Chapter 4 - The Woman Dante Couldn’t Save
Dante reached my room before I finished screaming.
The door slammed against the wall.
He entered with a gun in one hand.
Marco came seconds later.
“What happened?”
I couldn’t speak.
I handed him the phone.
Dante looked at the photograph.
Then at the windows.
The hallway.
The ceiling vents.
His expression changed into something I had never seen.
Not anger.
Rage controlled so completely it became terrifying.
“Marco.”
“I’m locking the floor.”
“Nobody leaves.”
Marco disappeared.
Dante moved toward me.
“Where were you standing when this arrived?”
“Here.”
“Exactly?”
I pointed.
He examined the angle.
The photograph had been taken from above.
Near the decorative molding.
Dante dragged a chair beneath the ceiling vent.
Seconds later, he removed a camera the size of a coin.
My knees weakened.
“That was inside my room?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
I wrapped my arms around myself.
The penthouse suddenly felt filthy.
Every private moment.
Every shower.
Every conversation.
Had someone watched?
Dante jumped down.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“I put you here because I believed it was secure.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“It wasn’t.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“Everything that happens inside this building is my responsibility.”
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t how responsibility worked.
But guilt already consumed him.
He ordered a complete security sweep.
Three more devices were discovered.
One in my bedroom.
One in the kitchen.
One inside Dante’s private office.
The fourth was attached beneath the dining table.
Someone inside his own organization had betrayed him.
And worse, whoever it was knew about my mother.
Dante arranged immediate protection for her hospital room.
I wanted to go to Boston.
He refused.
We fought for twenty minutes.
“My mother received a threat!”
“And running directly toward her is exactly what they expect.”
“I’m not hiding here.”
“You’re not going.”
“Stop deciding for me!”
“Then make a decision that doesn’t get you killed!”
His voice finally rose.
I flinched.
Dante saw it.
The rage vanished instantly.
Silence followed.
He stepped backward.
“Emma.”
I looked away.
He lowered his voice.
“I’m not angry at you.”
“It doesn’t matter when you sound like that.”
He removed his gun and placed it on the table.
Then he did something I never expected.
He sat down.
Not behind a desk.
Not towering over me.
Across from me.
“Tell me what you need.”
The question disarmed me.
“I need to know my mother is safe.”
“She is.”
“I need to hear it from her.”
“I’ll arrange a call.”
“I need to stop feeling like everyone controls my life.”
His jaw tightened.
“That one is harder.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how to protect you without controlling your environment.”
“Protect the environment, then. Not me.”
He studied me.
“That sounds like a small distinction.”
“It isn’t.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“You choose where you sleep. Where you eat. Who enters your room. You can speak to your mother whenever security confirms the line is safe. You can leave the building with protection after we identify the internal leak.”
“And my job?”
Dante almost smiled.
“You want the convenience-store job back?”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious.”
“I liked working.”
“You hated working.”
“I hated being poor. That’s different.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
It was the first time I had heard Dante laugh naturally.
It changed his whole face.
I hated how much I liked it.
“We’ll discuss work,” he said.
“That means no.”
“That means I’m learning diplomacy.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By people who survived?”
His smile disappeared, but warmth remained in his eyes.
“Occasionally.”
For the first time since our marriage, the distance between us felt less like a wall.
Then Marco returned.
And the moment died.
“We found the leak.”
Dante stood.
“Who?”
“Anthony Bell.”
I didn’t recognize the name.
Dante did.
His entire expression hardened.
“My father’s former accountant?”
“His son.”
“Where?”
“Parking level four.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Dante picked up his gun.
I grabbed his wrist.
He looked down at my hand.
“Don’t kill him.”
“Emma.”
“If you do, we lose information.”
“That’s why I’m questioning him first.”
“And after?”
His silence told me everything.
I tightened my grip.
“I don’t want the father of my child coming upstairs with someone’s death on his hands because of me.”
The words escaped before I realized what I had said.
Father of my child.
Dante stared at me.
Something moved between us.
Something dangerously human.
He slowly lowered the gun.
“For you,” he said quietly, “I’ll try another way.”
---
Anthony Bell was thirty-two.
Thin.
Terrified.
And completely unprepared to see me enter the interrogation room beside Dante.
“This is a mistake,” Dante muttered.
“You said I could make my own decisions.”
“I regret learning diplomacy.”
I sat across from Anthony.
Dante remained behind me.
Marco stood by the door.
Anthony stared at my stomach even though nothing showed.
He knew.
My skin crawled.
“Who told you?” I asked.
Anthony’s lips trembled.
“About what?”
Dante leaned forward.
“Wrong answer.”
Anthony went pale.
I touched Dante’s arm.
He sat back.
I tried again.
“Someone threatened my mother. Someone put a camera in my bedroom. You helped them.”
“I didn’t know about your mother.”
“But you installed the camera?”
His eyes filled with panic.
“I was paid.”
“By whom?”
“I never met him.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man.”
