Chapter 3 - The Engagement No One Was Supposed to Believe
"No."
Dante's answer came before anyone else moved.
Isabella's voice sounded through the closed door.
"I didn't ask you."
Dante's expression hardened.
Elena stared at the door.
"Let her in."
He looked at her.
"Absolutely not."
"She's already inside your mansion."
"Which is a separate problem."
"If she's responsible for this, I want to hear her explain it."
Dante moved closer.
"You don't interview people who may be trying to kill you."
Elena folded her arms.
"I'm an event planner. I interview brides who haven't eaten carbohydrates in eight months. I'll survive."
Sofia almost smiled again.
Dante didn't.
Finally, he motioned to the guards.
The doors opened.
Isabella Vescari entered alone.
She was thirty-one, tall and elegant, with glossy black hair and the kind of calm expression Elena associated with women who had never once questioned whether a room wanted them inside it.
She wore cream trousers and a black blouse.
No jewelry except a silver watch.
Her eyes settled on Elena.
"Good. You're alive."
Elena stared.
"Was there doubt?"
"Considerable."
Dante stepped between them.
"Explain the pendant."
Isabella looked at him.
"You watched the video."
"I asked you a question."
"I put it there."
Sofia whispered, "Why?"
Isabella's expression changed.
"Because your son finally needed to start asking the right questions."
Dante's voice lowered.
"You broke into my bedroom."
"I used the access code your father gave my family fifteen years ago."
Sofia went rigid.
Dante noticed.
"Mother?"
Isabella turned toward her.
"You never changed it."
Sofia said nothing.
Elena suddenly understood the message.
ASK YOUR MOTHER.
Dante did too.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Sofia looked toward the guards.
"Leave us."
Dante nodded.
The men withdrew.
Elena started to follow.
Isabella stopped her.
"You stay."
"Why?"
"Because this began with you."
Dante moved toward Isabella.
"Be careful."
She met his stare.
"You still think Elena wandered into your bedroom by accident."
Elena frowned.
"I did."
Isabella looked at her.
"You opened the correct door because someone changed the brass room numbers after midnight."
Elena's skin prickled.
"What?"
"Your staff break room was supposed to be Room 312."
"Yes."
"Dante's bedroom is 316."
Elena remembered seeing a small brass plaque.
She had been certain.
Isabella continued.
"Someone swapped them."
Dante's face darkened.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"But you knew it happened."
"I discovered it after I planted the pendant."
Elena stared.
"So you knew I might enter his bedroom, and you didn't warn me?"
"I tried."
"When?"
"The call you missed at 3:06."
Elena checked her phone.
There it was.
One missed call.
Isabella Vescari.
"I thought you were calling about the centerpiece invoice."
"Understandable."
Dante looked increasingly furious.
"You planted an object connected to my father's murder and then walked away?"
"I needed to know whether your mother would finally tell you the truth."
Sofia closed her eyes.
Dante looked at her.
"What truth?"
She sat slowly.
For the first time, the powerful matriarch looked old.
"Your father wasn't killed by Matteo Vescari."
Silence.
Dante didn't move.
Isabella looked away.
Elena watched his face.
Nothing changed.
But his hands closed into fists.
"Say that again."
Sofia's voice trembled.
"Matteo was innocent."
Dante laughed once.
Cold.
"You let me believe he murdered my father for fifteen years."
"I was trying to keep you alive."
"From whom?"
She looked at Isabella.
Then Elena.
Then back at her son.
"Your father's killer."
Dante stepped closer.
"Who?"
Sofia whispered:
"I don't know."
Dante stared at her.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I know he was betrayed from inside our organization. Matteo discovered it. That's why he disappeared."
Isabella spoke.
"My father didn't disappear voluntarily."
Everyone looked at her.
"He was taken."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"By whom?"
"We don't know."
Isabella took a breath.
"Three weeks ago, I received proof he may still be alive."
Sofia stood abruptly.
"What proof?"
Isabella removed her phone.
A photograph appeared.
An older man sat at a metal table.
Gray hair.
Thinner face.
Newspaper beside him.
The date was three weeks earlier.
Dante stared.
"Matteo."
Isabella nodded.
Elena looked between them.
"And you think the person holding him is connected to Dante's father?"
"Yes."
"Why involve me?"
Isabella looked directly at her.
"That's what I don't understand."
Dante paced once across the room.
"The event contract brought Elena inside."
"Yes."
"The room numbers were changed."
"Yes."
"The camera was planted."
"Yes."
"And the staff manifest was accessed."
"Yes."
Dante stopped.
"Someone expected Elena to be photographed with me."
Isabella nodded slowly.
Elena felt cold.
"So the fake engagement wasn't an accident either."
Nobody answered.
She stared at Dante.
"Someone wanted me publicly connected to you."
Dante's eyes hardened.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Isabella's phone vibrated.
She looked down.
Her face changed.
"What?" Dante asked.
Isabella turned the screen.
An anonymous message.
CONGRATULATIONS ON THE ENGAGEMENT.
A second message arrived.
NOW WE CAN BEGIN.
Elena whispered:
"Begin what?"
A third message.
Bring Elena Brooks to Pier 19 tonight.
