Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Knew Too Much
Dante did not shout.
That was what frightened everyone.
He simply placed the photograph beside Isabella’s untouched dinner and looked at the twelve people seated around his table.
“Which one of you has been inside my bedroom?”
No one answered.
Isabella remained frozen.
Dante looked at the photograph again.
The angle was unmistakable.
It had been taken from near the bedroom doorway.
Not through a window.
Not from the hall.
Inside.
That meant the person photographing Isabella either had access to the penthouse or had been helped by someone who did.
Marco immediately began issuing orders through his earpiece.
“Seal the staff floors. No one exits the building. Pull every camera feed from the last eight months.”
Dante looked at Isabella.
“How long have you known?”
Her eyes filled.
“I didn’t know about the photograph.”
“But the messages?”
She nodded.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
His face tightened.
Six months.
Half a year of fear under his own roof.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looked toward the guests.
Dante understood the answer before she spoke.
“Because they said if I told you, you’d think I was unstable.”
“Who said?”
“The messages.”
“Only the messages?”
She hesitated.
That hesitation became the center of the room.
Dante pulled a chair beside her and sat.
He no longer cared about the guests.
“Bella, listen to me. I am not asking because I’m angry with you.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He took her hand.
“You could tell me you burned down half of Manhattan and my first question would still be whether you were hurt.”
A small broken laugh escaped her.
It was the first sound from her that resembled the Isabella he knew.
Dante continued.
“Someone spent six months teaching you not to trust me. I need to know how.”
She stared at their joined hands.
“It didn’t start with the texts.”
Dante became still.
“How did it start?”
“At the Moretti Foundation lunch.”
Sophia’s posture changed.
Barely.
Dante saw it.
Isabella swallowed.
“After you left for the meeting, some of the women stayed behind.”
“Which women?”
She did not answer.
Sophia spoke.
“This is absurd.”
Dante ignored her.
Isabella continued quietly.
“They were talking about your exes.”
Dante frowned.
He had dated women before Isabella.
Models.
Actresses.
A lawyer.
A fashion editor.
None of them mattered now.
“They showed me pictures.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember.”
Sophia laughed once.
“You remember.”
Every eye turned to her.
Isabella looked hurt.
Sophia seemed to realize too late what she had said.
Dante’s expression darkened.
“How do you know what she remembers?”
Sophia lifted her chin.
“Because I was at the lunch.”
There it was.
The first open connection.
Dante leaned back.
“Tell me about the lunch.”
Sophia sighed.
“Women talked. Isabella became sensitive.”
“What did they say?”
“I don’t recall.”
Isabella whispered, “You told me.”
Sophia looked at her.
A strange softness entered her voice.
“I told you what?”
“You said every woman Dante had ever dated could fit into one of my dresses.”
Dante’s head turned slowly toward Sophia.
Several guests looked down.
Sophia’s face hardened.
“It was a joke.”
“You told me everyone wondered if I was pregnant.”
“A joke.”
“You told me his mother would never have approved of me.”
Sophia’s composure flickered.
Dante stood.
“My mother never met Isabella.”
“Exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Sophia said nothing.
Dante stepped closer.
“You used a dead woman to shame my wife?”
“I was trying to help her.”
“Help her starve?”
“No.”
Isabella whispered, “You gave me the nutritionist.”
Dante turned sharply.
“What nutritionist?”
Isabella stared at the table.
“Sophia recommended someone.”
Dante looked at Sophia.
Sophia’s voice became defensive.
“She wanted guidance.”
“I never asked,” Isabella said.
Silence.
“You told me women in our position had responsibilities.”
Sophia shook her head.
“You’re twisting this.”
“You told me people were laughing at Dante.”
“I said public appearances invite scrutiny.”
“You told me if I loved him, I would make an effort.”
Dante’s eyes became cold.
Sophia stood straighter.
“I never told her not to eat.”
“Who was the nutritionist?”
Sophia hesitated.
Marco answered from behind Dante.
“Caroline Voss.”
Isabella looked at him.
Marco held a tablet.
“We checked Mrs. Romano’s calendar. Twelve appointments over four months.”
Dante stared at Isabella.
“Twelve?”
She looked ashamed.
“What happened at those appointments?”
“She weighed me.”
“What else?”
