Chapter 3 - The Letter With My Name On ItThree weeks after Dante proposed, I learned that happiness could make you careless.
Not stupid.
Not blind.
Just careless enough to stop counting exits every time you entered a room.
Careless enough to leave your phone charging upstairs while you baked pancakes with your daughter.
Careless enough to believe that when someone knocked on the front door at 8:17 on a Saturday morning, it might actually be a delivery driver instead of the beginning of another nightmare.
I was standing at the stove while Lily sat on the counter wearing pink pajamas covered in tiny dinosaurs.
“You’re burning it,” she announced.
“I am absolutely not burning it.”
“It smells burned.”
“That’s caramelization.”
“What’s car—cara—”
“Something fancy adults say when they burn pancakes.”
She burst into laughter.
I smiled despite myself.
Six months ago, that sound had been something I protected with my entire body.
Now it filled the kitchen every morning.
Dante was outside with Marco and Lucia, attempting to assemble the new swing set Lily had convinced him she desperately needed despite already having a treehouse, a trampoline, and enough outdoor toys to establish her own preschool.
Through the window, I could see Dante holding an instruction manual upside down.
I bit my lip.
The man could negotiate with federal agents without blinking.
Furniture defeated him.
Lily followed my gaze.
“Dante said bad words.”
“He did?”
“A lot.”
“Did you repeat them?”
“No.”
She paused.
“Can I?”
“No.”
Another knock sounded.
Three slow knocks.
I frowned.
Security usually called before allowing anyone through the outer gate.
“Stay here.”
Lily rolled her eyes dramatically.
“I’m four, Mommy. I’m not going anywhere.”
“That sentence does not make me feel better.”
I wiped my hands on a towel and headed toward the foyer.
One of Dante’s security men, Antonio, appeared from the hall almost immediately.
He looked confused.
“That shouldn’t have gotten through.”
“What?”
He pointed toward the door.
“There’s no visitor.”
My skin prickled.
Antonio opened the door carefully.
No one stood outside.
Instead, a cream-colored envelope rested against the threshold.
No stamp.
No address.
Just my name.
EVELYN.
My stomach dropped.
Nobody called me Evelyn anymore.
Not even Dante.
Most people knew me as Evie.
Marcus had called me Evelyn when he was angry.
But Marcus was locked away.
And the handwriting wasn’t his.
“Don’t touch it,” Antonio said.
Too late.
My fingers had already closed around the envelope.
Dante appeared behind me seconds later.
“What happened?”
His voice had changed.
No warmth.
No frustration about the swing set.
Just the quiet, cold tone I had learned meant every part of him was suddenly alert.
Antonio explained.
Dante took the envelope from my hand using the edge of his shirt.
“Inside.”
“Dante—”
“Evie.”
One word.
Not an order exactly.
Close enough.
I stepped back.
Lucia entered from the garden with Lily and Marco.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Dante answered.
Lucia looked at the envelope.
Then at him.
Then at me.
Her expression sharpened.
“That does not look like nothing.”
Dante opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
His face changed before I even saw it.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Recognition.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
I reached for the photograph.
His fingers tightened around it.
“Dante.”
“Evie.”
“Show me.”
For several seconds, he stared at me.
Then he handed it over.
The photograph was old.
Maybe twenty years.
A beautiful dark-haired woman stood beside a fountain, smiling toward whoever held the camera.
Behind her was a white villa surrounded by olive trees.
Dante’s mother.
I knew immediately.
I had seen photographs of her in his study.
Elena Moretti.
The woman who taught Dante to cook.
The woman he almost never talked about.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a message.
Your mother kept one secret from you.
Below it:
Ask what happened in Bellavita.
I looked up.
Dante had gone completely still.
“Bellavita?”
Lucia whispered the word.
Her face had drained of color.
That frightened me more than Dante’s silence.
“You know it,” I said.
Lucia looked at her brother.
“No.”
Dante’s response came instantly.
“Don’t.”
“Dante—”
“Not in front of the children.”
