Chapter 5 - The Doctor Who Knew Too Much
Dante didn’t speak to me for three hours after Victor left.
That frightened me.
Victor had been escorted to one of Dante’s private residences under guard.
Not imprisoned, according to Dante.
“Contained.”
Apparently mafia families had vocabulary for kidnapping that made everything sound corporate.
But Victor’s final sentence followed me through the penthouse.
Ask him about Luca’s wife.
I found Dante in his office at dawn.
He sat alone with the photograph I had seen on our wedding night.
His younger brother Luca.
Beside him stood a beautiful dark-haired woman I had never noticed before.
Pregnant.
I stopped in the doorway.
“That’s her.”
Dante didn’t pretend otherwise.
“Yes.”
“Luca’s wife?”
“Isabella.”
“What happened?”
His fingers tightened around the photograph.
“You don’t need this.”
“I’m carrying a Salvatore child.”
He closed his eyes.
“That is exactly why you don’t need it.”
I stepped inside.
“You don’t get to decide which truth I can handle.”
He looked at me.
He knew I was right.
“Sit.”
I did.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then the story came.
Seven years earlier, Luca Salvatore had been the opposite of Dante.
Warm.
Impulsive.
Loved openly.
He married Isabella Moretti against their father’s wishes.
Six months later, she became pregnant.
Their father had died recently, leaving Dante and Luca control of the family business.
Victor served as their adviser.
When Isabella reached eight months, Luca began receiving threats.
Leave Chicago.
Give up his share.
Renounce his unborn child’s claim.
Luca refused.
One rainy night, their car was forced off a highway.
Luca died.
Isabella survived long enough to reach a hospital.
The baby did not.
Three days later, Isabella died too.
Dante was twenty-eight.
He inherited everything.
And within months, a doctor told him an old injury had made him infertile.
At the time, the diagnosis almost felt like mercy.
“No children meant no one could use them against me,” he said.
My throat tightened.
“You never connected the timing?”
“I was grieving.”
“You believed Victor?”
“He raised us after my father died.”
The betrayal in those words felt deeper than anger.
Victor hadn’t only targeted an empire.
He had targeted trust.
“Was Luca’s crash investigated?”
“Yes.”
“Properly?”
Dante gave me a bitter smile.
“By men Victor recommended.”
I understood.
“You think Victor killed them.”
“I think I was too blind to ask.”
I reached across the desk.
My fingers touched his.
Dante looked down.
He didn’t pull away.
“Then ask now.”
His eyes met mine.
“For seven years, I thought Luca died because I failed to protect him.”
“You were his brother, not his bodyguard.”
“In my family, there isn’t much difference.”
“That isn’t family.”
His expression shifted.
“No?”
“No. Family isn’t supposed to be a weakness someone exploits.”
I swallowed.
“My mother is my family. She’s why I signed your contract. But she never asked me to.”
Dante stared at me.
“She would have died before asking me to sell three years of my life.”
Something painful crossed his face.
“You regret marrying me.”
It wasn’t a question.
I answered anyway.
“I regret having no choice.”
The distinction mattered.
He understood it.
“And now?”
I looked toward the ultrasound image Dr. Russo had printed.
It sat beside Dante’s laptop.
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
For the first time since the contract began, Dante nodded without demanding an answer.
---
Victor denied everything.
Naturally.
He claimed Anthony Bell was lying.
He said the medical records could have been altered by Luca’s enemies.
He described his arrival in Chicago as concern.
Dante listened.
Then placed a copy of the photograph from the abandoned SUV on the table.
Victor’s smile disappeared.
Dante said nothing.
Victor examined it.
“Disturbing.”
“You’re a bad actor,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
Dante had refused to let me attend the questioning.
I had walked in anyway.
Victor leaned back.
“You have spirit.”
“You noticed at the wedding.”
His gaze sharpened.
I continued.
“You also knew Dante believed he was infertile before he publicly told anyone.”
“That was hardly private.”
