Chapter 4 - The Brother in the Snow
Dante did not shout.
That frightened Elena more.
He closed the conference-room door and turned the lock.
“Explain.”
Salvatore sat.
“In 2001, your father discovered someone inside the organization was selling shipping routes to the Bellandi family.”
“My father blamed Matteo.”
“He was wrong.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“You told me Matteo died in the warehouse fire.”
“I told you what your father ordered me to tell you.”
Dante crossed the room.
For one terrible second, Elena thought he might strike his uncle.
He stopped inches away.
“You let a fourteen-year-old boy bury an empty coffin.”
Salvatore’s face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Matteo had discovered who the real traitor was.”
“Who?”
Salvatore looked toward the floor.
“Me.”
Silence.
Elena instinctively covered her stomach.
Salvatore spoke before Dante could.
“I wasn’t selling your father’s routes for money. The federal government had threatened to charge your sister, Sofia, for financial crimes your father committed using her name. I gave an investigator information to keep her out of prison.”
“Sofia died six months later.”
“In a car accident.”
Dante’s laugh was empty.
“You expect me to believe in accidents?”
“No.”
That answer changed everything.
Salvatore explained that Matteo had discovered the arrangement. Their father, Vittorio Moretti, believed his eldest son was the informant. A beating followed. Matteo survived only because Salvatore smuggled him from Philadelphia and staged his death during a warehouse fire.
“Where did he go?”
“Canada first. Then Europe. I sent money for years.”
“And then?”
“He stopped taking it.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
Elena looked at the photograph.
The same year she saved Dante.
Dante understood too.
“He came back.”
Salvatore nodded.
“He believed you inherited everything that should have been his.”
“I was fourteen when he disappeared.”
“Grief doesn’t always care about logic.”
Dante turned toward the windows.
Snow covered Philadelphia.
Somewhere beyond the glass was a brother he had mourned for twenty-two years.
And apparently that brother wanted his wife.
Or his child.
Or both.
Elena watched Dante carefully.
Then Salvatore said, “There’s something else.”
Dante laughed once.
“Of course there is.”
“The 2001 ledger Vanessa was ordered to steal contains proof that Matteo survived.”
“Why would he want it destroyed?”
“He doesn’t.”
Vanessa frowned.
“Then why order me to access it?”
“He wants to know where it is.”
Dante looked at her.
“Do you?”
Vanessa shook her head.
Elena suddenly remembered something.
“The clinic contracts.”
Everyone turned.
“What about them?” Dante asked.
“The stack Vanessa’s scarf was lying on. They weren’t only clinic contracts. I put an old property deed underneath them because I wanted you to look at it.”
“What property?”
“The original Carter Free Clinic building.”
Dante’s expression shifted.
Elena’s mother had worked there.
So had Rosa.
It was where Elena had trained before becoming a registered nurse.
“The building used to belong to Moretti Maritime,” Elena said. “I found that out yesterday.”
Salvatore stood.
“When?”
“Until 2002.”
His face drained.
Dante noticed.
“What is it?”
Salvatore whispered, “That was where I hid Matteo.”
Elena’s pulse quickened.
The old clinic had been closed for renovation for two weeks.
Nobody should be inside.
Dante was already reaching for his phone.
Elena grabbed his wrist.
“You are not going alone.”
His gaze dropped to her hand.
Then to her stomach.
“No.”
“Don’t start.”
“You nearly went into labor six hours ago.”
“And I’m not suggesting I kick down doors.”
“Elena—”
“The property is legally controlled by the clinic foundation. Security codes were changed last month. Your men won’t get inside without triggering the alarm.”
Dante stared at her.
“I know the code.”
Twenty minutes later, Elena sat inside an armored SUV between Maria and Salvatore while Dante’s convoy crossed Philadelphia.
Nobody spoke.
The clinic appeared beneath gray morning skies.
Dante’s men entered first.
Clear.
Second floor.
Clear.
Basement.
Clear.
Then one guard called over the radio.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Dante looked up.
“We found something.”
They entered the old records room.
A folding chair sat beneath a bare bulb.
On the wall were hundreds of photographs.
Elena leaving work.
Dante entering restaurants.
The estate.
Their wedding.
Their honeymoon.
Ultrasound appointments.
And in the center was a photograph of Elena sleeping.
Taken inside their bedroom.
Dante stopped breathing.
Elena stared at it.
Someone had been inside their home.
Beneath the photograph was a note.
Little brother, you took my life. Now I’ll take yours.
A sound came from behind the wall.
Dante pulled Elena behind him.
His men raised their weapons.
A hidden panel opened.
A man stepped into the doorway.
Tall.
Gray at the temples.
A scar running from his ear toward his jaw.
Dante’s gun slipped half an inch downward.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
An older, harder version of Dante.
The man smiled.
“Hello, little brother.”
Dante whispered a name he had not spoken to a living person in twenty-two years.
“Matteo.”
Matteo looked past him.
Directly at Elena.
Then at her stomach.
His smile disappeared.
“Get her out of here.”
A gunshot exploded upstairs.
Matteo’s head snapped toward the ceiling.
“That wasn’t my man.”
Another shot.
Then another.
Matteo looked at Dante.
“You idiot.”
“What?”
“I’m not the one hunting your wife.”
The lights went out.
May you like
And somewhere upstairs, a woman screamed.
Vanessa.
