Chapter 3 - She Found Her Father’s Name in the Mafia Ledger—Then Discovered the Man She Loved Had Been Protecting His KillerBy sunrise, Alice Hastings had made three decisions.
She would not leave the mansion until she understood what happened to her parents.
She would not allow Dante Castiglione to make decisions about her future without consulting her.
And she would never again mistake protection for honesty.
The third decision hurt the most.
She stood beside her bedroom window, watching the winter sun creep across the neglected greenhouse. Overnight, a thin layer of snow had settled on the glass roof. The garden beyond looked peaceful, almost innocent.
Alice knew better now.
Beautiful things could conceal terrible secrets.
A knock vibrated faintly through her door.
She turned.
Margaret stood outside, holding a breakfast tray.
Alice unlocked the door and stepped aside.
Margaret placed the tray on the writing desk, then signed a careful greeting.
Alice returned it.
The housekeeper studied her face.
She reached for the small notebook she now carried in her apron.
Mr. Castiglione asked me to tell you that a car is available whenever you want to leave.
Alice read the message.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
Dante was giving her a choice.
That should have comforted her.
Instead, it reminded her how badly she wished he had given her the truth.
She wrote:
Please tell him I want to see the documents about my father.
Margaret hesitated.
All of them?
Alice looked up sharply.
You know there are documents?
The older woman's expression changed.
She lowered her gaze.
Then she wrote:
There are many things in this house that people pretend not to know.
Alice stared at the sentence.
Margaret closed the notebook.
For a moment, she looked as though she wanted to say more.
Instead, she gently touched Alice's shoulder and left.
Alice watched the door close.
The mansion was becoming a place where every silence carried a different meaning.
And she was determined to uncover them all.
At nine o'clock, Dante appeared outside her room.
He wore a dark suit, but the exhaustion around his eyes suggested he had not slept.
He knocked.
Alice opened the door.
He remained in the corridor.
That small courtesy almost broke her heart.
Dante held up his tablet.
You asked for the records. I'll show you everything I have.
Alice studied his face.
Then she typed:
Everything? Or everything you think I can handle?
He read the question.
His jaw tightened.
Everything.
Alice stepped into the corridor.
They walked together toward the west wing.
Neither attempted to touch the other.
The distance between them felt larger than the mansion itself.
Dante led her past a library, a private dining room, and a narrow hallway lined with photographs of generations of Castiglione men.
Most wore expensive suits.
Several looked directly into the camera with expressions of absolute confidence.
Alice stopped before one photograph.
A man in his sixties stood beside a black limousine.
His hair was silver.
His eyes were the same glacial gray as Dante's.
A brass plaque beneath the frame read:
ANTONIO CASTIGLIONE — 1958–2020
Alice pointed at the photograph.
Dante nodded.
His father.
She examined Antonio's face.
He looked respectable.
Like a banker.
Like a politician.
Like the kind of man who would attend charity dinners and donate money to children's hospitals.
Alice wondered how many terrible things had been committed behind that pleasant public image.
Dante touched her elbow gently.
She turned.
He signed an imperfect but recognizable phrase.
Are you ready?
Alice nodded.
She wasn't.
But she followed him anyway.
The records room occupied a windowless space behind Dante's private office.
A fingerprint scanner guarded the entrance.
Inside stood rows of fireproof filing cabinets, two computer terminals, and a long steel table.
Leo Rossi waited beside a stack of folders.
He greeted Alice with an awkward nod.
She returned it.
Dante gestured toward a chair.
Alice remained standing.
Leo opened the first folder.
Inside were bank statements, property records, and copies of municipal contracts dating back more than a decade.
Alice recognized her father's handwriting immediately.
Daniel Hastings had possessed a peculiar habit of writing the number seven with a horizontal line through its middle.
She had inherited the same habit.
Seeing it again made her eyes burn.
She touched the page.
Her father's handwriting.
A part of him she had not seen in seven years.
Dante waited while she studied it.
Finally, Alice looked up.
Leo typed an explanation.
Your father was assigned to audit a redevelopment project involving the Denver freight corridor. The project received public funding, but several subcontractors were shell companies.
Alice read carefully.
Shell companies owned by your family?
Leo hesitated.
Dante answered.
Some were controlled by my father. Others belonged to the O'Sullivans and a group of investors.
Alice turned another page.
The numbers were enormous.
Millions transferred between construction companies, charitable foundations, and logistics firms.
She recognized several names from local newspapers.
A state senator.
A prominent real estate developer.
A former police commissioner.
Her father had discovered something far larger than ordinary municipal corruption.
Alice typed:
What happened when he reported it?
Dante took the tablet.
His supervisor told him to stop investigating. He continued anyway.
Leo placed another document on the table.
It was a copy of an internal memorandum.
Daniel Hastings had requested protection for himself and his wife.
The request had been denied.
Three weeks later, both were dead.
Alice stared at the dates.
November 3.
November 9.
November 21.
