Chapter 3 - The Ledger Sofia Died Protecting
By sunrise, I understood three things.
First, sleeping inside a mafia mansion was impossible when someone had kidnapped your manager.
Second, rich people had terrible coffee despite owning machines that cost more than my annual salary.
Third, Dante Moretti had been keeping a secret from me for almost four hours.
That last one bothered me most.
I found him in his study at six fifteen.
He had changed clothes.
Dark trousers.
White shirt.
No tie.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing tattoos I had not seen before.
I ignored that observation.
Mostly.
A large map of the city covered one wall.
Three security monitors showed exterior cameras.
Dante stood over a desk scattered with documents.
“You knew about the ledger.”
He did not pretend otherwise.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Ten months.”
“Since Sofia died?”
“Before.”
I entered.
“You said she never told you about me.”
“She didn’t.”
“But she told you about the ledger.”
“Partly.”
My anger sharpened.
“Partly?”
Dante looked tired.
“She came to me two weeks before Leo was born.”
I stopped.
“She was pregnant.”
“Very.”
“And investigating your criminal family?”
A faint almost-smile.
“That was Sofia.”
I hated that I wanted more details.
“What did she say?”
“That my father kept records.”
“Your father had already been dead two years.”
“Yes.”
“He wrote down crimes like a diary?”
“Accounts.”
Dante tapped a folder.
“Antonio Moretti believed information was power.”
“Seems hereditary.”
His eyes met mine.
Fair.
“He kept records on everyone.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“Where was the ledger?”
“Sofia didn’t know.”
“Then why was she searching?”
“Because she found a reference to Lucia Orelio.”
My breath caught.
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
Dante came around the desk.
“She showed me a photocopy of an account page.”
He opened a drawer.
Removed a plastic sleeve.
A handwritten transaction log.
Date.
Amount.
Recipient.
Purpose.
My stomach turned when I saw one line.
T. V. — $40,000 — Lucia matter.
“T.V.?”
“We think Tomas Valdez.”
“My father.”
“Adoptive father.”
“Don’t.”
Dante stopped.
I looked at the paper again.
“What does Lucia matter mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe payment for hiding me.”
“Maybe.”
“Or payment for killing her.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
I hated uncertainty.
Apparently that was something Dante and I shared.
“Where did Sofia get this?”
“Orelio.”
“My grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“So he knew.”
“Some.”
I looked toward the window.
“Everyone knew pieces of my life except me.”
Dante was quiet.
“I understand.”
I turned.
“No, you don’t.”
His expression changed.
Then I remembered his father.
His mother.
The institutionalization.
The lies.
I sighed.
“Actually, you probably do.”
He gave a humorless smile.
“Unfortunately.”
I sat across from him.
“Tell me everything Sofia told you.”
Dante hesitated.
I pointed at him.
“Do not decide what I can handle.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’ve known me less than a day.”
“And somehow I already know exactly when you’re about to become controlling.”
“That is concerning.”
“For you.”
He sat.
“Sofia found evidence Antonio had Lucia followed after Gabriel Santoro died.”
“My biological father.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Lucia?”
“We believed she was killed six months later.”
“Believed?”
“No body was recovered.”
I went still.
“What?”
Dante saw the hope instantly.
“Do not.”
“What?”
“Do not assume she survived.”
“You just said no body.”
“Her car was found burned.”
“Without a body?”
“Blood was recovered.”
“Whose?”
“Lucia’s.”
“That does not prove she died.”
Dante leaned back.
“No.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“You think she might be alive?”
“I think if Sofia believed it, she would have told me.”
“Unless she didn’t trust you.”
There it was again.
The wound.
Dante accepted it.
“She may not have.”
“Why?”
His expression darkened.
“Because my father raised me.”
I understood.
Maybe Sofia had loved Dante and still feared what he represented.
That was possible.
People could love complicated men.
Apparently.
“What happened after she showed you the account page?”
“I asked where she found it.”
“And?”
“She refused to tell me.”
“Why?”
“She said if I knew, I would act.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I demanded she stop investigating until Leo was born.”
I looked at him.
“How did that go?”
“She threw a glass at me.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Dante looked offended.
“Sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
“She told me pregnancy had not made her incompetent.”
“I like her.”
His face softened.
“So did I.”
The room became quiet.
He looked down.
“I let her continue.”
“Let?”
His eyes lifted.
“Poor word choice.”
“Very.”
“She continued.”
“What did she find?”
“That Lucia had been searching for the ledger too.”
“Why?”
“To expose Antonio.”
I leaned forward.
“And Sofia thought the ledger still existed.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Antonio keep evidence that could destroy him?”
“Because it also destroyed everyone else.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Judges. Police. Federal contacts. Families.”
“So it was mutually assured destruction.”
“Exactly.”
“And Sofia found it?”
“No.”
“She died first.”
“Yes.”
I thought about the phone call.
“The kidnapper thinks she hid it.”
“Yes.”
“Why Gianni?”
“He knows Orelio’s restaurant.”
I stood.
“We go back.”
“No.”
I stared.
Dante did not blink.
“The restaurant was shot at.”
“Gianni is missing.”
“My people are searching.”
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“You are unbelievably irritating.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By Sofia?”
“Frequently.”
That stopped me.
The comparison hung between us.
I stepped back.
Dante’s expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
He stood.
“I know you are not her.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
His voice sharpened unexpectedly.
“Because Sofia would have already stolen my car and gone to the restaurant herself.”
I stared.
He almost smiled.
“You’re arguing first.”
I laughed despite myself.
It broke the tension.
“Fine.”
Dante picked up his jacket.
“Fine what?”
“You’re going.”
I blinked.
“That was fast.”
“I’m coming.”
“Oh.”
“And Camila.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows the restaurant.”
I frowned.
“She does?”
Dante’s face darkened.
“Our family had private meetings there for years.”
“Great. My grandfather’s restaurant was also a mafia conference room.”
“Apparently.”
“Any other charming childhood facts?”
“Many.”
“Save them.”
We left Leo with Camila’s trusted nanny.
He cried when I passed him over.
The sound punched me.
I nearly took him back.
Dante saw.
“He’ll be safe.”
I nodded.
He hesitated.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Leo slept six hours.”
I smiled.
“Maybe he’s exhausted from discovering family.”
Dante looked at me.
“Maybe.”
Restorante Orelio looked wounded in daylight.
Plywood covered shattered windows.
Police tape crossed the front.
Dante’s men had already cleared the building.
We entered through the kitchen.
Blood stained the tile near the pantry.
My stomach twisted.
“Gianni.”
“No body,” Dante said.
“That is supposed to help?”
“It means he may be alive.”
We searched.
I knew the restaurant better than anyone.
At least I thought I did.
Then Dante found a narrow door behind wine shelving.
I stared.
“That wasn’t there.”
“It was.”
“No.”
“The shelf moved.”
“That is a secret door.”
“Yes.”
“In the restaurant where I worked fourteen months.”
“Yes.”
“I hate this week.”
Dante pushed it open.
Stairs descended.
Old basement.
Dust.
Wine crates.
A desk.
Photographs.
I found more pictures of Lucia.
One showed her holding two infants.
Twin girls.
My knees nearly failed.
“That’s us.”
Dante stood beside me.
Sofia and me.
Together.
Maybe only weeks old.
Lucia smiled at the camera.
She looked like us.
Older.
Softer.
Alive.
I touched the photograph.
“My mother.”
Dante said nothing.
Another photo.
Tomas Valdez holding one baby.
Carlo beside him.
Mr. Orelio crying.
A note on the back.
Elina leaves tonight.
My chest hurt.
Dante gently took the photo when my hands shook.
Then we found Sofia’s handwriting.
A notebook.
Pages of names.
Addresses.
Questions.
The final entry dated eleven months earlier.
Orelio says Tomas never received money from Antonio willingly.
T.V. might not be Tomas.
I looked at Dante.
“What?”
He read.
“T.V.”
“The ledger entry.”
“Maybe not Tomas.”
“Who else?”
Dante thought.
Then went pale.
“Thomas Vellaro.”
“Who?”
“My father’s lawyer.”
I felt sick.
“Still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Runs Vellaro Holdings.”
“That sounds suspiciously legitimate.”
“It isn’t.”