“Apparently not.”
Victor smiled.
“You think you’re clever.”
“No. I think you underestimated me because I was poor.”
His face cooled.
“That is different.”
“Not to men like you.”
Dante watched silently.
I turned toward Victor.
“Why did you pay for surveillance on me before the wedding?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then you won’t mind Dante checking your accounts.”
Victor looked toward Dante.
“You are really allowing this woman to question me?”
Dante’s answer came without hesitation.
“She’s my wife.”
For the first time, those words didn’t feel like chains.
They felt like protection.
Victor stood.
“This family is becoming sentimental.”
Dante stepped forward.
“This family became vulnerable the day it trusted you.”
Victor’s face changed.
There it was.
Not guilt.
Hatred.
“You think your father wanted you?” Victor asked.
Dante remained still.
“He wanted Luca. Everyone wanted Luca. Charming Luca. Gentle Luca. And then there was you.”
“Victor,” I warned.
He ignored me.
“Your father gave you responsibility because Luca lacked discipline. But he loved Luca.”
Dante’s face became empty.
That frightened me more than rage.
Victor continued.
“When Luca died, you inherited an empire that was never meant to be yours.”
“And you decided it should be yours,” Dante said.
Victor smiled.
“You finally understand.”
Marco entered.
“Boss.”
He handed Dante a tablet.
Dante read.
Then looked at Victor.
“We found the payment.”
Victor’s smile vanished.
“Which payment?”
“Samuel Pierce.”
Silence.
Dante turned the tablet toward him.
An offshore account.
A transfer twelve years earlier.
Originating from a shell company connected to Victor.
One hundred fifty thousand dollars.
Seven days before Dante received his infertility diagnosis.
Victor didn’t deny it.
He simply sighed.
“You were never supposed to discover that.”
Dante crossed the room.
I moved between them.
“Don’t.”
“Emma.”
“Don’t give him what he wants.”
Victor laughed.
“You think you control him?”
“No.”
I looked at Dante.
“I think he controls himself.”
His breathing slowed.
His fists loosened.
Victor’s smile disappeared.
That was when I realized his greatest weapon wasn’t money.
It was Dante’s rage.
Victor had spent years convincing Dante that violence was his nature.
I refused to help him prove it.
Dante stepped back.
“Marco. Call federal counsel.”
Victor stared.
“What?”
“We have evidence of fraud, conspiracy, illegal surveillance, attempted intimidation, and possibly homicide.”
Victor laughed nervously.
“You’re going to the authorities?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’d expose your own family?”
Dante’s voice turned cold.
“You stopped being family when you murdered mine.”
Victor’s face twisted.
“You have no proof about Luca.”
“Not yet.”
Victor looked at me.
Then my stomach.
“Then protect your new family carefully.”
Dante lunged.
I caught his arm.
Victor smiled again.
There it was.
The threat.
Clear enough.
Marco took him away.
---
That evening, I vomited twice.
Stress.
Pregnancy.
Probably both.
Dante sat outside the bathroom.
Not inside.
Outside.
Because I had told him I wanted privacy.
When I finally emerged, he held out a glass of water.
No order.
No command.
Just water.
“Thank you.”
“You should eat.”
“I know.”
“Russo said—”
“I know what Russo said.”
Dante stopped himself.
“Would you like soup?”
I smiled weakly.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
“Yes. Soup.”
He prepared it himself.
Badly.
The most feared mafia boss in Chicago burned toast.
I sat at the kitchen island watching smoke rise from the toaster.
“You have staff.”
“They’re asleep.”
“You could wake them.”
“I’m trying kindness.”
I laughed.
Dante stared at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“It was funny.”
“I’ve burned one piece.”
“You burned three.”
“The machine is defective.”
“You own the building. Blame yourself.”
He actually smiled.
That ordinary moment terrified me.
Because suddenly I could imagine something impossible.
A breakfast table.
A child laughing.
Dante complaining about toast.
