Chapter 2 - He stepped away abruptly and went to the window.
His hand moved through his hair.
“Your mother.”
He spoke almost to himself.
Then turned.
“Jack Brooks was not your biological father.”
It was not a question.
“I don’t know.”
Arya shook her head.
“He never talked about it.”
A memory surfaced.
“He said my mother was a mistake he made in Italy.”
Dante’s expression changed.
Suspicion disappeared.
Calculation remained.
Protection joined it.
“You are not going back to Queens.”
Arya stood.
“You can’t keep me here.”
Her voice rose.
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Call it whatever makes you comfortable.”
Dante went to a control panel.
He pressed a button.
Steel shutters began descending over the penthouse windows.
One after another.
Locking the apartment down.
“You are the most dangerous loose end in New York.”
Arya stared.
“If the Rossi family learns who you really are…”
His face became grim.
“…they will not simply kill you.”
“They will start a war that burns the city.”
“Who am I?”
The question came out as a whisper.
Dante looked directly at her.
“You are the key to the vault.”
Arya did not move.
“And you are the daughter of the man I killed 10 years ago.”
Arya did not sleep.
She spent the night in the corner of a guest room more luxurious than most hotel suites, holding a pillow against herself.
The door had been locked from the outside.
Dante Moretti had killed her biological father.
She did not know who that father had been.
She did not understand why her mother’s ring had transformed Dante’s face when he saw it.
Morning arrived with a quiet chime.
The door unlocked.
A woman in a gray suit entered pushing a cart.
“Good morning, Miss Brooks.”
Arya said nothing.
“Mr. Moretti requests your presence at breakfast.”
The woman uncovered clothing.
A white silk blouse.
Tailored black trousers.
Expensive shoes.
“Your work uniform has been incinerated.”
Arya looked at her.
Then at the clothes.
She changed.
For now, cooperation seemed more useful than defiance.
The woman led her to an outdoor terrace.
Central Park stretched below.
Dante sat at a glass table with coffee and a newspaper.
“Sit.”
He did not look up.
Arya sat across from him.
“I want answers.”
Dante folded the paper.
“You tell me you murdered my father and then lock me in a room.”
He studied her.
“You have your mother’s temper.”
Arya’s face changed.
“You knew her?”
“Briefly.”
Dante lifted the coffee.
“Before she fled to America with a gambler to hide you.”
He set the cup down.
“The ring carries the crest of the Valentinetti family.”
Arya frowned.
“Old Sicilian power.”
Dante continued.
“The Valentinetti family once dominated the trade routes between Europe and the United States.”
Arya gave a nervous laugh.
“So what?”
“Mafia royalty?”
“Not royalty.”
Dante corrected her.
“Mafia royalty.”
Then:
“Your biological father was Lorenzo Valentinetti.”
Arya stared.
“Capo dei capi.”
“Boss of bosses.”
Dante’s tone remained matter-of-fact.
“He controlled international routes.”
“But more importantly, he possessed a ledger.”
Arya waited.
“Digital and physical.”
“Blackmail.”
“Corrupt politicians.”
“Judges.”
“Rival families.”
“Bank accounts.”
“Secrets from multiple countries.”
Dante’s gaze sharpened.
“Billions in leverage.”
Arya looked down at the ring.
“What does any of that have to do with me?”
“When Lorenzo died, I took his territory.”
Dante did not soften the statement.
“But the ledger vanished.”
He leaned back.
“Rumor said Lorenzo encoded access into a biological key.”
“A scan.”
“DNA.”
His eyes went toward the ring.
“Or an object entrusted to his heir.”
Arya touched the metal.
“It’s a ring.”
“To you.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“To Vinnie Rossi, it is the most valuable weapon in New York.”
He leaned forward.
“If he knows you exist, he will torture you for the ring.”
“And for a password you may not even realize you know.”
“I don’t know a password.”
Arya’s voice rose.
“You may not know that you know it.”
Dante remained calm.
“Could be a lullaby.”
“A date.”
“A phrase.”
His phone vibrated.
He checked the message.
His face changed.
“What?”
Arya asked.
“Mick O’Connor.”
Dante stood and buttoned his jacket.
“The loan shark.”
“What about him?”
“He’s been drinking in a Bronx bar.”
Dante checked the weapon in his shoulder holster.
“He’s telling people he has leverage over a woman Dante Moretti picked up.”
Arya felt cold.
“He’s trying to sell your information to Vinnie Rossi.”
Dante turned toward the elevator.
“I’ll deal with it.”
Arya stood.
“You’re going to kill him.”
“I’m going to negotiate.”
Dante’s voice was dry.
“Stay here.”
He looked at her.
“Do not open the door for anyone except me or Luca.”
“Take me.”
Dante stopped.
“No.”
“He has my documents.”
Arya spoke quickly.
“My ID.”