We kept reading.
Sofia had written:
Vellaro arranged Lucia’s disappearance.
Not death?
Need to confirm with Gianni.
I stared.
“Gianni knew?”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“That’s why they took him.”
My hands trembled.
Lucia might have survived.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The next page was torn out.
I searched the desk.
Nothing.
Dante found scratches under the drawer.
A false bottom.
Inside: a flash drive.
He picked it up.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Wait.”
He looked at me.
“If Sofia hid this, whoever shot at us may have been looking for it.”
“Yes.”
“Then we don’t plug it into something connected.”
A faint smile.
“What?”
“You’re learning quickly.”
“Poverty teaches suspicion too.”
We used an old offline laptop from the office.
The drive contained audio.
One file.
Sofia’s voice.
I knew before Dante reacted.
The sound of my twin’s voice entered the basement.
And I almost stopped breathing.
“If you’re hearing this, then something has gone wrong.”
Her voice sounded like mine.
Not exactly.
Close enough to make my skin crawl.
Dante sat down.
Sofia continued.
“I found Elina.”
My heart stopped.
I looked at Dante.
He looked shattered.
“I haven’t contacted her.”
I covered my mouth.
“She lives in Queens. She thinks she’s Carla and Tomas Valdez’s biological daughter.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“She works at Orelio.”
I whispered, “She knew.”
Dante stared at the computer.
“She knew me.”
“For months.”
Sofia continued.
“I watched her twice.”
My chest broke.
“God.”
“She laughs like Mom.”
I cried.
Dante looked away.
“If I approach her before I know who killed Lucia, I might bring danger directly to her.”
I closed my eyes.
Protection through distance.
Another family habit.
“I need the ledger first.”
Sofia continued.
“I think Vellaro has it.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Thomas.”
“If Dante hears this…”
A pause.
He looked up.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
His eyes filled.
“I wanted to.”
Dante’s hand tightened around mine without either of us deciding it.
“But your father’s sins are still alive around you, and I didn’t know which ones you inherited.”
Dante closed his eyes.
The words hurt him.
I squeezed his hand.
Sofia continued.
“If anything happens to me, don’t avenge me.”
Dante’s face broke.
“Protect Leo.”
His breathing changed.
“And if Elina ever comes into his life…”
A tiny laugh.
“Please don’t scare her.”
I looked at Dante.
Despite everything, I laughed through tears.
He almost smiled.
Sofia’s voice softened.
“She is my sister.”
I covered my mouth.
“I lost thirty years with her.”
Tears ran down my face.
“I don’t want Leo to lose her too.”
The recording ended.
For a long time, neither of us moved.
My sister had known me.
She had watched me.
She had wanted to meet me.
She died before she could.
Dante’s hand was still around mine.
I did not pull away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“I told her to stop.”
“That was probably reasonable.”
“She died anyway.”
“That was not your fault.”
His expression hardened.
“You don’t know that.”
I understood then.
Dante carried Sofia’s death like a conviction.
Not grief.
Guilt.
A phone rang upstairs.
One of his men answered.
Then shouted.
“Boss!”
Dante stood.
We ran up.
A security man held out his phone.
“It’s Vellaro.”
Dante took it.
“Thomas.”
The voice on speaker sounded old.
Calm.
“Dante.”
“Where is Gianni?”
“Alive.”
“Proof.”
A groan came through.
Then Gianni.
“Elina?”
I grabbed the phone.
“Gianni.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not badly.”
Vellaro returned.
“You have something belonging to me.”
Dante’s expression turned cold.
“Do I?”
“The drive.”
I looked at him.
Thomas knew.
“Exchange,” Dante said.
“Ledger for Gianni.”
Vellaro laughed.
“You still think I have the ledger?”
“Sofia did.”
“Sofia was wrong about many things.”
Dante went still.
Vellaro continued.
“Including who killed her.”
My blood turned cold.
Dante’s voice dropped.
“Who?”
Thomas laughed softly.
“Ask Camila.”
The line went dead.
Dante stared at the phone.
I stared at him.
“Your sister?”
His face had gone pale.
“No.”
May you like
But for the first time since I met him, Dante Moretti sounded afraid of the answer.
---
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