Chapter 1 - THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
“Dante, lower the gun. If you shoot me, that little girl will never learn why her father was murdered.”
The man's voice echoed through the narrow brick tunnel.
Dante Moretti stood completely still.
I had never seen him hesitate before. Not when armed men argued inside his mansion. Not when dangerous visitors threatened his business. Not even when federal investigators arrived at his front gate six months earlier.
But now, the most feared mafia boss on Long Island looked like he'd encountered a ghost.
“Show yourself,” Dante said.
His voice was quiet, but his grip tightened around the pistol.
Beside me, Sophie buried her face against my leg.
Bruno, the enormous black Cane Corso who had led us here, stood between my daughter and the darkness. His massive shoulders were rigid, and a low growl vibrated through his chest.
A faint scraping sound came from inside the tunnel.
Then a man stepped into the weak yellow light.
He was tall and painfully thin, with a gray beard, a deep scar running across his left cheek, and a dark raincoat dripping onto the brick floor.
He raised both hands.
“It's me, Dante.”
Dante's face drained of color.
“Gabriel?”
The stranger gave a tired smile.
“Been a long time.”
Dante took one step backward.
“Gabriel Rojas is dead.”
“That's what Victor Cross wanted everyone to believe.”
I looked between them.
“Who is Gabriel Rojas?”
Neither man answered immediately.
Then Gabriel turned his attention toward Sophie.
His expression changed.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You look just like your daddy.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“How do you know my husband?”
Gabriel looked directly into my eyes.
“Because I was there the night Michael Carter died.”
The hallway seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
For three years, I'd lived with the same unanswered questions.
Why had Michael been outside that Brooklyn bakery so late?
Why had the police called his death a robbery when nothing had been stolen?
And why had Teresa Moretti appeared at my door just three days after his funeral?
Now a stranger who was supposedly dead stood inside a secret tunnel, claiming to know everything.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
Gabriel swallowed.
“Michael wasn't killed by accident.”
“I already know that.”
“No, Elena. You don't understand.”
He glanced at Dante.
“Your husband discovered something that could destroy this entire family.”
Dante lowered his pistol slightly.
“Gabriel, this isn't the place.”
“Three years,” Gabriel snapped. “You had three years to tell her.”
I watched Dante's expression.
Something inside me hardened.
“What did my husband discover?”
Gabriel reached into his coat.
Bruno growled louder.
“Easy, boy.”
He slowly removed a small, water-damaged photograph.
It showed Michael standing outside a modest brick building with three other men.
One was Gabriel.
Another was Dante.
The third man had his face partially turned away from the camera.
Behind them, a faded blue sign read:
HARBOR HOUSE COMMUNITY TRUST.
I recognized the building immediately.
Michael had worked there as an accountant before his death.
He'd told me the organization helped struggling families find affordable housing.
“Michael believed in that place,” I whispered.
“He did,” Gabriel said. “That's why they had to silence him.”
Dante moved closer.
“Enough.”
I stepped between them.
“No. You don't get to decide what's enough.”
His eyes met mine.
For three years, I'd lowered my gaze whenever he entered a room.
I'd thanked him for the cottage, for the groceries, for keeping Sophie safe.
Now I realized I might have spent those years thanking someone who knew why my husband was dead.
“Did you know?” I asked.
Dante didn't answer.
“Did you know Michael was murdered?”
A muscle moved in his jaw.
“Yes.”
One word.
That was all it took to shatter everything I believed.
My legs weakened, but I refused to sit down.
“You knew?”
“Elena—”
“You let me stand in your kitchen every morning. You let me clean your floors. You watched my daughter grow up without her father.”
My voice cracked.
“And you never said a word?”
Dante looked away.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
Gabriel let out a bitter laugh.
“You were trying to keep your conscience quiet.”
Before Dante could respond, a metallic sound rang out from deeper inside the passage.
Clang.
Bruno's head snapped toward the darkness.
Gabriel's expression changed immediately.
“We need to move.”
“What was that?” I asked.
Gabriel reached for the edge of the hidden doorway.
“Someone else knows I'm here.”
Dante raised his pistol again.
“Who?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Someone who knows every entrance to this mansion.”
We heard footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Getting closer.
Dante pushed me toward the corridor.
“Take Sophie to my mother's sitting room. Lock the door.”
“No,” I said.
He stared at me.
“Elena, this isn't a request.”
“Then you should get used to hearing me refuse.”
Gabriel stepped beside us.
“She's right. Separating them is exactly what he wants.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Gabriel stared at Sophie's little yellow pillow.
“The man outside her window wasn't trying to frighten her for entertainment. He was looking for something.”
My daughter lifted her head.
“The bad man?”
Gabriel nodded reluctantly.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Sophie hugged her pillow tighter.
“Did he know Daddy?”
Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment.
“Yes.”
I felt Bruno press against my leg.
Then Gabriel said something that made my skin crawl.
“Michael hid evidence before he died. Someone has spent three years trying to find it.”
He pointed toward Sophie.
“And I believe your daughter has been carrying it the entire time.”
I looked down at the little star-shaped pillow.
Michael had bought it for Sophie just a week before his murder.
She'd slept with it every night since.
Suddenly, the footsteps inside the tunnel stopped.
A man's voice called from the darkness.
“Dante! You might want to ask Gabriel what really happened behind the bakery!”
Gabriel went pale.
Dante slowly turned toward the tunnel.
Then something small rolled across the brick floor and stopped near Bruno's paws.
A heavy gold signet ring.
Dante stared at it.
His expression changed from fear to unmistakable horror.
I whispered, “Whose ring is that?”
May you like
Dante answered without looking at me.
“My brother's.”
