Chapter 3 - The Wolf Inside the Family
Mei sat down without choosing to.
The room disappeared around her.
Daniel.
His laugh in their little Queens kitchen.
The way he sang badly while washing dishes.
The way he always bought too many oranges because he claimed they looked cheerful in a bowl.
Four months after his death, Lena had arrived with a baby.
For six years Mei had treated those events as two separate tragedies stitched together only by timing.
Now Dante laid a police photograph on the desk.
Daniel’s overturned Honda under a highway barrier.
The memory tore open.
“I identified him by his wedding ring,” Mei whispered.
Dante said nothing.
“He was burned so badly I could barely…”
She stopped.
Sophie moved toward her.
Mei gathered the child close.
Dante read the report.
The original investigation called it mechanical failure.
The supplemental photos said otherwise.
Someone had sliced the brake line cleanly, then damaged surrounding components to make it look like deterioration.
Professional enough for police.
Not professional enough for Dante’s people.
“Why?” Mei asked.
Dante’s jaw flexed.
“Because he knew where Lena went.”
Mei stared at him.
“Then why did they wait four months?”
“Maybe they didn’t find him immediately.”
“Or maybe someone close to you gave them the information later.”
Dante looked up.
That possibility landed heavily.
There were only a handful of men who had known Isabella had died at St. Agnes before the press announcement.
Only a few had access to hospital security.
Fewer still knew how Moretti contingency teams moved newborn heirs.
One name entered his mind.
He rejected it immediately.
Then hated himself for rejecting it.
His uncle Salvatore.
His father’s younger brother.
The man who had taught Dante to shoot.
The man who held Sophia at Isabella’s funeral.
The man who had become something close to a grandfather.
A silver wolf was tattooed inside Salvatore’s left wrist.
Dante had seen it since childhood.
It was a symbol from Sicily.
He had never asked what it meant.
Marco saw the realization.
“Boss?”
Dante looked at him.
“No calls leave the estate.”
Marco nodded.
“No one enters or exits without my approval.”
“Understood.”
“Bring Salvatore.”
Mei stood.
“You think it’s him.”
“I think nothing yet.”
“You went pale.”
“I don’t go pale.”
“You did.”
Sophia tugged Dante’s sleeve.
“Uncle Sal loves wolves.”
Dante’s heart stopped.
She continued casually.
“He says they protect the pack.”
Dante crouched.
“When did he say that?”
“Lots.”
“Did he ever show you his tattoo?”
Sophia nodded.
“He said someday I might get one.”
Mei pulled Sophie closer.
Dante’s voice became dangerously soft.
“Did he ever take you anywhere without Enzo?”
Sophia thought.
“Last year. For ice cream.”
Dante looked at Marco.
Marco had gone still.
“Boss,” he said carefully, “you approved that.”
“I approved him taking her to Romano’s.”
“He changed routes.”
Dante’s eyes lifted.
“What?”
“Security log. I remember because the GPS dropped for twenty-two minutes near Green-Wood Cemetery. Salvatore said the tracker malfunctioned.”
Dante felt the world narrow.
“Pull the footage.”
Marco left.
Mei turned to Dante.
“What was at the cemetery?”
“Isabella.”
Sophia whispered, “Mommy?”
Dante nodded.
An hour later, Salvatore Moretti walked into the library smiling.
He was sixty-two, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, dressed in a tailored navy suit. He smelled faintly of tobacco and bergamot.
“Sophia disappeared at a market, half the city is whispering, and no one thought to call me?”
His smile vanished when he saw two girls.
The color drained from his face.
There it was.
Recognition.
Sophie tightened her fingers around Mei’s hand.
Salvatore whispered one word.
“Impossible.”
Dante stood behind his desk.
“You knew.”
Salvatore’s eyes moved to him.
“Dante.”
“You knew.”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“That is the least useful sentence a guilty man can say.”
Salvatore looked at Sophia.
Then Sophie.
His face changed.
For a moment he looked almost heartbroken.
“Your father…”
Dante slammed Isabella’s letter onto the desk.
Salvatore stopped.
“She wrote it down,” Dante said. “That was his mistake. Trusting a dying woman to be afraid of him forever.”
Salvatore stared at the letter.
Mei stepped forward.
“Did you kill my husband?”
Salvatore looked at her.
“Who are you?”
“Mei Carter.”
His expression sharpened.
Carter.
That was enough.
Mei’s face twisted.
“You knew him.”
“I knew of him.”
“Did you kill Daniel?”
“No.”
“Did you order it?”
“No.”
Dante watched carefully.
Salvatore’s answers came too fast but not evasive.
“What does the wolf mean?” Dante asked.
Salvatore looked down at his wrist.
He did not hide it.
“The Lupo Nero.”
“Black Wolf.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Your father’s private circle.”
“How many?”
“Originally? Twelve.”
“Now?”
Salvatore hesitated.
“Maybe six.”
“Names.”
“I don’t know all of them.”
Dante drew his pistol and placed it flat on the desk.
Sophia stared.
Mei covered both girls’ eyes with her hands.
Salvatore looked at the gun.
Then at Dante.
“You’d shoot me in front of your children?”
“No.”
Dante picked up the gun and put it back in the holster.
“I’d never give you that excuse.”
Salvatore exhaled.
Dante leaned forward.
“Names.”
Salvatore sat.
“Your father believed family empires fail from too many branches. Too many heirs. Too many cousins making claims. He created the Black Wolf to control succession.”
Mei looked sick.
