Chapter 6
Rebecca Carver chose the meeting place.
That mattered to Scarlett.
It mattered even more that Dante did not argue.
A small public park in Evanston.
Saturday afternoon.
Two o’clock.
No lawyers.
No security standing nearby.
No discussion of custody.
No promises.
Rebecca’s conditions had arrived by text after the phone call.
Dante read them three times.
Then he sent one word.
Agreed.
Marcus arrived at the house at noon wearing sunglasses, linen pants, and the expression of a man who had been forcibly removed from paradise.
Scarlett opened the door.
“You look tan.”
“I hate both of you.”
“Vacation good?”
“It was excellent until a private jet arrived to collect me.”
Scarlett blinked.
She looked toward Dante.
“You sent a plane?”
Dante adjusted his cuff.
“The commercial options were inefficient.”
Marcus removed his sunglasses.
“You sent a plane with two security officers who told me, and I quote, ‘Mr. Moretti requests your immediate presence.’”
“I requested.”
“You abducted me politely.”
Scarlett laughed.
Dante did not.
Marcus’s irritation disappeared when he saw his friend’s face.
“You okay?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Marcus nodded.
“Good.”
Scarlett stared at him.
“That was an odd response.”
“If he said yes, I would worry.”
Dante picked up his coat.
“Are we finished?”
“Never.”
Marcus looked toward Scarlett.
“You going?”
“Yes.”
“Charlotte?”
“With Rosa.”
Marcus nodded.
“I’ll stay three blocks away.”
Dante looked at him.
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
Scarlett sighed.
“Do all men in this organization negotiate exactly like him?”
Marcus smiled.
“No. Most of us eventually get tired.”
They arrived ten minutes early.
Rebecca arrived exactly on time.
She came alone.
Dante saw her first.
She was perhaps thirty-four.
Dark-blonde hair pulled into a practical ponytail.
Jeans.
Navy sweater.
No makeup.
She carried herself like someone who had spent too long handling difficult things without expecting rescue.
Dante stood.
Rebecca stopped twenty feet away.
Her eyes moved to Scarlett.
Then Dante.
Something passed across her face.
Recognition.
Resentment.
Grief.
“You look older,” she said.
Dante accepted the statement.
“I am.”
“You probably don’t remember me.”
“I do.”
That surprised her.
“Emily’s twenty-first birthday,” Dante continued. “You argued with Michael about whether Die Hard was a Christmas movie.”
Rebecca blinked.
Scarlett looked at Dante.
“You remember that?”
“I remember most things involving my son.”
Rebecca’s expression tightened.
“Yes.”
There was an accusation inside the word.
Dante heard it.
“Where is Samuel?”
“With a friend.”
Disappointment crossed Dante’s face before he could hide it.
Rebecca noticed.
“You don’t meet him today.”
“I understand.”
“I need to know what you want first.”
Dante sat.
Scarlett sat beside him.
Rebecca remained standing for another moment before taking the bench opposite them.
“What I want,” Dante said, “depends on whether he is Michael’s son.”
“He is.”
“I believe you believe that.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Careful.”
Scarlett touched Dante’s wrist beneath the table.
He adjusted.
“I am not accusing your sister of lying.”
“It sounded like it.”
“I need certainty.”
Rebecca stared at him.
Then nodded once.
“Fair.”
Dante leaned forward.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Rebecca looked toward the trees.
“Because she was afraid of you.”
The answer struck without drama.
Dante did not move.
Scarlett did not defend him.
Rebecca continued.
“Emily loved Michael. Completely. Stupidly, probably. They fought about his family constantly.”
“Michael never told me.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Because he loved you too.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
Rebecca looked directly at him.
“He spent his entire life trying to become his own person without making you think he was rejecting you.”
Dante absorbed that in silence.
“He wanted to teach,” Rebecca said. “You wanted him to understand the businesses.”
“I never required him to join them.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
Rebecca did not look away.
“You were Dante Moretti. When you entered a room, everyone adjusted. Michael learned that before he learned algebra.”
Scarlett watched her husband.
Three years earlier, criticism like that would have frozen his face.
Now he listened.
Not comfortably.
But he listened.
“Did I frighten Emily?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Did I ever threaten her?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because she knew what your family was.”
Dante looked down.
Rebecca’s voice softened slightly.
