Chapter 2 - The Brother Who Was Supposed to Stay Dead
Dante moved before Claire understood what was happening.
“Back hallway. Now.”
His calm voice carried more force than a shout.
Claire pulled Lily against her side.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You can argue with me after you’re away from the glass.”
The revolving door completed its turn.
A man entered.
Tall.
Gray coat.
Baseball cap pulled low.
Dante’s two men shifted instantly.
The newcomer stopped when he saw them.
Then he smiled.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Dante did not return the smile.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
The man lifted both hands.
“Just delivering a message.”
Claire’s heart began pounding.
Dante stepped forward.
“Then deliver it.”
The stranger glanced at Lily.
Claire blocked his line of sight.
“Not here,” the man said.
Dante’s expression hardened.
“You walked into my building.”
Vanessa, still standing behind them, found her voice.
“Your building?”
Nobody answered her.
The stranger’s smile disappeared.
He reached slowly into his coat.
Claire pulled Lily down.
One of Dante’s men closed the distance immediately.
The stranger produced an envelope.
Nothing else.
He held it between two fingers.
Dante took it.
“Who sent you?”
“Someone who remembers your brother.”
Then the man turned and left.
Dante watched him cross the sidewalk.
He did not open the envelope until the SUV drove away.
Claire’s breathing came too fast.
Lily’s face was pressed against her uniform.
“Mom?”
“It’s okay.”
The lie tasted terrible.
Dante tore the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
His face tightened.
Claire stepped closer despite herself.
“What?”
Dante handed it to her.
The photo was old.
Marco stood beside a dark sedan, twenty pounds thinner than Claire remembered, wearing the leather jacket he had owned when they first met.
Beside him stood another man.
His face had been scratched away.
On the back were six words.
Blood doesn’t stay buried forever.
Claire dropped the photograph.
Dante caught it.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You looked like you recognized something.”
“I recognized Marco.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Claire stared at him.
“You don’t get to interrogate me.”
“No. I get to keep you breathing long enough for you to hate me tomorrow.”
Lily began crying.
Claire immediately bent.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Lily did.
“Nothing bad is happening.”
Dante looked away.
The lie hurt him too.
Claire saw it.
She hated that she saw it.
Dante Moretti was supposed to be simple.
Dangerous man.
Dangerous family.
Stay away.
Marco had made her promise.
Yet the man before her had just placed himself between Lily and strangers without hesitation.
Vanessa approached again.
“This has gone far enough. I’m calling police.”
Dante looked at her.
“Good.”
Vanessa paused.
“Good?”
“Ask them to preserve every minute of surveillance footage from the lobby, elevators, staff corridor, and entrance.”
Her confidence faltered.
“Why?”
“Because someone photographed my niece inside your hotel.”
Vanessa’s eyes flicked toward Lily.
Dante noticed.
“If a member of your staff leaked that image, I’ll know.”
“I don’t control what employees do with their phones.”
“You control enough to fire a housekeeper for being too large for your lobby.”
Vanessa’s mouth shut.
Claire stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Dante exhaled.
“Claire.”
“I have a car.”
“No.”
“You don’t own me.”
“No.”
“You don’t own Lily.”
Dante’s eyes softened.
“Never said I did.”
“Then move.”
He did.
That surprised her.
Claire walked past him.
Three steps later, he said, “Take my car.”
“No.”
“Mine has security.”
“No.”
“Your address is probably already known.”
Claire stopped.
She turned slowly.
“How?”
“The person who took that picture knew what the necklace meant within minutes.”
“Maybe they recognized you.”
“They wrote Marco’s kid.”
Claire looked at Lily.
Dante continued.
“That means someone already knew Marco had a child or suspected it.”
Claire’s skin went cold.
“Nobody knew.”
“Somebody did.”
She thought of Marco.
Of the final month before his death.
He had become restless.
He changed phones twice.
Once, Claire had woken at two in the morning and found him sitting beside the apartment window with all the lights off.
When she asked what was wrong, he said, “Nothing I can’t fix.”
She had believed him.
People in love often mistake secrecy for protection.
Claire looked at Dante.
“What exactly did Marco do for you?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Not here.”
“He told me he was leaving.”
“He was.”
“Leaving what?”
Dante glanced at Lily.
Claire understood.
“Fine.”
She looked down at her daughter.
“We’re going somewhere safe.”
Lily whispered, “With Uncle Dante?”
The word landed strangely.
Dante almost smiled.