Lily was watching us.
She had gone quiet.
That alone told me she understood something was wrong.
I forced a smile.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you and Marco go check whether the frog house survived last night’s rain?”
“But—”
“Please.”
She studied me in that unsettling way children sometimes do.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
Marco followed her outside.
Antonio went with them.
The second the door closed, Lucia turned on Dante.
“You told me Bellavita burned.”
“I told you what Father told me.”
“What is Bellavita?” I asked.
Neither answered.
“Seriously?”
I looked between them.
“I’m marrying into this family. Apparently somebody just walked through layers of security to deliver a picture of your dead mother to my front door. I think I’ve graduated from the category of people who don’t get to know things.”
Dante’s eyes met mine.
Something in them hurt.
“Bellavita was our mother’s childhood home.”
Lucia crossed her arms.
“In Sicily.”
Dante continued.
“She inherited it from her father. She took us there every summer until I was twelve.”
“You said it burned?”
“It did.”
“When?”
“The year before she died.”
The room went quiet.
I knew Elena Moretti had died when Dante was sixteen.
An accident.
That was all he had ever said.
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to her?”
Dante’s jaw flexed.
“Car crash.”
Lucia looked away.
There was more.
Of course there was more.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“My mother’s brakes failed on a mountain road.”
The words came out flat.
Rehearsed.
“She died instantly.”
“I’m sorry.”
His gaze remained on the photograph.
“We were told it was an accident.”
Were told.
Not it was.
“Now you don’t believe that.”
He finally looked at me.
“I stopped believing in accidents a long time ago.”
Lucia picked up the envelope.
“There’s nothing else?”
“No.”
She inspected the paper.
“Whoever delivered this knew the gate schedule.”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“Which means we still have a leak.”
My heart began beating faster.
After Marcus, Dante had rebuilt his security from the ground up.
Everyone had been screened.
Then screened again.
He had spent months separating himself from the criminal networks his father had built, moving money into legitimate businesses and cutting relationships that had existed since before he was born.
Some people respected it.
Others considered it weakness.
We both knew that.
“What do we do?” I asked.
Dante folded the photograph and slid it back inside the envelope.
“We find out who delivered it.”
“And Bellavita?”
His expression closed.
“Nothing.”
“Dante.”
“We’re not going.”
I almost laughed.
“Who said anything about going?”
“You were about to.”
“That’s incredibly arrogant.”
“It’s also accurate.”
Unfortunately, it was.
Lucia stared at her brother.
“You’re scared.”
He turned toward her.
“I’m cautious.”
“You haven’t been cautious a day in your life.”
“Thank you.”
“You walked into Marcus Vega’s warehouse knowing six armed men were waiting for you.”
“Twelve of mine were outside.”
“You jumped off Grandfather’s fishing boat when you were eleven because someone dared you.”
“I was an excellent swimmer.”
“You were forty feet from shore.”
“The point?”
Lucia’s voice softened.
“You’re afraid of Bellavita.”
Something flickered in Dante’s eyes.
The same thing I had seen when he spoke about his mother.
Grief that had never aged.
He walked toward the window.
For a long moment, none of us spoke.
Outside, Lily and Marco were kneeling in the grass beside a pile of sticks, arguing seriously about amphibian architecture.
Eventually Dante said, “The last time I saw Bellavita, my mother was standing at the front steps.”
His voice was quiet now.
“She had been crying.”
I moved closer.
“She told me to take Lucia to the car. Told me not to ask questions. Two weeks later, the house burned.”
Lucia swallowed.
“I barely remember that.”
“You were seven.”
“Why was she crying?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante turned the photograph over again.
“But someone apparently does.”
I touched his arm.
He looked down at my hand.
“Whoever sent this wants you to go there.”
“Yes.”
“So we shouldn’t.”
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.”
I ignored that.
“But we also can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
His mouth tightened.
“I can investigate from here.”
“You mean send your people.”
“I mean protect my family.”
Something about the words caught me.
