Chapter 3 - The Man Who Knew Dante Moretti’s Only WeaknessAt 4:17 on Monday morning, someone left a black envelope outside the private elevator of Dante Moretti’s penthouse.
There were no fingerprints.
No postage.
No security footage showing how it had arrived.
That last detail was what concerned Harper.
She stood barefoot on the marble floor wearing one of Dante’s white shirts, her dark hair still disordered from sleep. The envelope rested on the kitchen island between them.
Dante had already called Leo.
The building was being locked down floor by floor.
Nobody entered. Nobody left.
“You’re staring at it like it’s going to explode,” Harper said.
“It might.”
“Then perhaps standing 2 feet away from it isn’t our best strategy.”
Dante looked at her.
Even at 4:00 in the morning, Harper could make irritation sound like corporate policy.
He pulled on a pair of leather gloves.
“Stay back.”
“Dante—”
“Harper.”
That tone ended the argument.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
Harper immediately recognized the location.
It was the small Italian restaurant on West 19th where she had eaten lunch 3 days earlier.
The photograph showed Harper leaving the restaurant.
Alone.
The image had been taken from across the street with a telephoto lens.
A red circle had been drawn around her head.
On the back, someone had written 6 words.
THE KING FINALLY HAS A QUEEN.
Dante became perfectly still.
Harper had learned that his anger had levels.
There was the ordinary anger—the clipped voice, the tightened jaw, the cold stare that made employees reconsider their life choices.
Then there was this.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The kind that meant something inside him had moved beyond emotion and entered calculation.
Harper took the photograph from his hand.
“Who knows?”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
“Leo suspects.”
“Leo has eyes.”
“Carter probably knows.”
“Carter also has eyes.”
Dante ignored the sarcasm.
“Nobody outside the inner circle should know.”
Harper studied the photograph.
“This wasn’t taken because someone saw us kissing through a penthouse window.”
“No.”
“They’ve been following me.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“I’m going to find out.”
The elevator opened.
Leo stepped out wearing dark jeans, boots, and a winter coat over a T-shirt. His hair was still wet from a rushed shower.
Behind him came 2 security men.
“What happened?”
Dante handed him the photograph.
Leo looked at it.
His face changed.
“Where?”
“Outside the elevator.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Apparently not.”
Leo turned toward the security men.
“Lock the lobby. Pull every recording from midnight onward. Check service elevators, loading entrances, stairwells, roof access, maintenance tunnels, everything.”
“They already erased themselves from the cameras,” Harper said.
Leo looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because if they hadn’t, the photograph wouldn’t be frightening. It would simply be stupid.”
Dante’s eyes shifted toward her.
Harper placed the photograph on the counter.
“Whoever sent this wanted us to understand 2 things. First, they know about our relationship. Second, they can penetrate our security.”
Leo nodded reluctantly.
“She’s right.”
Dante walked toward the windows.
Snow drifted between the skyscrapers.
Below them, the city appeared peaceful.
It never was.
“Colombians?” Leo asked.
“No.”
“The Sullivans?”
“Too weak.”
“Donovan?”
“In Florida.”
“Maybe somebody from the old crews?”
Dante said nothing.
Harper watched him.
“You know who it might be.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
Dante turned.
“There are dozens of people who would enjoy watching me bleed.”
“But only a few who would understand that threatening me would accomplish it.”
Silence.
Leo suddenly became fascinated with the photograph.
Harper folded her arms.
“Name.”
“Harper.”
“Name, Dante.”
His eyes darkened.
“Vincent Caruso.”
Leo looked up immediately.
“Caruso is dead.”
“No,” Dante said.
“He disappeared.”
“That was 8 years ago.”
“I know.”
Harper looked between them.
“Would somebody like to explain?”
Dante poured coffee although nobody had made any.
He stared at the empty cup for a second, apparently realizing what he had done.
Then he set it down.
“Vincent Caruso used to run the East Coast network with my father.”
“You’ve never mentioned your father.”
“There was nothing worth mentioning.”
That answer told Harper there was everything worth mentioning.
Dante continued.
“When my father died, Vincent expected to inherit the organization. I was 27. He thought I was a spoiled kid wearing an expensive suit.”
“And you proved otherwise.”
“I took the city from him in 6 months.”
Leo gave Harper a grim look.
“It was ugly.”
Dante ignored him.
“Vincent disappeared after his last 3 crews abandoned him. Everyone assumed he left the country.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I assumed nothing.”
Harper picked up the photograph again.
“Why would he return now?”
Dante looked at her.
“Because for the first time in my life, he believes I have something to lose.”
By sunrise, Dante had assigned 4 men to Harper.
She rejected all 4.
By 8:00, they were arguing in his office.
“I am not walking into board meetings surrounded by armed men.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I run 6 legitimate companies. What exactly am I supposed to tell investors? That the men checking underneath the conference table for explosives are interns?”
“I don’t care what you tell them.”
“I do.”
Dante planted both hands on the desk.
“Somebody followed you.”
“I understand that.”
“Somebody photographed you.”
“I also understand photography.”
“Harper.”
“And somebody entered this building. I understand the situation perfectly.”
“Then stop arguing.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
Nobody told Dante Moretti no.
Harper did it almost recreationally.
She stepped closer.
“You cannot protect me by turning my life into a prison.”