“Control?”
Salvatore’s gaze dropped.
“Sometimes with money. Sometimes marriage. Sometimes exile.”
“And sometimes babies?” Dante asked.
Salvatore shut his eyes.
“I tried to stop him.”
Dante laughed once without humor.
“You wore his mark.”
“To get close enough to know what he planned.”
“You knew Isabella had twins.”
“Yes.”
“You knew one was taken.”
“Yes.”
“And for six years you said nothing.”
Salvatore’s face broke.
“Because your father threatened Sophia.”
The room went silent.
“He said if I exposed the second child, both girls would die. He had men loyal to him even after his health failed. I believed I could find the missing twin first.”
“You failed.”
“Yes.”
“You let me bury my wife believing she died after giving birth to one child.”
“Yes.”
Dante stepped around the desk.
Salvatore stood.
Dante hit him.
One punch.
Clean.
Salvatore fell into a chair.
Sophia screamed.
Dante froze.
He turned.
Both girls stared at him.
Not with admiration.
Not with fear of enemies.
Fear of him.
It hit harder than anything Salvatore could have done.
Dante lowered his hands.
“I’m sorry.”
Sophia’s eyes filled.
Mei gathered them close.
Salvatore wiped blood from his lip.
“You want the truth?” he said.
Dante looked back.
“There is a ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“Your father documented everything. Payments, doctors, transfers, names. He called it the Lupus Ledger.”
“Where?”
“I thought Isabella had it.”
Dante looked toward the hidden desk compartment.
Salvatore shook his head.
“Not there.”
Mei suddenly spoke.
“The woman who brought Sophie had something else.”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Dante asked.
“A necklace.”
Mei touched her own chest.
“She wore a little silver wolf on a chain. But before she left, she broke it open.”
“Open?”
“It was hollow.”
Dante moved closer.
“What was inside?”
“A tiny brass key.”
“Where is it?”
Mei’s eyes widened.
“I put it with Sophie’s baby things.”
Dante’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“You have the second girl.”
Dante’s gaze hardened.
“You attacked my convoy.”
“The old order had one rule. One daughter survives.”
Dante looked at the twins.
“Your old order is dead.”
A soft laugh.
“No, Dante.”
The voice became clear.
Familiar.
A man Dante had known since he was nine.
His father’s former consigliere.
Judge Anthony Bellandi.
Retired state supreme court justice.
Family friend.
Godfather to Sophia.
“You buried the wrong man if you thought Vittorio was the wolf.”
The call ended.
Salvatore whispered, “Bellandi.”
Dante’s blood ran cold.
Because Anthony Bellandi had attended every birthday Sophia ever had.
And three days from now, he was scheduled to host her at the annual children’s charity gala.
After Salvatore left the library under guard, Dante went outside alone.
The estate’s north terrace overlooked the river.
At night, Brooklyn glowed beyond the trees like another world.
He heard the door open.
Mei joined him.
“You hit him.”
Dante did not turn.
“Yes.”
“You scared the girls.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that immediately.”
“Yes.”
Mei leaned against the railing.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Dante finally looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“You apologize.”
“I did.”
“To Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“To Sophie?”
Dante frowned.
“She barely knows me.”
“That’s why it matters.”
He was quiet.
Mei continued.
“You’re trying to become her father in one afternoon. She’s trying to decide whether the man with armed guards who punched his uncle is safe.”
Dante flinched slightly.
Mei noticed.
Good.
“She has lived with less money than Sophia,” Mei said, “but she hasn’t lived with violence.”
“I don’t hurt children.”
“That isn’t the standard.”
Dante looked back toward the river.
“What is?”
“That she doesn’t have to organize her life around your temper.”
He said nothing.
Mei softened.
“I know what you think. You think danger requires strength.”
“It does.”
“Strength isn’t the same thing as making a room afraid.”
Dante remembered his father.
Vittorio never shouted either.
He simply made everyone monitor his face.
Dante had sworn he would never become him.
How many habits had he inherited without noticing?
He returned inside.
Sophie was sitting on the floor with Sophia, sorting colored pencils.
Dante crouched.
“Sophie.”
She looked up.
“I frightened you earlier.”
She shrugged.
“That doesn’t mean no.”
Her eyes lifted.
Dante almost smiled despite himself.
“No.”
He took a breath.
“I should not have hit Salvatore in front of you.”
“Are you going to hit him again?”
“No.”
“Even if he lies?”
Dante thought of several possible answers.
Mei stood in the doorway.
He chose the one he wanted his daughter to remember.
“No. If he lies, there are other consequences.”
Sophia frowned.
“Like no dessert?”
Dante looked at her.
“For Uncle Salvatore, probably lawyers.”
Sophie giggled.
The sound broke something open.
Dante sat on the carpet.
He had not sat on a floor voluntarily in years.
Sophie pushed a red pencil toward him.
“Draw.”
“I don’t draw.”
“You have hands.”
Sophia laughed.
“Daddy draws horses like dogs.”
“That is untrue.”
“It’s extremely true.”
Five minutes later, Dante Moretti was attempting a horse while two six-year-olds criticized its anatomy.
Mei stood in the doorway and watched the most feared man she had ever met erase a tail because his daughters voted against it.
Then Marco appeared.
His expression wiped the laughter away.
“Boss.”
Dante stood.
“What?”
“The bank key.”
Mei looked toward the old rabbit.
“We found the box number.”
May you like
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
The next secret was waiting beneath Brooklyn.