Not because of what he said.
Because of the fear underneath them.
This wasn’t Dante the Moretti heir.
This wasn’t the man whose name made rooms go silent.
This was a son being dragged back to the worst day of his life.
I stepped closer.
“You don’t have to decide today.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You don’t.”
His eyes snapped to mine.
“You taught me that.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“That fear doesn’t get to make every decision.”
I touched his chest.
“Remember?”
His expression changed.
Barely.
I continued.
“Six months ago, I wanted to run from everything. You told me there was always another choice.”
“That was different.”
“Because it was me?”
“Yes.”
“Convenient.”
His mouth almost twitched.
Almost.
Then his hand covered mine.
“I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“But neither can you.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Finally, Dante exhaled.
“We investigate.”
Lucia blinked.
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
He looked at her.
“Nobody goes to Sicily. Nobody contacts anyone connected to Bellavita. I want the photograph checked, paper, ink, fingerprints, everything.”
Then he looked at me.
“And security doubles.”
I opened my mouth.
“No argument.”
“I wasn’t going to argue.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“I was going to complain.”
“That I expected.”
The tension eased by half an inch.
Then Lily appeared at the terrace door.
“Dante!”
He turned immediately.
“What?”
“The frog house fell down.”
She looked devastated.
Dante stared at her.
Then at the envelope in his hand.
Then back at the child who had somehow made herself the center of his universe.
“I’ll fix it.”
“You promised last time.”
“I remember.”
She ran to him and grabbed two of his fingers.
“Now.”
Dante looked at me.
For the first time since the envelope arrived, warmth returned to his eyes.
“Apparently I have orders.”
“You do.”
He let Lily drag him outside.
I watched them go.
Lucia came beside me.
“You know he’ll go.”
“To Sicily?”
“Yes.”
She folded her arms tighter.
“He’ll tell himself he won’t. He’ll investigate. He’ll discover something that makes staying here impossible.”
“You sound certain.”
“I know my brother.”
I watched Dante kneel beside the ruined frog house while Lily explained exactly where he had failed as a contractor.
“You’re going too,” Lucia said.
It wasn’t a question.
“If he goes.”
“You have Lily.”
My heart squeezed.
“I know.”
Lucia studied me.
“You could stay here. Let him handle it.”
Six months ago, that would have sounded logical.
Safe.
But I had learned something since then.
Safety wasn’t always distance.
Sometimes safety was knowing the truth beside the people you loved.
“I spent years letting men make decisions about my life because they told me they were protecting me.”
Lucia’s expression softened.
“I won’t do that again.”
The front door opened behind us.
Antonio entered quickly.
His expression told me something else had happened.
“Boss.”
Dante stood.
Antonio crossed the garden and handed him a tablet.
“We found the courier on the north camera.”
“Who?”
“That’s the problem.”
Antonio tapped the screen.
A grainy security image appeared.
An elderly man in a gray coat walked toward the front door carrying the cream envelope.
Dante zoomed in.
Lucia made a sound beside me.
A tiny, shocked inhale.
“What?” I asked.
Dante stared at the screen.
Every trace of warmth disappeared from his face.
“Who is he?”
Lucia answered.
“Our father’s driver.”
I frowned.
“That doesn’t sound impossible.”
Dante looked at me.
“It is.”
A cold sensation moved down my spine.
“Why?”
His voice dropped.
“Because Vittorio Salvi died twenty-two years ago.”
Nobody spoke.
Outside, somewhere beyond the terrace, a bird called from the trees.
Lily tugged Dante’s sleeve.
“Are we still fixing the frog house?”
He looked down at her.
For a moment, the dead man on the screen disappeared.
Dante crouched.
“Yes, principessa.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“We’re still fixing the frog house.”
But when his eyes found mine over Lily’s shoulder, I understood.
The life we had spent six months building had just changed again.
Marcus had threatened our future.
This was different.
May you like
This threat had come from Dante’s past.
And somehow, impossibly, it already knew my name.
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