“Voice?”
“Distorted.”
Dante interrupted.
“How were you paid?”
“Crypto.”
Marco rolled his eyes.
“Of course.”
I asked, “What were you supposed to watch?”
Anthony swallowed.
“You.”
“Why?”
“Medical changes.”
My heart stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“Vomiting. Appointments. Medication. Anything suggesting pregnancy.”
Dante stood so fast the chair crashed backward.
Anthony recoiled.
“They know,” I whispered.
Anthony shook his head violently.
“No. They suspected. Whoever hired me said you two had shared a bedroom after the wedding. They wanted confirmation.”
Dante’s hand tightened into a fist.
“How did they know that?”
Anthony looked toward him.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear.”
Marco stepped between them.
“Boss.”
Dante turned away.
I forced myself to remain calm.
“What happens if pregnancy is confirmed?”
Anthony hesitated.
I leaned closer.
“Tell me.”
“They said I would get another hundred thousand.”
“For what?”
His eyes dropped.
“To provide your medical schedule.”
My stomach turned.
“They were planning something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante looked ready to tear the room apart.
I asked the question he couldn’t.
“Does the name Victor Salvatore mean anything?”
Anthony’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But we all saw it.
Dante’s voice became quiet.
“You know him.”
“No.”
“Anthony.”
“No.”
Dante walked around the table.
I stood too.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
Anthony broke.
“I saw him once!”
Silence.
“Where?” Marco asked.
“Three months ago. A hotel near O’Hare.”
“With whom?”
“An attorney named Charles Mercer.”
Dante looked at Marco.
Marco was already typing.
I asked, “Why does that matter?”
Dante answered.
“Mercer manages the Salvatore succession trust.”
The words landed heavily.
I understood immediately.
“If you have a child…”
Dante nodded.
“The trust changes.”
“How?”
“My child inherits controlling ownership.”
“And Victor loses it.”
“Yes.”
A human life had become a financial obstacle.
My baby.
My impossible little baby.
A threat to someone’s fortune.
Anthony began crying.
“I didn’t know anyone was going to get hurt.”
Dante stared at him.
“You installed a camera in my wife’s bedroom.”
“I needed the money.”
“So did she.”
Dante pointed at me.
“She worked double shifts while caring for a dying mother. She didn’t sell another human being’s safety.”
Anthony lowered his head.
Dante’s words hit me unexpectedly.
He had noticed.
My work.
My exhaustion.
My reasons.
Maybe he had understood more than I thought.
Marco took Anthony away.
I remained.
Dante stood with his back to me.
“What happens to him?”
“Police.”
I blinked.
“You’re serious?”
“He committed crimes.”
“That sounded almost legal.”
“I own lawyers too.”
I laughed despite everything.
He turned.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“Not killing him.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know.”
“I still want to.”
“I know.”
He stepped closer.
“You make things inconvenient.”
“So I’ve been told.”
His hand lifted.
Stopped near my face.
He waited.
For permission.
The gesture meant more than I wanted it to.
I nodded slightly.
His fingers brushed my cheek.
“I should never have brought you into this world.”
“My mother would be dead without you.”
“That doesn’t make this right.”
“No.”
I covered his hand with mine.
“But maybe not everything about it is wrong.”
His eyes darkened.
Neither of us moved.
The attraction between us was no longer something we could blame on champagne.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Dante answered.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Victor landed in Chicago.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Marco didn’t bring him.”
Cold traveled down my spine.
“He came voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dante looked toward the door.
“Because he wants us to know he isn’t afraid.”
Thirty minutes later, Victor Salvatore walked into the penthouse smiling.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
Warm eyes.
A grandfatherly face on a man Dante believed had tried to erase his future.
He spread his arms.
“Nephew.”
Dante didn’t move.
Victor looked at me.
Then his gaze dropped briefly toward my stomach.
Too briefly.
But I noticed.
His smile widened.
“Emma.”
He kissed the air beside my cheek.
“You look pale.”
Dante stepped between us.
Victor chuckled.
“So protective.”
“Why are you here?”
“I heard someone attacked your home.”
“Who told you?”
Victor shrugged.
“Chicago talks.”
Dante’s voice hardened.
“You live in Florida.”
“Chicago talks loudly.”
Victor walked toward the bar.
He poured himself whiskey without asking.
Then he raised the glass.
“To family.”
Nobody moved.
Victor drank.
“I hear congratulations may soon be appropriate.”
Every muscle in my body froze.
Dante’s voice became deadly calm.
“For what?”
Victor smiled.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether miracles are real.”
The room went silent.
He knew.
There was no question anymore.
Victor set down his glass.
Then looked directly at me.
“My dear Emma, did Dante ever tell you what happened to the last woman who became pregnant with a Salvatore child?”
Dante grabbed him by the collar.
“Enough.”
Victor only smiled.
And whispered something that drained every trace of color from Dante’s face.
May you like
“Ask him about Luca’s wife.”
---
