Chapter 2 - The Room Dante Refused to Enter
Dante returned before noon.
He entered my hospital room alone.
No Nico.
No security detail.
No doctors.
Just Dante.
He carried a small paper cup.
“Coffee,” he said.
I looked at it.
“I'm in a hospital.”
“You're also complaining.”
“I complain professionally.”
“That is true.”
I smiled.
Then noticed the blood on his cuff.
My smile disappeared.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That's blood.”
“Not mine.”
I stared at him.
“You said nothing happened.”
“I said nothing happened to me.”
I pushed the coffee away.
“Who did you hurt?”
Dante's expression hardened.
“That's not a conversation we should have.”
“It seems like exactly the conversation we should have.”
He came closer.
“Harper.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“You don't get to storm into my hospital room after someone nearly kills me and then act like I'm supposed to sit quietly because you're Dante Moretti.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You're angry.”
“I'm terrified.”
That silenced him.
I looked down at my hands.
“I just don't want to be lied to.”
For a long moment, Dante said nothing.
Then he pulled the chair closer.
“You have every right to know what happened.”
I waited.
“The man who ordered the attack is dead.”
My head snapped up.
“What?”
“One of the men responsible gave us a name.”
“You killed him?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
Dante looked toward the window.
“The man gave us the name of someone connected to my family.”
“Who?”
“Leonard Vale.”
The name meant nothing.
Dante explained.
“Former head of security at St. Augustine.”
I frowned.
“Wasn't he reported dead?”
“Yes.”
“So now we're doing this again?”
“Apparently.”
He reached into his coat and placed a photograph on my blanket.
An older man.
Gray hair.
Black suit.
Standing outside the St. Augustine hotel.
I looked at it.
Then felt my stomach twist.
I knew him.
“That's him.”
Dante's eyes sharpened.
“Where have you seen him?”
“My father knew him.”
Silence.
Dante took the photograph back.
“How?”
“He was at my father's funeral.”
Dante leaned forward.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“Did your father ever mention him?”
“No.”
“Did he keep records?”
“My father kept everything.”
I stopped.
Something occurred to me.
“My mother's house.”
“What about it?”
“After my father died, there was a box in the attic.”
“What's inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Why didn't you open it?”
“Because my mother told me never to.”
Dante stared at me.
“What exactly did she say?”
“She said if I opened it before I understood why it was there, someone would die.”
His face went blank.
“You never opened it?”
“No.”
“Where is it now?”
“Still in the house.”
Dante stood.
“We're going.”
I blinked.
“You're taking an injured woman out of a hospital?”
“Yes.”
“You're insane.”
“Probably.”
That was how, two hours later, I found myself in a black SUV with two bodyguards in front and Dante sitting beside me.
The city passed outside the tinted glass.
“You said your brother died in the fire.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother?”
“She died three years later.”
“Natural causes?”
Dante didn't answer immediately.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“You're not sure.”
“No.”
I realized something.
“You don't trust your own family.”
“I trust very few people.”
“Do you trust me?”
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
That frightened me more than hesitation would have.
We reached my mother's house.
The front door was locked.
The windows were intact.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Nico entered first.
He checked every room.
Then returned.
“Clear.”
Dante looked at me.
“Attic?”
I nodded.
We climbed.
The dust made me cough.
My mother's boxes were exactly where I remembered them.
At the back sat a wooden trunk.
Inside was the box.
I touched the lid.
Dante watched me.
“You don't have to open it.”
I stared at him.
“You just crossed Chicago to watch me not open a box.”
“I wanted you to know you could choose.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I unlocked it.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
A small brass key.
And my father's black watch.
My hands trembled.
I picked it up.
On the back were words engraved into metal.
Remember the seventh floor.
I looked at Dante.
He had gone completely still.
“That’s impossible,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“My mother had one.”
“What?”
“A matching watch.”
I turned it over.
There was a number beneath the engraving.
7-14-03.
Dante stared.
“That was the date of the fire.”
The air seemed to disappear.
I opened the documents.
One was a photograph.
My father.
Dante's father.
Dante's mother.
And another man.
Leonard Vale.
All standing together.
On the back:
Project North Star.
“What is Project North Star?” I asked.
Dante didn't answer.
“Dante.”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I know the name.”
“And?”
“It was something my father ran in secret.”
“What something?”
“Accounts.”
“What kind?”
“Political.”
I stared at him.
“Blackmail?”
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“My father was involved?”
“Apparently.”
“Why would he hide this?”
Dante studied another document.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
It was a contract.
Between a company owned by my father and Moretti Holdings.
At the bottom were two signatures.
My father's.
And Dante's brother's.
I looked at the date.
It had been signed six months before the fire.
“That means your brother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“And working with my father.”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
Dante didn't answer.
I saw something on the page.
A handwritten note in blue ink.
The girl knows nothing.
Keep her outside.
I looked up.
“Who is the girl?”
Dante's eyes moved toward me.
The silence said everything.
“You?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He hesitated.
“I think it's you.”
My heart pounded.
“Why would they write that?”
“Because your father might have been protecting you.”
“From what?”
Dante stepped closer.
“From us.”
I shook my head.
“That's not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
The attic door slammed downstairs.
Nico shouted.
“Boss!”
Dante drew his weapon.
He pushed me behind him.
Footsteps raced through the house.
A shot cracked.
Then another.
Nico fired back.
Dante grabbed my hand.
“Move.”
We ran down the stairs.
A masked man crashed through the kitchen window.
Dante fired.
The man fled.
Nico pursued.
I stood shaking.
Dante came back to me.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He touched my face gently.
His fingers stopped near the edge of my bruised eye.
“I should have kept you away from this.”
“You can't.”
“I can.”
“You can't keep me away from my own life.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he lowered his hand.
“Your father knew my brother.”
“Yes.”
“They were working together.”
“Yes.”
“And someone has spent ten years making sure neither of us found out why.”
I nodded.
Then I saw the final paper in the box.
A letter.
My father's handwriting.
I opened it.
Harper,
If you are reading this, then they have finally come for you.
Do not trust Leonard Vale.
Do not trust the Morettis.
Most importantly, do not trust the man who says he loves you.
The words blurred.
Dante took the letter.
His face went cold.
I looked at him.
“Why would my father say that?”
“I don't know.”
“You're the most obvious man to suspect.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
We returned to the mansion.
That night, Dante put me in a guarded guest suite.
Before he left, he stood in the doorway.
“Harper.”
“Yes?”
“You asked whether I trust you.”
I nodded.
“I do.”
“Then why are you hiding things from me?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Because if the truth is what I think it is, knowing it will put you in even more danger.”
“Maybe I'm already in danger.”
His face tightened.
“You are.”
“Then tell me everything.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know whether I can survive the answer.”
He closed the door.
I lay awake until dawn.
At 3:17 A.M., my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
Your father didn't betray Dante's family.
Dante's brother did.
May you like
Then another message appeared.
And he's alive.