She remembered November 21.
The police officer standing at her apartment door.
The sympathetic expression.
The words she had struggled to lip-read through shock.
There has been an accident.
Alice pressed a hand against her mouth.
For years, she had imagined her parents' final moments as a tragic consequence of bad weather.
Now she imagined something worse.
Someone had followed them.
Someone had waited.
Someone had decided they knew too much.
Dante approached slowly.
Alice stepped away.
He stopped.
She typed:
Was your father the one who ordered their deaths?
Dante looked at Leo.
Leo lowered his eyes.
Alice felt anger surge through her grief.
Don't look at him. Look at me.
Dante did.
Then he typed:
Antonio authorized the surveillance of your father. I have never found proof that he ordered the crash.
Alice read the words twice.
But you believe he might have.
Dante's silence confirmed it.
She continued.
When did you discover my father's name?
Six years ago.
Alice froze.
Six years.
Dante had known about Daniel Hastings for six years.
She typed:
And when did you discover I was his daughter?
Dante swallowed.
Three days after the attack at your shop.
Alice stepped back.
Three days.
He had known almost the entire time.
He had sent money.
Installed security cameras.
Returned to rescue her.
Asked her to live with him.
All while knowing his family might have destroyed hers.
She looked at the man standing before her.
For the first time, his expensive suit and powerful reputation seemed like a disguise.
Beneath them stood someone frightened of losing the one person who had seen him as a human being rather than a criminal.
But fear did not excuse deception.
Alice typed:
You should have trusted me.
Dante read it.
Then he nodded.
I know.
She stared at his answer.
No excuses.
No explanations.
Just acknowledgment.
Somehow, that made her angrier.
Because she had wanted him to be cruel enough to hate.
Instead, he was complicated.
And she was beginning to understand how dangerous complicated love could become.
At noon, Alice requested access to her father's complete employment history.
Leo helped her search the archived database.
Dante remained nearby but did not interfere.
They discovered that Daniel had been investigating a company called Crown Meridian Holdings.
Its registered address led to a vacant office building.
Its directors were fictional identities.
Its money moved through dozens of accounts.
But one document contained something unusual.
A handwritten notation beside a payment of $780,000.
V.B. — AUTHORIZED
Alice stared at the initials.
V.B.
Vittorio Bellandi.
She remembered the older man's cold reception the previous evening.
His statement that her presence created complications.
The way he had looked at her scar.
Alice tapped the screen.
Leo leaned forward.
His expression changed.
He reached for the mouse.
Before he could open the underlying transaction, the computer went black.
The room lights flickered.
A red warning appeared.
REMOTE SECURITY LOCKDOWN
Leo cursed.
Alice saw his lips move.
Dante immediately approached.
The two men exchanged rapid words.
Alice caught only fragments.
"Access."
"Internal."
"Impossible."
Then Dante turned toward her.
His expression was grim.
He typed:
Someone just erased the archive.
Alice stared at the black screen.
Can it be recovered?
Maybe.
She pointed toward the handwritten notation.
V.B. Who else has those initials?
Dante did not answer immediately.
That hesitation told her everything.
Vittorio Bellandi had worked for the Castiglione family for thirty-one years.
He had managed legal contracts, political relationships, and the family investment structure.
According to Dante, he had been Antonio Castiglione's closest adviser.
After Antonio's death, Vittorio had remained indispensable.
He knew where the money was buried.
He knew which officials had been bribed.
He knew which agreements could destroy the entire organization if they became public.
And he had unrestricted access to the mansion.
Alice looked at Dante.
Do you trust him?
Dante typed:
I did.
The past tense chilled her.
Before either could continue, Leo's phone vibrated.
He checked the message.
His face drained of color.
Dante read the screen.
Then he looked at Alice.
We need to leave this room.
Alice frowned.
Why?
Dante took her hand.
For once, she did not pull away.
He led her toward the door.
They had barely reached the corridor when a violent shudder passed through the floor.
The overhead lights went out.
Alice felt a sudden pressure change, followed by a tremor so powerful that she stumbled against Dante.
Somewhere below them, an explosion had rocked the mansion.
Emergency lights flashed red.
Leo drew his weapon.
Dante pushed Alice behind him.
She looked down the corridor.
Smoke began curling beneath a doorway.
A security guard emerged from the stairwell, clutching his shoulder.
His mouth moved frantically.
Alice could not hear his warning.
But she could read the terror on his face.
Dante grabbed the tablet.
Someone breached the east entrance. Stay behind me.
Alice shook her head.
Margaret is upstairs.
Dante looked toward the staircase.
Another tremor ran through the building.
Alice pulled free.
Before he could stop her, she ran.
The eastern staircase was filling with smoke.
Alice covered her mouth with her sleeve.
She knew the layout from the previous evening.
Margaret's quarters were beside the laundry room.
She reached the second-floor landing and saw two guards rushing in the opposite direction.
One shouted something.
Alice ignored him.