Claire did not.
“With me.”
Twenty minutes later, Claire was sitting in the back of an armored SUV she had not agreed to enter.
Lily sat beside her.
Dante rode in front.
Claire stared through tinted glass as the Baldi Grand disappeared behind them.
She had spent eleven years entering that building before sunrise.
Now she had left without a paycheck, without dignity, and with Chicago’s most feared man sitting ten feet away.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Maria.
Are you okay?
Claire typed.
I think so.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
HR just told everyone not to discuss what happened.
Another message followed.
Vanessa is deleting something from the system.
Claire’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Dante looked back.
She showed him the phone.
His face hardened.
“Send Maria one thing.”
Claire waited.
“Tell her not to touch anything.”
“Why?”
“If Vanessa is destroying evidence, I want her comfortable enough to continue.”
Claire frowned.
“That sounds criminal.”
“Preserving evidence isn’t criminal.”
“That wasn’t the part I meant.”
Dante almost smiled.
It vanished quickly.
Claire texted Maria.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
A male voice said, “Marco lied to you.”
Claire froze.
Dante turned.
The voice continued.
“He knew about the baby.”
The call ended.
Claire stared at the phone.
“What did he say?” Dante asked.
She could not speak.
“Claire.”
“He said Marco knew.”
Dante’s expression changed.
“Knew what?”
“That I was pregnant.”
Lily was looking out the window.
Claire lowered her voice.
“That’s impossible.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
But the word came too quickly.
Dante heard it.
Claire remembered the morning after she had taken the pregnancy test.
Marco had already been dead three days.
Yet a week before his death, he had placed his palm over her stomach while she slept.
She had thought it was tenderness.
What if it had been something else?
“He never said anything,” Claire whispered.
Dante looked forward again.
“My brother was good at not saying things.”
Claire stared at the back of his head.
“So were you.”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her.
Dante did not defend himself.
They drove north.
Forty minutes later, Chicago’s skyline had faded behind trees and gated estates.
The SUV entered a private property overlooking Lake Michigan.
Claire stiffened.
“No.”
Dante turned.
“It’s secure.”
“I’m not staying at some mafia compound.”
One of the men in front coughed into his fist.
Dante looked almost offended.
“It’s my house.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
Lily giggled.
It was the first normal sound she had made since the hotel.
Dante looked at her.
The fear in his face softened.
Claire noticed.
Again, she wished she hadn’t.
The house was large but not ostentatious.
Gray stone.
Tall windows.
A garden facing the lake.
Inside, an older woman appeared before they had crossed the foyer.
She was perhaps seventy.
Silver hair.
Black dress.
Her face changed the moment she saw Lily.
“Oh, God.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Ma.”
Claire’s body tightened.
Dante’s mother.
Marco’s mother.
The woman stared at Lily.
Her hand went to her mouth.
Lily looked up at Claire.
“Who is she?”
Dante answered softly.
“Your grandmother.”
Claire’s first instinct was to leave.
Then the woman did something Claire did not expect.
She did not rush toward Lily.
She did not claim her.
She looked at Claire instead.
“May I come closer?”
Claire hesitated.
Then nodded.
The woman approached slowly.
“My name is Rosa.”
Lily stared.
Rosa’s eyes filled.
“You have your father’s eyes.”
Claire expected tears.
Instead, Rosa took a breath and smiled gently.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?”
Lily looked at Claire.
Claire nodded.
“Yes.”
Rosa held out her hand.
Lily did not take it.
But she followed.
Dante waited until they had disappeared toward the kitchen.
Then he turned to Claire.
“My mother didn’t know.”
“About Lily?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“That doesn’t make this easier.”
“No.”
Dante walked into a study.
Claire followed.
He closed the door but left it slightly open so Lily could reach her.
On the desk sat framed photographs.
Marco at twelve.
Marco at seventeen.
Marco standing beside Dante on a fishing boat.
Claire stopped.
The last photograph hurt.
Marco had been laughing.
She had forgotten the exact shape of that laugh.
Dante noticed.
“He loved you.”
Claire’s eyes remained on the frame.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“He left me.”
“No.”
“He died while I was waiting for him to come home.”
“That’s different.”
“Not to the person waiting.”
Dante absorbed that.
He sat behind the desk.
“My brother was trying to get out.”
“Of what?”
“My father’s world.”
“And yours.”
Dante did not deny it.
“He wanted no part of it.”
“Then why was he killed?”