Come alone.
If you want Matteo Vescari alive.
Dante took the phone.
"No."
Isabella grabbed it back.
"That's my father."
"And she's not bait."
Elena looked at him.
The words hit differently than she expected.
Isabella said, "They specifically asked for her."
"Which is exactly why she doesn't go."
Elena stepped forward.
"Nobody is taking me anywhere."
Dante nodded.
"Correct."
"But we need to know why they want me."
"We will."
"How?"
His gaze settled on her.
"I'm going to give them exactly enough of what they think they want."
By evening, the engagement story had consumed New York gossip sites.
Dante Moretti and Elena Brooks.
Photos from the press statement.
Speculation about secret dating.
Speculation about wedding locations.
Speculation about Elena's dress designer.
Elena sat inside Dante's armored SUV feeling as though she had entered someone else's life.
Dante sat across from her.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You've said that twelve times."
"Because you shouldn't."
"We're not actually going to Pier 19."
"No."
"Then where?"
"Safe house."
She looked at him.
"You have safe houses."
"Several."
"Of course you do."
He watched her.
"You're handling this better than expected."
"I'm in denial."
"Useful strategy."
"Temporary."
The car turned.
Elena noticed a second SUV behind them.
"You said you'd make them think we're going to the pier."
"I am."
"How?"
"Another vehicle."
Decoy.
Of course.
She looked out the window.
Then noticed Dante studying her.
"What?"
"You've asked almost nothing about the engagement."
"Because it's fake."
"Yes."
"And because I plan engagements for people who actually want to get married."
He looked toward the window.
Elena caught something in his expression.
"Have you ever wanted to?"
"Get married?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Never?"
"Marriage in my family has rarely been romantic."
"That's depressing."
"It's practical."
"That's worse."
His gaze returned to her.
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Marriage."
Elena laughed softly.
"I organize other people's perfect days. It's cured me."
"That bad?"
"I once watched a bride throw a crystal vase at her groom because he invited the wrong cousin."
Dante almost smiled.
"You do that frequently."
"What?"
"Make jokes when you're afraid."
Elena became still.
He had seen through her.
"Maybe."
His voice softened.
"You don't have to pretend with me."
For one dangerous second, Elena forgot the cameras.
The threats.
The fake ring Sofia had insisted she wear publicly.
She simply looked at him.
Then the SUV stopped.
Dante's expression changed immediately.
He touched his earpiece.
"Why are we stopped?"
Static.
The driver looked back.
"Road blocked."
Dante reached beneath his jacket.
"Reverse."
The SUV behind them suddenly accelerated forward.
Not their security vehicle.
Different plates.
Dante grabbed Elena.
"Down."
Gunshots cracked.
Glass splintered.
Elena screamed as Dante covered her body with his.
The vehicle lurched backward.
Another shot.
Then another.
The armored windows held.
Dante shouted:
"Move!"
The driver rammed through a barrier.
Tires screamed.
Elena's face pressed against Dante's chest.
His heartbeat was fast.
But controlled.
Then the attack stopped.
Silence.
Dante lifted his head.
"You hurt?"
"No."
"Look at me."
She did.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
His hand cupped the back of her head.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then his radio came alive.
"Boss, decoy vehicle reached Pier 19."
Dante pressed his earpiece.
"Status?"
Silence.
Then:
"We found something."
"What?"
"A chair."
Dante frowned.
"And?"
"Someone is tied to it."
Isabella's voice suddenly came through another channel.
"Dante?"
He grabbed the radio.
"You're supposed to be at the mansion."
"I followed the decoy."
"Isabella—"
Her breathing sounded ragged.
"It's my father."
Everyone in the SUV froze.
Dante leaned forward.
"Matteo is at Pier 19?"
"No."
Isabella's voice broke.
"It's a photograph of him attached to the chair."
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
"What else?"
"A phone."
The radio crackled.
Then another voice came through.
A man's voice.
Distorted.
"Congratulations, Dante."
Elena's blood went cold.
Dante spoke quietly.
"You wanted my attention. You have it."
The voice laughed.
"No. I wanted hers."
Dante looked at Elena.
The caller continued.
"Ask your fiancée why her father worked for Carlo Moretti."
Elena stopped breathing.
"My father?"
Dante stared at her.
She shook her head.
"My father was an accountant."
The voice laughed again.
"That's what she was told."
The line disconnected.
Elena's hands began trembling.
Her father, Richard Brooks, had died when she was sixteen.
Car accident.
Nothing mysterious.
Nothing criminal.
Dante's phone buzzed.
A photograph appeared.
Two men stood beside a warehouse.
One was Dante's father.
Carlo Moretti.
The other—
Elena recognized him immediately.
Her father.
Written across the bottom were five words.
THEIR CHILDREN WILL FINISH THIS.
Elena looked at Dante.
Neither spoke.
Then her own phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered despite Dante's warning expression.
"Hello?"
A whisper came through.
A voice she had not heard in seventeen years.
A voice impossible to mistake.
"Elena?"
Her face drained of color.
"Dad?"
The line crackled.
May you like
Then her dead father said:
"Whatever Dante tells you, don't let him open the red door."
