Chapter 3 - The Uncle Buried Under the Wrong Name
Dante spent the next day searching for a dead man.
His uncle, Raffaele Moretti, had supposedly died in Sicily twelve years earlier after suffering a stroke.
There had been a funeral.
A coffin.
A private burial.
Dante had attended.
But Isabella had given him one reason to doubt everything.
His uncle might be alive.
By noon, Dante had discovered three things.
The death certificate was real.
The burial was real.
The body had never been identified through DNA.
The second discovery was worse.
Raffaele had transferred money through Bellgrave Holdings for fourteen years after his supposed death.
Someone had been operating his accounts.
Someone had been receiving instructions in his name.
Dante called Marcus Vale, his head of security.
“Find him.”
Marcus didn't ask questions.
Two hours later, he returned.
“We found a location.”
“Where?”
“Philadelphia.”
Dante stared.
“He's been living there?”
“Under the name Raymond Bell.”
Dante's heart pounded.
“Get the team ready.”
Before he could leave, his mother-in-law called.
Lucia Romano.
He almost didn't answer.
Then he did.
“What do you know?”
Lucia's voice was calm.
“Isabella found the document.”
“Yes.”
“And she left.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Dante froze.
“Good?”
“She finally understood.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You knew what the trust contained?”
“I helped create it.”
His anger rose.
“You let me marry her without telling me.”
“We needed you to love her.”
“I did love her.”
“No.”
Lucia's voice hardened.
“You loved the idea that you had something good.”
Dante went silent.
“And then you became exactly what the document warned us you would become.”
“What does that mean?”
“You used another woman to escape responsibility.”
Dante swallowed.
“You think I don't know what I did?”
“I think you know what you did.”
“But not why you did it.”
He closed his eyes.
“Then tell me.”
“You were afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Becoming your father.”
Dante looked around the office.
The photographs.
The weapons.
The money.
The empire.
He suddenly understood.
He had spent years insisting he wasn't Matteo.
Yet every time intimacy became difficult, he ran toward control.
Every time fear appeared, he turned cold.
Every time someone loved him enough to see through him, he tried to own the situation instead of facing it.
He had become exactly what he hated.
Lucia continued.
“Isabella is carrying the only person who can legally end the Moretti cycle.”
“My daughter.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“The trust requires that the heir be born free of criminal obligation.”
Dante's face tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you're convicted of crimes connected to the hidden accounts before her birth, she inherits nothing.”
The room went silent.
Dante understood.
Someone wanted him implicated.
They wanted him arrested.
They wanted the child to lose the inheritance.
And they wanted Isabella alone.
“Victor?”
“Maybe.”
“Raffaele?”
“Maybe.”
“You're not helping.”
Lucia sighed.
“Because the truth isn't simple.”
That afternoon Dante reached Philadelphia.
The house was old.
Gray stone.
Black shutters.
No sign.
Marcus waited outside.
“We have eyes on the place.”
Dante walked inside.
An elderly man stood at the end of a hallway.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Sharp eyes.
Dante stopped.
“Raffaele.”
The man smiled.
“You look just like Matteo.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“You're alive.”
“So are you.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“That was the point.”
“Why did you fake your death?”
Raffaele's smile disappeared.
“To survive.”
“From whom?”
“My brother.”
“Father?”
“Yes.”
Dante stared.
“You hated him.”
“I feared him.”
“Why?”
“Because he found out what I had done.”
“What did you do?”
Raffaele sat.
“Your father wanted to leave the life.”
Dante frowned.
“What life?”
“The criminal business.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“Your father believed he could turn the empire legitimate.”
Dante remembered every article describing Matteo as a ruthless businessman.
Raffaele laughed bitterly.
“Your father was never the monster people thought.”
“He killed people.”
“Sometimes.”
Dante looked away.
“What did he do with the money?”
“He tried to move it into the trust.”
“And you stole it.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Raffaele named an amount.
Dante stared.
“That's almost half the family fortune.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because I believed the family belonged to me.”
Raffaele took out a photograph.
It showed Matteo and Marco Romano standing together.
Behind them was a woman.
Lucia.
And another man Dante did not recognize.
“Who is he?”
“Victor Duca's father.”
Dante froze.
“Victor's father was involved too?”
“Everyone was.”
Raffaele handed him another photograph.
A younger Isabella.
About twelve.
Standing beside an unknown boy.
Dante looked closely.
He knew the face.
Elias Mercer.
Dante's eyes hardened.
“What does Elias have to do with this?”
Raffaele nodded.
“He was Marco Romano's protégé.”
Dante understood why Isabella trusted him.
But there was one more question.
“Does he know where she is?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Raffaele shook his head.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because you're too late.”
Dante leaned forward.
“Too late for what?”
Raffaele's expression changed.
“Someone took her.”
Everything inside Dante stopped.
“What?”
“She left voluntarily.”
“Where?”
“She went to the old Romano property.”
“That place burned down years ago.”
“No.”
Raffaele's voice dropped.
“It didn't.”
Dante pulled out his phone.
A location appeared.
A remote coastal house outside Providence.
He drove immediately.
The house was empty.
The front door stood open.
A chair had been overturned.
Medical records lay scattered across the floor.
Dante's heart slammed against his ribs.
“Isabella!”
Nothing.
Then a sound.
From upstairs.
A door creaked.
Dante ran.
The bedroom was empty.
The bed was untouched.
A note lay on the floor.
He opened it.
I trusted you once.
I am giving you one final chance.
Find me before they do.
Dante stared.
There was no signature.
But beneath the words was a small drawing.
A rose.
The symbol his father had used in the Moretti trust.
He turned to Marcus.
“Search every property connected to the Romano family.”
Marcus nodded.
Then stopped.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“There are tire tracks.”
Outside the house, two sets of tires.
One belonged to Isabella's car.
The other belonged to a black Mercedes.
Dante recognized the plate.
Natalia Duca.
He called her.
She answered after one ring.
“Dante?”
“Where are you?”
She began to cry.
“I tried to warn you.”
“Where is Isabella?”
“I don't know.”
“You were at the house.”
“No.”
“Your car was.”
Silence.
Then Natalia whispered,
“Victor took me too.”
Dante froze.
“What?”
“He wanted to know where the document was.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I didn't know.”
“Where is Victor?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why call me?”
Natalia's voice broke.
“Because he said the next person would be Isabella.”
The call ended.
Dante stood in the rain outside the house.
His wife was missing.
His mistress had been used.
His uncle had lied about his death.
And the one document that could explain all of it was still somewhere in Isabella's possession.
But as Dante looked at the rose drawn beneath her message, he realized something terrifying.
May you like
The symbol wasn't a warning.
It was a direction.
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