Chapter 4 - The Key Opened a Secret My Father Would Kill to ProtectThe silver key opened a safe-deposit box.
Finding that out took twelve hours, two arguments with Dominic, one threat from Marco to lock me inside the estate for my own safety, and an illegal database search I decided not to ask questions about.
The box was registered at a private bank in Manhattan.
Under Isabella’s name.
Dominic insisted on coming.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You have received death threats.”
“One threat.”
“Three messages.”
“Technically one conversation.”
He stared at me.
“Do you argue with gravity too?”
“Only when it becomes controlling.”
Marco coughed to hide a laugh.
Dominic gave him a look.
Marco suddenly found the windshield fascinating.
We entered Manhattan in a three-car convoy.
I hated it.
I hated the guards.
I hated the tinted windows.
I hated noticing that Dominic constantly checked mirrors and exits.
That was not arrogance.
That was survival.
At the bank, the manager nearly broke his neck bowing to Dominic.
Apparently money and fear produced similar manners.
The box contained no cash.
No jewelry.
Just a flash drive.
And a handwritten letter.
My name was on the envelope.
DEANNA.
My hands started shaking.
“She knew my name.”
Dominic stood beside me.
“Apparently.”
I opened it.
The first line made my breath stop.
If you are reading this, I am dead, and they brought you to New York to replace me.
I sat down.
The letter continued.
I’m sorry.
You deserved a sister before you inherited my enemies.
Our father will tell you this marriage protects the family. That is only partly true.
The marriage protects him.
For years, Antonio has been stealing from both the Pradati and Unaretti organizations. Not thousands. Millions.
I discovered it six months ago.
I wanted out.
Not because of Dominic. He and I had an arrangement. We would marry, maintain appearances, and live separate lives.
Dominic is dangerous, Deanna.
But he is not cruel without reason.
Our father is.
I looked at Dominic.
He was reading over my shoulder.
“You had an arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“You could have mentioned that.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You really are impossible.”
“Keep reading.”
The next paragraph changed everything.
Father used your mother to hide money years ago.
When she discovered what he was doing, he abandoned her in Brazil and told everyone she stole from him.
That is why he never helped you.
You and your mother were evidence.
My chest tightened.
All my childhood questions suddenly had a shape.
The unpaid bills.
My mother’s refusal to discuss Antonio.
Her terror when I said his name.
I continued.
I found proof.
If Father realizes you know, he will not let you leave.
Trust Dominic before you trust him.
But do not trust Dominic completely.
No man with that much power should ever be trusted completely.
I laughed through tears.
“I think I would have liked her.”
Dominic’s expression softened.
“So do I.”
The flash drive contained financial records.
Hundreds of transactions.
Shell companies.
Port payments.
Names.
Dominic became increasingly still as he read.
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
“Helpful.”
“Your father has been siphoning money from my organization for at least eight years.”
“How much?”
“Forty-three million.”
I whistled.
“My father really committed to being terrible.”
Dominic did not smile.
“There’s something else.”
He turned the laptop.
A payment had been made six days before Isabella died.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Recipient: Vincent Carbone.
“Who’s that?”
“Professional killer.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“Can you prove Antonio paid him?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we find him.”
Dominic looked at me as if I had suggested we go shopping.
“No.”
“No?”
“You are going back to the estate.”
“You don’t get to decide—”
“A professional killer may have murdered your sister. Your father may have hired him. Someone knows you have Isabella’s key. You are not chasing assassins through New York.”
“Fine.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“That was too easy.”
“I’m learning.”
“You’re planning something.”
“Now you’re being paranoid.”
“I’m alive because I’m paranoid.”
We returned to the estate.
That evening, I found my father waiting in my bedroom.
He held Isabella’s letter.
My stomach dropped.
“How did you get that?”
He smiled.
“Did you really think there was anywhere in this house you could hide something from me?”
I backed toward the door.
He locked it.
The click sounded enormous.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I went shopping.”
“With Dominic.”
“For wedding things.”
“You were seen entering Bellini Private Bank.”
My mouth went dry.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
“What was in the box?”
“Jewelry.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“Why? Is that only allowed for you?”
He crossed the room.
For the first time, I saw the man my mother had feared.
“Give me the drive.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Where is it?”
“Somewhere you’ll never find.”
His hand closed around my throat.
Not enough to choke.
Enough to terrify.
“You think Dominic can protect you?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised both of us.
My father’s eyes darkened.
“He couldn’t protect Isabella.”
The door exploded inward.
Dominic crossed the room so fast I barely saw him move.
One second Antonio held me.
The next he was against the wall with Dominic’s forearm across his throat.
“If you touch her again,” Dominic said quietly, “I will forget every agreement our families ever signed.”
My father struggled.
“She is my daughter.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“She is my fiancée.”
“Not yet.”
Dominic’s eyes turned black.
“She became under my protection the moment she entered this house.”
He released Antonio.
My father straightened his jacket.
“This woman will destroy you.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Probably.”
I blinked.
Then, despite everything, I laughed.
My father left.
The second the door closed, my knees weakened.
Dominic caught me.
I hated that I let him.
For several seconds I simply stood against his chest.
His heart beat steadily beneath my cheek.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did he—”
“No.”
His arms tightened.
Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and released me.
I looked at him.
“Isabella told me to trust you.”
“That was irresponsible of her.”
“She also said not completely.”
“That was smarter.”
“Dominic?”
“Yes?”
“If I marry you tomorrow, I need conditions.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You’re negotiating?”
“I’m surviving.”
“Go on.”
“My mother remains protected whether we stay married or not.”
“Agreed.”
“I control my own money.”
“Agreed.”
“I can work.”
He frowned.
“That one needs discussion.”
“Then there’s no wedding.”
His jaw tightened.
“Fine.”
“No children unless we both want them.”
Something shifted in his face.
“Agreed.”
“You never touch me when I say no.”
Silence.
Then he stepped closer.
His voice became low.
“I would never need to.”
Heat climbed my neck.
I hated him for noticing.
“And finally,” I continued, “we find out who killed Isabella.”
Dominic held out his hand.
“Together?”
I looked at it.
This man had threatened me.
Protected me.
Manipulated me.
Freed my mother from the leverage that had brought me here.
He was not good.
Neither was the world surrounding us.
But perhaps survival was not about finding good men.
Perhaps it was about recognizing which dangerous man would stand beside you when worse ones came through the door.
I took his hand.
“Together.”
May you like
The next morning, I walked toward the altar.
But this time nobody dragged me there.
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