“She found out she was pregnant two weeks before Michael died.”
Dante’s head lifted.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
Scarlett felt his hand go cold.
“How do you know?”
“Because I was there when she told him.”
Dante’s mouth opened.
No sound came.
Rebecca looked away.
“He cried.”
That nearly destroyed him.
Scarlett squeezed his hand.
Rebecca continued quietly.
“Then he laughed. Then he cried again. Then he spent forty minutes searching for baby names even though Emily told him she was eight weeks pregnant and they had plenty of time.”
A broken smile appeared on Dante’s face.
“That sounds like him.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He was going to.”
“When?”
“After your birthday.”
Dante frowned.
“My birthday was six days after he died.”
“I know.”
The park seemed to become very quiet.
Scarlett watched a father push a stroller along the path.
Normal life continuing around extraordinary grief.
“What happened after Michael died?” she asked.
Rebecca looked at her.
“Emily broke.”
Dante’s eyes closed briefly.
“She blamed the Moretti world,” Rebecca continued. “Maybe fairly. Maybe unfairly. Grief doesn’t care about fairness.”
“No,” Dante said.
“She moved in with me. Changed doctors. Stopped answering anyone connected to Michael.”
“Why put his name on the birth certificate?”
“Because she never stopped loving him.”
Dante looked toward the grass.
“She wanted Samuel to know who his father was. She just didn’t want him raised inside what she believed had taken Michael from her.”
Dante said nothing.
Scarlett knew the circumstances of Michael’s death.
A highway accident.
A drunk driver crossing the center line.
Nothing to do with Dante’s organization.
Nothing to do with crime.
That fact had almost made Dante’s grief worse.
There had been no enemy to punish.
No decision to reverse.
No conspiracy.
Only randomness.
Rebecca seemed to read the thought.
“I know Michael’s death wasn’t because of you.”
Dante looked at her.
“Emily knew too. Intellectually.”
“But emotionally?”
“She needed something to blame.”
Dante nodded.
“I understand.”
Rebecca studied him.
“I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“I spent three years blaming myself for being alive.”
That silenced her.
Scarlett felt pride she did not voice.
Not because Dante had suffered.
Because he no longer hid the suffering behind power.
Rebecca reached into her bag.
She removed a folder.
“There’s more.”
Dante stiffened.
“What?”
“Emily wrote you a letter.”
His face changed.
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“Why didn’t you send it?”
Rebecca looked ashamed.
“I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At everything.”
Dante stared at the folder.
“My sister was thirty-two. She had a three-year-old son. She was dying. And somehow your name was still in the room.”
Dante did not reach for the letter.
Rebecca pushed it toward him.
“She made me promise Samuel would know you existed.”
“Why wait eighteen months?”
“I didn’t know whether knowing you would help him or consume him.”
Dante looked at her.
“That is fair.”
Again, Rebecca seemed surprised.
Then her eyes shifted toward Scarlett.
“You changed him?”
Scarlett almost laughed.
“No.”
Dante glanced at her.
She continued.
“He changed himself. I just became inconvenient enough that he had to practice.”
Rebecca smiled for the first time.
Dante looked mildly offended.
The tension eased.
Only slightly.
“Who put the photograph on Scarlett’s car?” Dante asked.
Rebecca’s smile disappeared.
“I did.”
Scarlett stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why not call?”
“I tried.”
Dante frowned.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“I received no call.”
“I spoke to someone in your office. I said I was Rebecca Carver and needed to speak to you about Michael.”
Dante became very still.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Male? Female?”
“Male.”
Dante looked toward Scarlett.
Something had changed.
This was no longer merely family history.
“Then what?” Scarlett asked.
“He told me never to contact Mr. Moretti again.”
Dante’s voice became quiet.
“Those exact words?”
“Yes.”
“And the photograph?”
“I wanted to make sure it reached you personally.”
“You put it on Scarlett’s vehicle instead of mine.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“Everyone in Chicago knows your vehicles are watched.”
Scarlett almost smiled.
Reasonable.
Dante did not.
“Did you tell anyone else about Samuel?”
“No.”
“Anyone know you were contacting me?”
“My friend David. He was watching Samuel today.”
“Full name.”
Scarlett touched his hand.
Dante stopped.
Rebecca’s expression hardened.
