Chapter 3 - Someone Was Watching Naomi
Dante did not let Naomi go home.
He did not phrase it as an order.
That somehow made it more difficult to argue with.
“My driver will take you to a secure apartment.”
“I have an apartment.”
“So does whoever just photographed you.”
Naomi stared at the image on his phone.
It had been taken from across the street.
She was clearly visible.
So was the hospital entrance.
A timestamp sat in the corner.
2:56 a.m.
Less than two minutes ago.
Naomi looked through the windows.
“Are they still out there?”
“Probably.”
Dante called Marco.
Within seconds, men moved through the lobby.
Another team exited through a side entrance.
No one found the photographer.
Naomi wrapped her arms around herself.
“This isn’t about me.”
“It is now.”
“I’m nobody to them.”
Dante’s eyes met hers.
“You’re the person my mother trusted with the key.”
The sentence landed harder than Naomi expected.
She looked toward Isabella’s room.
“Then I’m staying here.”
“Naomi.”
“If someone wants that flash drive, where is the safest place I can be?”
“With me.”
She blinked.
Dante seemed to hear himself a moment too late.
He corrected, “With my security.”
“Right.”
Something awkward moved between them.
Then Dr. Shaw emerged.
“Isabella is stable.”
They both turned.
“She’ll need observation,” Shaw continued. “And I want all previous prescriptions reviewed independently.”
Dante nodded.
“Do it.”
“There’s another issue.”
“What?”
“The sedative levels are not the only abnormal result.”
Naomi’s stomach tightened.
“What else?”
Dr. Shaw held the chart against her chest.
“There are traces of a cardiac medication Isabella was never prescribed.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Dangerous?”
“In certain doses, yes.”
“Could it kill her?”
Dr. Shaw paused.
“Yes.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
For five months she had helped Isabella swallow every pill she was given.
Sometimes Vanessa prepared the organizer.
Sometimes one of the nursing assistants did.
Naomi suddenly remembered Isabella resisting.
Turning her head.
Refusing water.
Naomi had coaxed her.
“Please, Mrs. Moretti. The doctor says you need it.”
Guilt hit hard.
Dante noticed.
“No.”
Naomi looked up.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I gave her those pills.”
“You gave her medication prescribed by a doctor.”
“I should’ve known.”
“Why?”
“She tried to tell me.”
“Naomi.”
“I thought she was frustrated because swallowing was difficult.”
Dante stepped closer.
“My mother is alive because you noticed something was wrong.”
Naomi looked at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His voice was firm.
“She is alive because you made that call.”
Neither spoke.
Dr. Shaw quietly excused herself.
Dante’s phone rang.
Marco.
He answered.
“What?”
A pause.
His face changed.
“Repeat that.”
Naomi watched.
“When?”
Another pause.
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up.
“What happened?”
“Vanessa disappeared.”
Naomi stared.
“How?”
“One of the exterior cameras went down for ninety seconds. When it came back, she was gone.”
“You said no one could leave.”
“I did.”
“So someone helped her.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Dante looked toward the hospital room.
“I intend to find out.”
Before sunrise, Naomi was taken to a penthouse apartment owned by one of Dante’s companies.
She had never been anywhere like it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
Silent elevators.
Furniture that probably cost more than her childhood home.
Dante handed her a phone.
“This one is secure.”
“I already have a phone.”
“Turn yours off.”
“You are very used to giving instructions.”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know.”
Marco hid a smile.
Dante caught it.
Marco immediately looked away.
Naomi turned off her phone.
“Happy?”
“No.”
“That seems to be your normal expression.”
This time, Dante really did smile.
Brief.
Unexpected.
It transformed him.
For half a second he did not look like the man newspapers described in careful language.
He looked tired.
Human.
Then the smile vanished.
“Sleep.”
“You too.”
“I have work.”
“So do I.”
“You are officially off duty.”
Naomi folded her arms.
“You don’t get to suspend me.”
“I’m your employer.”
“Technically your mother is.”
Dante stared.
Marco turned away again.
“Fine,” Dante said. “My mother would tell you to sleep.”
“She would.”
“Good.”
“She would also tell you to sleep.”
“That sounds like her.”
“Then listen to your mother.”
Naomi walked toward the guest room.
Behind her, Marco muttered, “I like her.”
Dante said, “Don’t.”
Naomi heard every word.
She smiled despite herself.
By noon, the investigation had widened.
Forensic accountants confirmed at least thirteen million dollars had disappeared from the foundation.
Several transfers bore Isabella’s forged signature.
One company receiving funds had ties to Vanessa.
Another had ties to Dr. Mercer.
