trap.”
“You don't hide threats from me.”
“I wasn't hiding anything. I showed you immediately.”
“You don't go anywhere alone.”
“Temporarily.”
“Emily.”
“Temporarily.”
He exhaled.
“Fine.”
“And?”
Dante's hand settled against her waist.
“If you are going to kiss me again, you don't get to pretend afterward that it was adrenaline.”
Emily's pulse stumbled.
“That sounds less like a security term and more like workplace harassment.”
“Report me to HR.”
“You said you were HR.”
“Then your complaint is unlikely to succeed.”
Emily almost smiled.
Almost.
Dante lowered his head.
This kiss was completely different from the night before.
Slow.
Controlled.
No blood.
No adrenaline.
No fear.
Which made it far more dangerous.
Emily's fingers tightened against his shirt.
When they separated, Dante remained close.
“Still adrenaline?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Her phone rang.
Both of them looked at the screen.
Oakridge.
Emily answered instantly.
“Hello?”
“Miss Davies?”
It was Dr. Harris.
Emily's stomach tightened.
“Is Leo okay?”
“He's physically fine, but something happened this morning.”
Dante's attention sharpened.
“What?”
“A man came to reception asking to visit him.”
Emily went cold.
“Who?”
“He identified himself as a family friend. Security stopped him because he wasn't on Leo's approved list.”
“Name?”
“He said his name was Anthony.”
Dante took out his own phone and began typing.
Dr. Harris continued.
“Miss Davies, there's something else. Leo saw him through the courtyard window.”
Emily's fingers tightened.
“And?”
“Leo became extremely agitated.”
“How agitated?”
“He kept saying the same thing.”
Emily's heartbeat accelerated.
“What did he say?”
Dr. Harris hesitated.
“He said, ‘That's the man from the fire.’”
Emily stopped breathing.
Dante looked up.
“What fire?” he asked quietly.
Emily barely heard him.
Because there had been only one fire in Leo's life that mattered.
Seventeen years earlier.
The fire that killed their parents.
The fire investigators had ruled accidental.
The fire that had left nineteen-year-old Emily responsible for a twelve-year-old boy whose first severe psychotic break occurred six months later.
“Emily.”
Dante's voice brought her back.
She ended the call slowly.
“My parents died in a house fire.”
Dante's expression changed.
“When?”
“Seventeen years ago.”
“And Leo says he recognizes the man who went to Oakridge?”
“Yes.”
“From that fire?”
Emily nodded.
Dante picked up his pistol.
“Get your coat.”
“What are you doing?”
“We're going to Oakridge.”
“You just agreed I would stay here.”
“That agreement expired when someone connected to your parents' deaths appeared at your brother's facility the morning after Carlo Moretti threatened you.”
Emily stared at him.
“You think they're connected?”
“I don't believe in coincidence.”
Neither did Emily.
Forty minutes later, their armored SUV entered Oakridge through a private service gate.
Dante had followed her rules.
Only two plainclothes Marino men were visible.
Leo sat in a quiet consultation room beside Dr. Harris.
He was thirty-one but looked younger when frightened.
His thin hands twisted together repeatedly.
Emily entered alone first.
“Leo.”
His head lifted.
“Em.”
She crossed the room and hugged him.
Leo clung to her.
“He came back.”
“I know.”
“The smoke man.”
Emily stroked his hair.
“You're safe.”
“He said Dad's name.”
Emily froze.
“What?”
Leo pulled away.
His eyes moved toward the observation window.
Dante stood on the other side.
Leo stared at him.
“Who's that?”
“My boss.”
“The scary one?”
Emily almost laughed.
“I may have described him poorly.”
“You said he looks like winter learned to walk.”
Behind the glass, Dante raised an eyebrow.
Emily ignored him.
“Leo, tell me about the man.”
Leo began rocking slightly.
“He was there.”
“At our house?”
“The night of the fire?”
Leo nodded.
“You were twelve.”
“I remember.”
His breathing accelerated.
Emily took his hands.
“Slowly.”
“He argued with Dad.”
Emily's chest tightened.
“Before the fire?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know him?”
Leo shook his head.
“But Dad did.”
“What did Dad call him?”
Leo's face twisted with concentration.
Then he whispered one word.
“Marino.”
Emily's entire body went still.
Behind the glass, Dante did too.
Leo squeezed her hands.
“Dad told him to get out.”
Emily couldn't breathe.
“Are you sure?”
“He said, ‘Tell Marino the answer is no.’”
Dante entered the room.
Emily turned toward him.
Neither spoke.
Seventeen years ago, a man had come to the Davies house.
Hours later, Emily's parents had died.
And according to Leo's fragmented memory, that man had been connected to the Marino family.
Dante looked as shocked as Emily felt.
“My father was running the family seventeen years ago,” he said.
Emily released Leo's hands and stood.
“Your father?”
“Giovanni Marino.”
“Was he capable of ordering a house burned?”
Dante did not insult her with a lie.
“Yes.”
The word struck harder than any denial could have.
Emily stepped backward.
Dante's face tightened.
“I didn't know your family.”
“But your father might have.”
“Yes.”
“And now someone from that night appears at Oakridge after Carlo targets me?”
“Yes.”
Emily looked at Leo.
The story she had believed for seventeen years had just cracked open.
Their parents' deaths might not have been an accident.
Worse, the family responsible might be the same family whose heir had just kissed her in his kitchen.
Dante reached toward her.
Emily stepped away.
His hand stopped.
“Find out,” she said.
Her voice was very quiet.
“Emily—”
“Find out what your father did to my family.”
Dante lowered his hand.
Something grim settled across his face.
“I will.”
“And if he killed them?”
Dante held her gaze.
“Then I will give you the truth.”
Emily swallowed.
“Even if the truth destroys whatever this is between us?”
Dante's expression did not change.
“Yes.”
For the first time since meeting him, Emily believed a promise from Dante Marino without reservation.
And that frightened her more than anything.
May you like
Because somewhere beneath Chicago, inside sealed ledgers and dead men's secrets, the truth about the Davies fire was waiting.
And someone had already begun killing to make sure it stayed buried.