“This is what I was afraid of.”
He recognized the mistake immediately.
“I apologize.”
Rebecca blinked.
Dante Moretti apologizing still had the power to surprise people.
“I am not asking because I intend to investigate your friend,” he said. “I am asking because someone intercepted your first attempt to contact me.”
Rebecca’s anger shifted into concern.
“You think someone in your office blocked me?”
“I know nobody authorized to answer my personal calls would tell a member of Michael’s family not to contact me.”
“Maybe they didn’t know who I was.”
“My staff are trained to verify.”
Scarlett looked at him.
“So somebody made a decision for you.”
Dante’s expression darkened.
He hated that.
For obvious reasons.
Marcus was waiting in the SUV when they returned.
Dante opened the passenger door.
“Find every incoming call from Rebecca Carver during the last six months.”
Marcus stared.
“Hello to you too.”
“Marcus.”
Something in Dante’s voice made him straighten.
“What happened?”
“Someone prevented her from reaching me.”
Marcus’s expression changed.
“When?”
“Approximately three months ago.”
“I’ll check.”
“Quietly.”
Marcus nodded.
Scarlett and Dante drove home alone.
Halfway there, Dante said, “I want the DNA test.”
“I know.”
“I also want to meet him.”
“I know.”
“What if Rebecca says no?”
Scarlett looked at him.
“You wait.”
He gripped the steering wheel.
“I am not good at waiting.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“What if she decides she does not want me in his life?”
“That would hurt.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Dante glanced at her.
“She’s raising him,” Scarlett continued. “She’s been his family every day. You don’t get to arrive with a biological connection and treat that like ownership.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She studied him.
Then nodded.
“Good.”
When they reached home, Charlotte ran toward them wearing a plastic crown and one sock.
“Daddy!”
Dante bent automatically.
She crashed into him.
He lifted her.
Charlotte grabbed his face with both hands.
“Rosa says I’m a queen.”
Dante looked toward Rosa.
Rosa shrugged.
“She demanded constitutional recognition.”
Scarlett laughed.
Dante kissed Charlotte’s forehead.
“What happened to your other sock?”
Charlotte looked down.
Apparently this possibility had not occurred to her.
“Gone.”
Dante nodded gravely.
“We will investigate.”
Scarlett pointed at him.
“No investigation.”
Charlotte giggled.
Dante carried her toward the kitchen.
Scarlett watched him.
Father.
Husband.
Perhaps grandfather.
The word still felt impossible.
That evening, after Charlotte slept, Dante finally opened Emily’s letter.
Scarlett offered to leave.
He asked her to stay.
The letter was three pages.
He read it silently.
Scarlett watched his face.
Halfway through, his eyes filled.
Near the end, his hand covered his mouth.
When he finished, he placed the pages on the table.
He stared at them for a long time.
“What did she say?” Scarlett asked.
Dante’s voice was rough.
“She apologized.”
“For what?”
“For keeping Samuel away.”
Scarlett waited.
“She said Michael loved me.”
His eyes closed.
“She said he was going to ask me to teach him how to be a father.”
Scarlett’s throat tightened.
Dante laughed once.
A shattered little sound.
“He was going to ask me.”
She moved closer.
Dante looked at the letter.
“I would have had no idea what to tell him.”
“Yes, you would.”
“No.”
“You would have told him what you tell yourself every day with Charlotte.”
Dante looked at her.
“What is that?”
Scarlett placed her hand over his.
“Show up tomorrow.”
His face broke.
She held him.
Not to fix grief.
Not to erase regret.
Simply because there were moments when love had no cleverer job than remaining in the room.
At eleven-thirty, Marcus called.
Dante answered.
“What?”
Marcus spoke for almost a minute.
Scarlett watched Dante’s expression change.
Grief disappeared.
Cold concentration replaced it.
“Are you certain?”
Another pause.
“Send me everything.”
Dante ended the call.
“What happened?” Scarlett asked.
He looked at her.
“The call from Rebecca reached my office.”
“So who answered?”
“No one.”
Scarlett frowned.
Dante stood.
“The call was redirected before it reached my staff.”
“Redirected where?”
“To an internal extension that has not officially existed for two years.”
Scarlett felt cold.
“Whose extension?”
May you like
Dante looked at the dark window.
“Someone who worked for my father.”