Dante sat at a dining table covered in documents.
Naomi emerged wearing clothes one of his assistants had bought for her.
Simple jeans.
A cream sweater.
Nothing glamorous.
Dante looked up too long.
Naomi noticed.
“So?”
He blinked.
“So what?”
“Do ordinary clothes make me less suspicious?”
“Nothing about you has ever been suspicious.”
“That’s generous considering we met properly during a hostage situation.”
His expression darkened.
“Don’t call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
“A mistake I allowed to happen.”
“Vanessa did it.”
“In my family’s house.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Exactly.”
Naomi sat across from him.
There was something deeply wounded beneath his anger.
She was beginning to understand that Dante carried responsibility like other people carried skin.
Everything touched it.
Everything hurt.
She picked up one transfer sheet.
“What happened September fourteenth?”
Dante looked at the date.
“My father died September fourteenth, six years ago.”
Naomi froze.
“Your mother wrote, ‘Look at September 14. Your father was right.’”
“Yes.”
“What was he right about?”
“I don’t know.”
Naomi thought about Isabella’s piano.
“Maybe it wasn’t only the date.”
“What?”
“Maybe September fourteenth refers to something your father left behind.”
Dante stared at her.
Then he stood.
“My father kept records.”
“Where?”
“Not at the mansion.”
They drove that afternoon to an old building on the south side.
Unlike Dante’s towers downtown, this place was modest.
Brick walls.
Faded sign.
MORETTI IMPORTS.
Naomi looked at him.
“This is where you started?”
“My father did.”
“You?”
“Loading trucks at sixteen.”
“You?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I know how to lift boxes.”
“I just assumed boxes lifted themselves when you entered a room.”
Another almost-smile.
The old office had been preserved.
Dante unlocked a cabinet.
Inside were ledgers dating back decades.
They searched September fourteenth.
Nothing.
Then Naomi found a handwritten note in the margin.
I.M. knows.
Underneath:
Ask about Belladonna.
“Belladonna?” Naomi said.
Dante took the ledger.
“That was my mother’s favorite perfume.”
“Was?”
“She stopped wearing it after my father died.”
“Why?”
“She said it reminded her of him.”
Naomi looked around the office.
“Maybe it’s not perfume.”
Dante’s gaze went toward an old framed photograph.
His parents stood beside a yacht.
The name on the hull:
BELLADONNA.
Dante inhaled.
“My father’s boat.”
“Where is it?”
“Sold after his death.”
“To whom?”
He pulled out his phone.
Within twenty minutes, Marco had an answer.
The Belladonna had not actually been sold.
Ownership had been transferred into a holding company controlled by Isabella.
The boat sat in a private marina thirty miles away.
They went before sunset.
Dante insisted on security.
Naomi insisted on coming.
“You don’t even know what we’re looking for,” he said.
“Neither do you.”
“That doesn’t strengthen your argument.”
“It strengthens mine perfectly.”
At the marina, the yacht looked untouched.
Dust on the windows.
Canvas covers faded by sun.
Dante unlocked the cabin.
Inside, time had stopped.
His father’s coat still hung near the door.
Old charts remained rolled beside the navigation station.
Naomi saw Dante look at everything without touching anything.
“You haven’t been here since he died.”
“No.”
“Want me to wait outside?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Naomi stayed.
They searched drawers.
Cabinets.
Storage compartments.
Nothing.
Then Naomi noticed sheet music tucked inside an old radio cabinet.
“Your mother?”
Dante nodded.
“She used to play aboard.”
Naomi pulled it free.
A handwritten number appeared across the back.
0914-32-17.
Dante stared.
“Thirty-two.”
“What?”
“My father had safe-deposit box thirty-two.”
“And seventeen is the number on Isabella’s key.”
They looked at each other.
Dante called Marco.
“Find out whether my father’s safe-deposit box still exists.”
Minutes later, confirmation came.
It did.
The bank had preserved it under a family trust.
They drove back toward the city.
Halfway there, Dante’s secure phone rang.
Hospital.
He answered.
His face drained of color.
“What happened?”
Naomi’s heart jumped.
Dante listened.
Then stood abruptly in the moving car.
“Turn around.”
Naomi grabbed his sleeve.
“Dante?”
He looked at her.
“My mother’s gone.”
“What?”
“Someone removed her from the hospital.”
“That’s impossible.”
“They used my authorization code.”
Naomi stared.
“Who knows your code?”
Dante’s voice became almost inaudible.
“One person.”
Naomi knew before he said the name.
“Marco.”
The car slowed.
Dante looked toward the front seat.
May you like
Marco was driving.
And very quietly, every door locked.