Silence.
Claire looked at him.
“Dante.”
His eyes lowered.
“Because leaving wasn’t the only thing he was doing.”
Claire’s heart tightened.
“What else?”
“He was collecting information.”
“On who?”
“My father.”
Claire stared.
Dante continued.
“Marco believed our father was responsible for several deaths that should never have happened. Innocent people. He wanted proof.”
“And you?”
“I told him to stop.”
Claire’s anger rose.
“You were protecting your father.”
“I was protecting Marco.”
“You failed.”
Dante’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
One word.
No excuse.
It took some of Claire’s anger away.
She wished it hadn’t.
Dante opened a drawer.
He removed a small velvet box.
Inside was another gold pendant.
Nearly identical to Lily’s.
Claire stared.
“Our mother bought two,” Dante said. “One for each son.”
He turned his pendant.
A D had been scratched near the clasp.
Claire remembered Lily’s M.
Dante’s voice lowered.
“Marco never took his off.”
“He gave it to me three nights before he died.”
Dante looked up sharply.
“What?”
Claire touched her throat as if she could still feel the chain.
“He told me to keep it somewhere safe.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Claire closed her eyes.
Marco standing in her kitchen.
Rain against the window.
His hands shaking even though his voice was calm.
Keep this for me.
If anything happens, don’t give it to anyone.
“What did he say?”
Claire opened her eyes.
“He said the necklace would matter one day.”
Dante stood.
“Did he say why?”
“No.”
“Did you ever open it?”
Claire frowned.
“It doesn’t open.”
Dante crossed the room.
“Marco modified his.”
“What?”
He held his own heart-shaped pendant.
“There’s a seam.”
Claire’s pulse quickened.
“He told me it was just jewelry.”
“Marco told everybody something different.”
Claire called Lily.
A moment later, the little girl appeared holding a mug with marshmallows.
Rosa followed.
“Sweetheart,” Claire said, “can I see your necklace?”
Lily touched it.
“Why?”
“Just for a minute.”
She removed it carefully.
Dante took the pendant and examined the edge.
His fingernail found a tiny indentation.
He pressed.
Nothing happened.
He pressed again.
A small section of the back shifted.
Claire stared.
Dante used the tip of a letter opener.
The pendant clicked open.
Inside was something smaller than a fingernail.
A micro-storage chip.
Nobody spoke.
Dante carefully removed it.
Claire’s skin prickled.
“Marco hid that?”
“Yes.”
Rosa whispered her son’s name.
Dante went to the computer.
He inserted the chip into an adapter.
A folder appeared.
Password protected.
Dante typed Marco’s birthday.
Rejected.
Their mother’s birthday.
Rejected.
Claire watched.
“Try Lily.”
Dante looked at her.
“He didn’t know her name.”
“No.”
Claire remembered something.
Marco had once joked that if they ever had a daughter, he wanted to name her after the flower that grew outside his grandmother’s house.
Lily.
Dante typed the word.
The folder opened.
Claire stopped breathing.
Marco had known.
Inside were dozens of files.
Financial records.
Photographs.
Audio recordings.
And one video.
Its title contained a date.
The night before Marco died.
Dante clicked it.
Marco appeared on the screen.
Older than the framed photographs.
Tired.
Terrified.
He stared directly into the camera.
“If you’re watching this,” he said, “then I didn’t make it.”
Claire covered her mouth.
Marco continued.
“Dante, I’m sorry.”
Dante sat frozen.
“And Claire…”
Claire’s knees weakened.
Marco looked straight through seven years.
“I know about the baby.”
Claire began to cry.
Quietly.
Dante did not move.
Marco continued.
“I found the test in the bathroom trash. You hadn’t told me yet.”
Claire remembered.
She had taken one test before the confirmed test.
A faint line.
She had thrown it away because she thought it was defective.
Marco knew.
The video flickered.
“There’s something you both need to understand. I wasn’t killed because I was leaving.”
Dante leaned closer.
Marco looked behind him.
Then back at the camera.
“I was killed because I found out who was really running everything.”
The video froze.
A second file automatically opened.
One name appeared on the screen.
Claire stared.
Dante stood so quickly his chair struck the wall.
“No.”
Claire looked at him.
“Who is it?”
Dante did not answer.
The study door moved.
Rosa turned.
Someone was standing on the other side.
May you like
Then a familiar voice said Dante’s name.
And Claire realized the man in the photograph from the hotel was no stranger at all.