“She gave me meal plans.”
“How much food?”
Isabella did not answer.
Dante’s jaw clenched.
Marco said quietly, “Boss, I’m checking her credentials.”
Sophia snapped, “Caroline works with half the women in Manhattan.”
Marco looked up.
“No. She doesn’t.”
Sophia’s face changed.
Marco continued.
“There’s no active dietetics license under that name in New York.”
The air seemed to leave the room.
Dante turned toward Sophia.
“You sent my wife to an unlicensed stranger.”
“She came recommended.”
“By whom?”
Sophia said nothing.
Isabella suddenly gripped Dante’s sleeve.
“Please.”
He looked down.
She was pale.
“Bella?”
Her eyes fluttered.
Dante caught her before she slipped from the chair.
Everything erupted at once.
Marco called for the doctor.
Guests stood.
Dante swept Isabella into his arms.
“Move.”
Dr. Levin entered from the hall and immediately checked Isabella’s pulse.
“She needs to lie down.”
Dante carried her to the sitting room.
The doctor worked quickly.
Blood pressure.
Heart rate.
Blood sugar.
Isabella kept insisting she was fine.
Dr. Levin ignored her.
Twenty minutes later, Dante stood at the window while the doctor spoke quietly.
“She is dehydrated. Her blood sugar is low. She has likely been restricting food significantly.”
“How dangerous?”
“She is not in immediate danger tonight, but this cannot continue.”
Dante closed his eyes.
“Can she recover?”
“Yes.”
He turned.
“Completely?”
“With medical support, nutrition, and psychological care, she has a very good chance. But Dante, you cannot turn meals into another battlefield.”
He looked toward Isabella.
She sat on the couch beneath a blanket while a nurse gave her juice.
“I won’t.”
“You are angry.”
“Yes.”
“Do not aim that anger at her.”
Dante’s voice dropped.
“I would burn this building down before I blamed her.”
Dr. Levin nodded.
“Good.”
Dante returned to Isabella.
She looked exhausted.
“Everyone is still here?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You really locked them in?”
“Yes.”
A faint smile touched her mouth.
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.”
She leaned her head against the couch.
“Dante?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want anyone hurt.”
He understood.
She knew what people believed about him.
His family had once lived by rules darker than the businesses he ran now.
Dante had spent years transforming power into legitimacy without pretending his name was clean.
He touched her cheek.
“No one will be hurt.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Her eyes searched his.
“What will you do?”
“Find the truth.”
“That sounds worse.”
He almost smiled.
“It often is.”
Marco appeared at the doorway.
“Boss.”
Dante stood.
Marco handed him the tablet.
“We traced the number sending the messages.”
Dante looked at the screen.
Prepaid account.
Routed through multiple services.
But the payment source had been recovered.
A corporate card.
Dante read the company name.
Moretti Arts Foundation.
His eyes lifted.
“Sophia.”
Marco nodded.
“Not necessarily her personally. Several staff members had access.”
Dante returned to the dining room.
Sophia stood near the windows now.
He placed the tablet in front of her.
“Explain.”
She read the screen.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves your foundation paid for the phone used to terrorize my wife.”
“I employ forty-seven people.”
“Then give me the name.”
“I don’t know.”
Dante studied her.
Something was wrong.
Sophia was guilty of cruelty.
He believed that now.
But the photograph from the bedroom felt different.
More invasive.
More dangerous.
He looked at the handwritten message again.
122 WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING.
Sophia was vain and controlling.
But this sounded like obsession.
Marco’s phone vibrated.
He answered.
Listened.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
Marco lowered the phone.
“We found Caroline Voss.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Where?”
“Not where we expected.”
“Speak.”
Marco swallowed.
“She isn’t a nutritionist.”
“I know.”
“No, boss.”
He handed Dante a photograph from a background search.
Caroline Voss stood beside Sophia at a private event five years earlier.
Another woman stood between them.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Smiling.
Dante recognized her.
His blood turned cold.
“Who gave you this?”
“Archived press photos.”
Isabella had entered the doorway behind him.
Dante turned too late.
She saw the image.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Because the third woman in the photograph was someone Dante had once planned to marry.
Someone everyone believed had left New York forever.
May you like
And beneath the photograph was a current address.
Three blocks from the penthouse.
