Chapter 3 - The Missing Five Hours
Marco stared at the screen.
“Impossible.”
The login belonged to him.
Dante did not reach for his weapon.
That frightened Lia more than if he had.
Marco slowly placed his gun on the table.
“I didn't access it.”
“Your credentials did,” Dante said.
“My credentials were cloned.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
Lia looked between them.
“Can someone stop saying they don't know?”
Marco turned to her.
“Last night, I was with you.”
Lia froze.
“What?”
“At the courthouse.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“You never told me.”
“You didn't ask.”
“Tell me now.”
Marco explained.
At 9:36 P.M., Dante received a call from Lia.
She had asked him to come to the rooftop bar.
Dante had known her before that night.
Not personally.
He had been watching her.
Lia recoiled.
“You stalked me?”
“Protected you.”
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Six months.”
Her anger rose.
Dante had learned that someone was searching for Thomas Evans’s daughter.
He assigned discreet protection.
Then Lia called him.
“How did I have your number?”
“You found it in your father's safe-deposit box.”
Lia stared.
“I don't have a safe-deposit box.”
“You discovered yesterday that you did.”
At 8:10 P.M., a courier had delivered a key to Lia.
At 8:45, she entered a bank.
At 9:02, she opened Thomas's box.
Inside was Dante’s number.
And a letter.
The letter was gone.
At 9:36, Lia called Dante.
At 10:04, they met.
At 10:18, Sophie left with the man believed to be Evan.
At 10:32, Lia told Dante she knew someone was trying to kill her.
At 10:51, she proposed the marriage.
Lia stared at him.
“I proposed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you understood the trust.”
She laughed bitterly.
“So I married a mafia boss after knowing him for forty-seven minutes?”
“You knew more about me than I realized.”
“What did I say?”
Dante's gaze softened.
“You said your father had trusted mine.”
“That doesn't mean I trusted you.”
“No.”
“What else?”
“You asked whether I would protect Sophie and your mother if you married me.”
“And?”
“I said yes.”
“And you got exactly what you wanted.”
“No.”
“You got control of the trust.”
Dante stepped closer.
“You got control.”
Lia stopped.
“What?”
“The trust does not transfer to me.”
“Then who?”
“You.”
The hidden trust held forty-one percent of Moretti Holdings.
Combined with Dante's shares, Lia could determine control of the company.
But only while the marriage remained valid.
“Why would my father give me that?”
“He didn't.”
“Then who did?”
“My father.”
Lia sat down.
Alessandro Moretti had created the trust.
Thomas Evans had been its custodian.
Their fathers had tied their families together legally.
Not through an arranged marriage.
Through mutual control.
A safeguard.
If one family became corrupted, the other could stop it.
Lia finally understood.
Her marriage had activated a dead man's emergency brake.
And someone was desperate to stop it.
Dr. Keller called.
The blood results had returned.
Lia had been given midazolam.
But not enough to render her unconscious.
Enough to interfere with memory.
The injection had likely occurred after midnight.
After the wedding.
“So I was sober when I married you?”
“As far as we know,” Dante said.
That changed something.
Not enough.
But something.
Lia asked to see courthouse security footage.
Dante obtained it.
They watched.
Lia entered beside Dante.
She was alert.
Walking normally.
Speaking.
She stopped before signing.
Looked directly at Dante.
Said something.
No audio.
Then signed.
“What did I say?”
Dante stared at the screen.
“You said, ‘If I forget tomorrow, don't let me become afraid of the choice I made tonight.’”
Lia's eyes filled.
“Why would I say that?”
“You suspected someone had already tried to drug you once.”
“Who?”
“You didn't know.”
The footage continued.
Lia put on the ring herself.
Then something happened.
She leaned toward Dante.
Whispered.
He looked shocked.
“What did I tell you?”
Dante's expression closed.
“Dante.”
“You told me who you thought killed your father.”
“Who?”
“You said my mother.”
Lia stared.
“Your mother is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“No one knows.”
Dante's mother, Elena Moretti, had disappeared after Alessandro's death.
Officially, she had moved to Europe.
Unofficially, Dante had not seen her in ten years.
Lia stood.
“Then we find her.”
Marco entered.
“We may not need to.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Security had identified the woman who entered the bank behind Lia yesterday.
Older.
Elegant.
Dark hair streaked with silver.
Dante went completely still.
“My mother.”
The woman had followed Lia from the bank to the rooftop bar.
Then disappeared.
Lia examined the image.
Something about her face bothered her.
She had seen it recently.
Not yesterday.
Today.
Then she remembered.
The woman in the lobby.
When Lia and Dante had left for Saint Michael's.
She had been disguised as cleaning staff.
“She was in your building.”
Dante immediately called security.
Too late.
A cleaner had exited twenty minutes earlier.
Margaret.
Lia called her mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
They returned to the penthouse.
Margaret was gone.
On the table sat Thomas's envelope.
Opened.
The brass key was missing.
A note remained.
Lia unfolded it.
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO MARRY HIM.
Dante read over her shoulder.
A second line had been added.
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO STARTED THE FIRE.
Lia's knees weakened.
“No.”
Dante steadied her.
She pulled away.
“My mother didn't kill my father.”
“We don't know what it means.”
“She loved him.”
“Love doesn't make people innocent.”
Lia looked at him.
“Is that something mafia bosses learn early?”
“Yes.”
No defensiveness.
No insult.
Just truth.
Her phone vibrated.
A video.
Margaret appeared on screen.
She was crying.
“Lia, I'm sorry.”
“Mom?”
The video continued.
“I lied about the fire.”
Lia gripped the phone.
“I was there that night.”
Margaret looked off-camera.
“And your father wasn't the person who died inside.”
The video ended.
Lia stared at the frozen screen.
Her father had been declared dead.
Dental records.
A body.
A funeral.
Everything she believed—
Dante's security system sounded.
Someone had entered the private elevator.
No authorization.
Dante moved Lia behind him.
Marco drew his gun.
The elevator climbed.
The doors opened.
A man stepped out.
Older.
Gray at the temples.
A burn scar ran from his jaw to his collar.
Lia stopped breathing.
He looked directly at her.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
May you like
The voice belonged to a dead man.
Her father had come home.