“Birth certificate.”
“Pictures of my mother.”
Dante watched her.
“If you go in shooting, he may destroy them.”
She continued.
“Or police get them.”
“You said I need to disappear.”
Her voice strengthened.
“I can’t disappear if my life is sitting inside his filing cabinet.”
Dante considered her.
“Brave.”
A pause.
“Stupid.”
“Desperate.”
Arya corrected.
“And tired of being afraid of men like him.”
Dante exhaled.
“Fine.”
Then pointed toward her.
“But you stay in the car.”
His eyes hardened.
“If 1 foot touches the street without my permission, I chain you to a radiator when we get back.”
The drive to the Bronx remained tense.
Arya watched Dante check his weapon.
He was a murderer.
She knew it.
Yet inside the armored car beside him, she felt safer than she ever had inside her Queens apartment.
The Rolls-Royce stopped outside a filthy dive bar called the Shamrock.
“Stay.”
Dante got out.
Luca and 2 guards followed.
Arya watched through tinted glass.
5 minutes passed.
Then 10.
Suddenly, the rear door of the bar flew open.
Mick O’Connor stumbled outside carrying a battered metal box.
Arya recognized it immediately.
Jack Brooks’s lockbox.
Her father’s documents.
Her mother’s photographs.
Her past.
Mick ran toward the alley.
Arya stopped thinking.
She opened the car door.
Then ran.
Mick turned.
“You little witch.”
He pulled a knife.
“You brought them down on me.”
Arya stopped approximately 10 feet away.
The knife flashed.
Mick lunged.
Bang.
His weapon fell.
Mick screamed.
The hand holding the knife had become a bloody ruin.
Dante emerged from the rear of the bar holding a smoking pistol.
He did not look at Mick.
He looked at Arya.
Fury filled his face.
Dante walked past the screaming loan shark.
He seized Arya by the arm and pushed her against the brick wall.
His body pressed close to hers.
“I told you…”
His voice was low and furious.
“…to stay in the car.”
“He had my things.”
Arya’s heart raced.
“I had it handled.”
Dante shouted.
“Do you have a death wish?”
His face was inches from hers.
“Because standing unprotected in a Bronx alley is a very efficient way to die.”
“I’m not your prisoner.”
Arya shouted back.
Dante stared.
Adrenaline ran through both of them.
Then the anger shifted.
The silence between them became charged.
His eyes moved briefly toward her mouth.
Then back to her eyes.
“No.”
His voice became rough.
“You’re not my prisoner.”
A pause.
“You’re mine to protect.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“And you are making that extremely difficult.”
Tires screamed at the end of the alley.
A black van turned sharply toward them.
The side door opened.
The barrel of a submachine gun appeared.
“Down!”
Dante threw Arya to the ground.
He covered her body with his.
Automatic gunfire erupted.
Bullets tore pieces from the brick wall.
Dust and fragments rained over them.
Arya felt Dante jerk sharply once.
He made no sound.
“Luca!”
Dante rolled away while drawing his weapon.
“Return fire!”
Luca and the guards fired from behind the armored Rolls-Royce.
The alley became a tunnel of gunfire.
Then the van accelerated away.
Burned rubber and cordite remained behind it.
Dante immediately pulled Arya upright.
“Are you hit?”
He looked her over.
“Check.”
Arya touched herself with shaking hands.
“My knee.”
Blood came from a scrape caused by the fall.
“I think I’m okay.”
“We move.”
Dante’s voice returned to absolute control.
“They may circle back.”
“Police will come.”
“Neither is useful.”
They entered the Rolls-Royce.
As the car accelerated away, Arya noticed a growing dark stain on Dante’s left shoulder.
“You’re shot.”
He glanced at it.
“Graze.”
His voice remained dismissive.
“Through and through.”
Then:
“Ruined a $5,000 suit.”
Arya stared.
“We need a hospital.”
Dante laughed harshly.
“The hospitals I use do not ask questions.”
He looked out the window.
“But we are not staying in Manhattan.”
His face hardened.
“The penthouse is compromised.”
Arya understood.
“They knew we were in the Bronx.”
“Yes.”
Dante’s eyes became frighteningly calm.
“I have a leak.”
They drove approximately 2 hours east.
The city gave way to Long Island wealth.
High hedges.
Private roads.
Oceanfront estates.
The Rolls-Royce finally entered a sprawling modern property in Southampton surrounded by iron gates.
The house was stark and beautiful.
Cold in the same way Dante was.
An elderly couple staffed the estate.
Neither reacted visibly to the sight of a wounded crime boss and a disheveled young woman covered in alley dust.
In the master bedroom overlooking the Atlantic, Dante removed his jacket.
Then his shirt.
Arya inhaled sharply.
The bullet had carved an ugly furrow through his deltoid.
May you like
Blood still seeped from it.
“Medical kit.”
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