“I can protect you by keeping you alive.”
“There’s a difference.”
“Not to me.”
“That’s the problem.”
The words landed harder than she intended.
Dante’s face changed.
Harper softened.
She walked around the desk.
“I know what happened after the Sullivans attacked me.”
His jaw tightened.
“You blamed yourself.”
“I should have protected you.”
“You did.”
“After.”
“Yes. After.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“It has to be.”
He looked away.
Harper understood then.
The bruises had disappeared from her body months ago.
They had never disappeared from Dante’s mind.
Every time she left the penthouse alone, he remembered the hospital.
Every unanswered phone call became an alley.
Every late meeting became blood beneath fluorescent lights.
She touched his face.
“You cannot build walls high enough to guarantee nothing bad will ever happen.”
“I can try.”
“And eventually those walls become a cage.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
“What do you want?”
“2 guards.”
“4.”
“2.”
“3.”
“2, and Carter drives.”
He opened his eyes.
“You negotiate like a terrorist.”
“You taught me.”
For the first time that morning, the corner of his mouth moved.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“But you wear a tracker.”
Harper stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then 4 guards.”
“You are impossible.”
“3 guards.”
“Fine. Tracker.”
Dante almost smiled.
Almost.
At 2:30 that afternoon, Harper entered the underground parking garage beneath Moretti Holdings.
Carter walked 10 feet behind her.
Another security man waited near the elevator.
Harper reached her sedan.
Something was sitting on the hood.
A black rose.
Carter drew his weapon immediately.
“Don’t touch it.”
Harper stopped.
A white card was tied around the stem.
Carter approached carefully, checked beneath the vehicle, then lifted the card with gloved fingers.
His face drained.
“What?”
“Ma’am, we should leave.”
“Give it to me.”
“Mr. Moretti said—”
“Carter.”
He reluctantly handed it over.
The message contained 1 sentence.
ASK DANTE WHAT HAPPENED TO ELENA.
Harper read it twice.
“Who is Elena?”
Carter said nothing.
“Carter.”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I work for Mr. Moretti.”
“So do I.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes,” Harper said quietly.
“It is.”
She called Dante.
He answered before the first ring finished.
“Where are you?”
“Parking garage.”
“What happened?”
Harper looked at the black rose.
“Who is Elena?”
Silence.
That silence told her everything.
“Dante?”
“Get upstairs.”
“Who is she?”
“I’ll explain when you get home.”
“Not good enough.”
“Harper, please.”
He almost never said please.
She closed her eyes.
“Fine.”
Dante was waiting when she returned to the penthouse.
No jacket.
No tie.
A glass of bourbon sat untouched beside him.
Harper placed the black rose on the table.
“Elena.”
Dante stared at it.
“She was my fiancée.”
Harper felt something inside her chest tighten.
“You were engaged?”
“11 years ago.”
“What happened?”
“She died.”
“How?”
Dante looked through the windows.
“In a car explosion meant for me.”
The anger disappeared from Harper immediately.
Dante continued before she could speak.
“I was supposed to attend a meeting. She took my car because hers wouldn’t start.”
“Dante…”
“The bomb detonated 3 blocks from our apartment.”
His voice contained no emotion.
That frightened Harper more than grief would have.
“Vincent ordered it?”
“I could never prove it.”
“But you believed he did.”
“Yes.”
“And that started your war.”
“Yes.”
Harper understood.
Vincent Caruso had not merely returned.
He had chosen the one memory capable of reopening Dante’s oldest wound.
“You think history is repeating itself.”
Dante looked at her.
“No.”
His voice became quiet.
“I think Vincent wants me to believe it will.”
Harper crossed the room.
She took his hands.
“You are not going to lose me because you lost her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. I don’t.”
He flinched.
Harper tightened her grip.
“But neither do you.”
Dante stared at her.
“I spent 11 years making sure nobody could ever do that to me again.”
“And then I happened.”
“Yes.”
The honesty of it nearly broke her.
Dante touched his forehead to hers.
“I should send you away.”
“Try.”
“To Europe. Somewhere secure.”
“I’ll come back.”
“Harper.”
“You don’t get to decide that loving me means removing me from my own life.”
His hands moved to her waist.
“What if staying gets you killed?”
“What if running destroys everything we are?”
Dante had no answer.
Harper kissed him once.
Slowly.
Then she stepped back.
“We find Vincent.”
Dante looked at her.
“Together.”
For several seconds, the most feared man in the city simply stared at the woman who refused to fear beside him.
Then he nodded.
“Together.”
At that exact moment, Leo called.
Dante answered.
“What?”
Leo spoke rapidly.
Dante’s face hardened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Lock everything down.”
He ended the call.
Harper knew immediately.
“What happened?”
“Warehouse 6.”
“What about it?”
“Someone burned it.”
Harper’s stomach dropped.
Warehouse 6 stored their financial archives.
“How much did we lose?”
“Nothing.”
She frowned.
“Nothing?”
“The fire suppression system activated before the building caught.”
“Then why attack it?”
Dante looked at the black rose.
“Because it wasn’t an attack.”
His phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared.
Warehouse 6.
On its brick wall, painted in enormous white letters, were 4 words.
WELCOME BACK TO HELL.
Dante’s eyes became cold.
Harper looked at him.
May you like
Vincent Caruso was alive.
And the war had already begun.
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