Me pretending I didn’t love him.
No.
I stopped the thought.
Love was dangerous.
Especially with a man like Dante.
He placed soup in front of me.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“When this is over, I’ll cancel the contract.”
My spoon stopped.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You paid millions for my mother.”
“I paid for treatment.”
“You married me because—”
“I married you because I wanted control over something I didn’t understand.”
His honesty silenced me.
“You.”
He leaned against the counter.
“You walked into my office wearing wet sneakers and a jacket with a broken zipper. You knew who I was. You were terrified. And you still told me my offer was disgusting.”
“It was.”
“I know.”
I stared at him.
“You’re saying you married me because I insulted you?”
“Partly.”
“That is the most dysfunctional thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’ve lived a dysfunctional life.”
Fair.
He became serious.
“You won’t owe me three years.”
“What happens to my mother’s treatment?”
“Nothing. She finishes it.”
“Why?”
“Because her health shouldn’t have had conditions attached.”
Emotion rose unexpectedly.
I blinked it away.
“Dante.”
“You can leave when this is over.”
I looked at him.
“And the baby?”
His face changed.
“I want to know my child.”
“But?”
“But I won’t use the child to keep you.”
For the first time since signing the contract, I felt free.
And freedom revealed something terrifying.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave.
---
The answer came sooner than expected.
At 2:17 a.m., Marco called.
Luca’s original vehicle had been preserved in an insurance evidence warehouse outside Chicago.
A retired investigator had kept portions of the crash file.
They found something.
The brake line had been deliberately cut.
And on the payment records for the mechanic who serviced the car two days earlier was a company controlled by Victor.
Dante finally had proof.
But Victor was gone.
His guards had been drugged.
A service elevator camera showed him leaving with two men.
The internal betrayal ran deeper than Anthony.
Marco looked sick.
“He’s vanished.”
Dante’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered on speaker.
Victor’s voice.
“You always were slow, Dante.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Run as far as you want.”
“I’m not running.”
A pause.
“I’m correcting a mistake.”
My phone buzzed simultaneously.
A photograph appeared.
My mother.
Sleeping in her hospital bed.
Time stamped thirty seconds earlier.
My entire body went cold.
Victor whispered through Dante’s phone:
“You have something I want.”
Dante’s voice became lethal.
“What?”
“Your signature surrendering the succession trust.”
“And if I refuse?”
Victor chuckled.
“You already lost one Salvatore mother and child.”
Dante went white.
“You have until noon.”
The call ended.
I looked at my mother’s photograph.
Then at Dante.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You’re thinking about signing.”
“I’ll sign anything necessary.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“If you surrender everything, Victor wins.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“This is my mother.”
“And my wife.”
The word struck through me.
Dante stepped closer.
“No empire is worth you.”
My eyes filled.
“Then we save both.”
“How?”
I looked at the photograph again.
Something was wrong.
My mother always slept with her left hand beneath her cheek.
In the image, both hands were visible.
And on the nightstand was a vase.
Yellow tulips.
My mother’s hospital room had no flowers because chemotherapy made certain scents unbearable.
“This wasn’t taken tonight.”
Dante stared.
“What?”
“It’s old.”
Hope flashed.
I enlarged the image.
On the wall behind the bed was a calendar.
October.
Three weeks earlier.
Victor didn’t have my mother.
He wanted us to believe he did.
Dante called the Boston security team.
Thirty seconds later, confirmation arrived.
Margaret Hayes was safe.
Still sleeping.
Protected by two federal agents.
Dante closed his eyes.
Relief almost dropped him to his knees.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
His expression changed.
“We found Victor.”
“Where?”
Marco turned the screen.
Security footage.
A private airfield.
Victor was preparing to leave Chicago.
But he wasn’t alone.
Standing beside him was Dr. Russo.
My doctor.
The man who knew everything about my pregnancy.
And Dr. Russo wasn’t being held against his will.
May you like
He was smiling.
---