She reached Margaret's door.
It was locked.
She pounded against the wood.
No response.
Alice pressed her palm against the door.
Nothing.
Then she noticed the faint movement of smoke beneath it.
She grabbed a decorative brass sculpture from a nearby table and struck the glass panel beside the handle.
The glass shattered.
She reached through, unlocked the door, and entered.
Margaret lay on the floor.
A fallen cabinet had pinned her leg.
The older woman's face was pale.
Alice hurried toward her.
Margaret opened her eyes.
Relief crossed her expression.
Alice signed:
Can you move?
Margaret shook her head.
Alice examined the cabinet.
It was heavy, but not impossible.
She braced her shoulder against it.
Pushed.
Pain tore through her healing forearm.
She pushed again.
The cabinet shifted.
Margaret pulled her leg free.
Alice helped her stand.
Together, they moved toward the hallway.
At the landing, Alice felt another vibration.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Heavy.
Coming upward.
She looked down.
Three armed men appeared at the bottom of the staircase.
They wore black tactical clothing.
One raised his weapon.
Alice dragged Margaret behind a stone column.
The man fired.
She felt the impact as a bullet struck the wall beside them.
Stone fragments scattered across the floor.
Alice's heart hammered.
She looked toward the service corridor.
There was another staircase.
But Margaret could barely walk.
Alice took out her phone.
She typed a message to Dante.
Second floor. East stairs. Three armed men. Margaret injured.
The message sent.
Then the screen flashed.
NO SIGNAL
Alice stared at it.
She looked toward the attackers.
They were climbing.
She had seconds.
A small emergency fire cabinet stood beside the landing.
Inside was a bright red extinguisher.
Alice grabbed it.
She waited until the first attacker rounded the corner.
Then she pulled the safety pin and discharged the extinguisher directly into his face.
A dense white cloud engulfed the landing.
The man stumbled backward.
Alice swung the metal cylinder against his weapon.
It fell.
She kicked it beneath the staircase.
The second attacker lunged forward.
Before he reached her, a dark figure emerged from the smoke.
Dante.
He struck the attacker with brutal precision.
Leo appeared behind him.
Within seconds, the staircase was secured.
Dante turned toward Alice.
His face was white with fear.
He reached for her shoulders.
She looked up.
Then she pointed toward Margaret.
Help her first.
Dante understood.
He signaled his men.
Two guards hurried forward and supported the injured housekeeper.
Only after Margaret was safe did Dante return to Alice.
He looked at the extinguisher in her hand.
Then at the unconscious attacker.
His expression shifted between disbelief and admiration.
Alice typed:
Your security is terrible.
Despite everything, Dante almost smiled.
Then his expression darkened.
He typed:
Someone inside gave them access.
Alice met his gaze.
Vittorio.
Dante did not deny it.
By evening, the mansion was secured.
The explosion had destroyed part of the eastern service entrance.
Three guards were injured.
Two attackers had been captured alive.
Vittorio Bellandi was missing.
So was a sealed evidence box from the records room.
Alice sat in the conservatory, a fresh bandage wrapped around her arm.
Dante entered carrying two cups of tea.
He placed one beside her.
Then he sat across the table.
For several minutes, neither moved.
Finally, he signed slowly:
I'm sorry.
Alice looked at him.
His movements were clumsy.
But sincere.
She answered in sign language, deliberately slowing each gesture.
Sorry is a beginning. Not an ending.
Dante watched her hands.
He did not understand every word.
But he understood enough.
Alice typed the rest.
I won't stay because you can protect me. I'll stay because I choose to find the truth. Those are different things.
Dante nodded.
I understand.
She studied him.
And if the truth destroys your family?
His answer came without hesitation.
Then the family deserves to fall.
Alice wanted to believe him.
She desperately wanted to.
Before she could respond, Leo entered the conservatory.
He carried a sealed plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a small leather notebook recovered from one of the attackers.
Leo placed it on the table.
Dante opened the bag.
The notebook contained addresses, bank codes, and photographs.
Alice turned a page.
Her breath caught.
A photograph showed her parents standing outside their home.
Another showed her at nineteen, carrying groceries.
A third showed the Gilded Peony.
The final photograph had been taken only two days earlier.
Alice was standing beside Dante.
Someone had written beneath it:
THE DAUGHTER KNOWS. FINISH WHAT ANTONIO STARTED.
Alice looked at Dante.
His expression had turned deadly.
But Alice was no longer watching him.
She was staring at the handwriting.
The same distinctive slanted letters.
The same crossed sevens.
The same unusual way of forming capital letters.
She had seen that handwriting in her father's old birthday cards.
In his grocery lists.
In the margins of his crossword puzzles.
Her hands began trembling.
She turned the notebook toward Dante.
Then she typed:
This isn't Vittorio's handwriting.
Dante frowned.
Alice swallowed.
May you like
It's my father's.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond the mansion, a man everyone believed had died seven years earlier was preparing to make his next move.
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