Chapter 4 - CLARA’S LAST MESSAGE
No one trusted anyone by midnight.
Victor Novak sat handcuffed to a chair inside a secure conference room on the forty-second floor.
Vincent sat at the opposite end of the table, wrists bound separately.
Sal Genovese occupied a third chair.
Dante stood near the windows.
Emily stood at the conference monitor.
Owen, after refusing a hospital evaluation, had been returned to Havenbrook with two Marino security officers and an extremely detailed written complaint prepared by Emily during the ride back downtown.
The shootout at St. Agnes had lasted less than four minutes.
Two men were wounded.
No one had died.
Emily considered that a surprisingly successful Thursday.
She was also running on fourteen hours without proper food.
“Before anyone reveals another nine-year-old conspiracy,” she said, “I’m ordering sandwiches.”
Dante looked at her.
Victor Novak stared.
Vincent blinked.
Sal raised one hand.
“Turkey, if possible.”
Emily pointed at him.
“You are in no position to request condiments.”
She ordered thirty sandwiches.
Then she returned to Clara’s bank records.
The Swiss account had not contained money.
That had been the first surprise.
It contained a digital safety-deposit contract.
A secure archive.
Clara had purchased it under a false identity.
Emily gained access using a key Sal had bought with the stolen three million.
“I didn’t steal it for myself,” Sal said again.
Dante ignored him.
Emily opened the archive.
Four files appeared.
LEDGER.
PHOTOS.
AUDIO.
IF DANTE SURVIVES.
No one moved.
Emily looked at Dante.
His face had lost color.
“You don’t have to do this tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Dante—”
“Open it.”
She selected the final file.
Clara appeared on screen.
Nine years vanished from Dante’s face.
Emily had seen photographs.
Those had not prepared her for movement.
Clara Marino had dark hair cut to her shoulders, bright brown eyes, and the calm confidence of someone who had learned to survive difficult men without becoming hard herself.
The date in the corner read November 3.
Eight days before the bombing.
Clara looked directly into the camera.
“If you’re watching this, I was either wrong about everything or right about the worst thing.”
Dante lowered himself into a chair.
Emily had never seen him sit slowly.
Clara continued.
“Dante, I’m sorry.”
His jaw tightened.
“I should have told you sooner.”
She explained Giuseppe Marino’s hidden plan.
Dante’s father had built a fifty-million-dollar escape fund over twelve years.
Not because he wanted to abandon his son.
Because he wanted to save him.
Giuseppe had understood something Dante had not.
Empires built on fear eventually consumed the family sitting at the top.
Clara had discovered the accounts after Giuseppe’s death.
She planned to tell Dante.
Then someone began moving the money.
“Only three people besides me had full access to Giuseppe’s old codes,” Clara said.
Dante looked at Vincent.
Vincent did not move.
“Vincent Rizzo.”
The older man closed his eyes.
“Sal Genovese.”
Sal whispered, “God.”
“And Michael Baresi.”
Emily frowned.
“Who is Michael Baresi?”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“My chief financial officer.”
Emily stared.
“The man working three floors below us?”
“Yes.”
Michael Baresi was fifty-six.
Soft-spoken.
Married.
Two daughters at Northwestern.
He brought homemade biscotti into finance meetings.
Emily had eaten six of them during budget season.
Clara continued.
“I followed the transfers. Michael authorized several. Sal unknowingly processed others. Vincent questioned two.”
Vincent looked up sharply.
Dante turned toward him.
Clara continued.
“I don’t know which of them is responsible.”
Vincent whispered, “She knew.”
The recording continued.
“But someone is trying to make it look like Victor Novak.”
Victor leaned back.
Dante stared at him.
Clara said, “Victor sent me a warning.”
The conference room became silent.
“He heard someone was purchasing military explosives through a crew connected to his territory. He believed the target was Dante.”
Victor’s voice was quiet.
“I told her to leave Chicago.”
Clara continued.
“I didn’t tell Dante because I knew what he would do. He would go to war before we had proof.”
Dante stood abruptly.
His chair rolled backward.
Emily said nothing.
The recording continued.
“If something happens to me, Dante, do not become the thing they expect.”
His face tightened.
“Please.”
Clara smiled sadly at the camera.
“You think fear protects the people you love.”
Dante looked down.
“It doesn’t.”
The words seemed to fill every corner of the room.
“It only makes them afraid to tell you when danger is coming.”
Emily felt something inside her chest ache.
Clara continued.
“You still laugh when you forget to be angry.”
Dante’s eyes closed.
“You still sing badly in the shower.”
Victor glanced at Sal.
Sal looked fascinated.
Clara smiled.
“And you still secretly hate olives even though you pretend otherwise because your father loved them.”
Emily looked at Dante.
He opened his eyes.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking something.”
“You hate olives?”
“Emily.”
She pressed her lips together.
Even Vincent almost smiled.
Then Clara became serious.
“If I die, live anyway.”
Dante stopped breathing.
“Do you understand me?”
The recording was nine years old.
Yet everyone in the room felt as if Clara were speaking directly to him.
“Live anyway.”
The screen went black.
Dante walked out.
No one tried to stop him.
Emily waited thirty seconds.
Then followed.
She found him in his private office standing before the windows.
Chicago glittered below.
For years, Dante had stared at the city because it was easier than looking at people.
Emily stood several feet behind him.
“I didn’t know,” he said.
“I know.”
“She asked me to live.”
Emily stayed quiet.
“I did the opposite.”
“You survived.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
He turned.
His eyes were wet.
Not crying.
Close.
“I became exactly what she feared.”
Emily thought of the stories.
The silence.
The bodies.
The people who lowered their voices when Dante passed.
“Yes.”
His expression sharpened.
Most people would have lied.
Emily never did.
“You agree.”
“You’re asking whether terrorizing several hundred employees for nine years counts as emotional recovery?”
A broken sound escaped him.
Almost a laugh.
Almost grief.
Emily stepped closer.
“She didn’t ask you to stop loving her.”
“I know.”
“She asked you not to die with her.”
Dante looked at her.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then Dante said, “You should quit.”
Emily blinked.
“What?”
“This job.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Emily.”
“I have health insurance.”
“You were kidnapped by association.”
“My brother was kidnapped.”
“Exactly.”
“And your response is to eliminate my income?”
“I would pay for Owen’s care.”
“For how long?”
“As long as necessary.”
“No.”
His brow furrowed.
“No?”
“I am not becoming financially dependent on a Mafia boss because he developed guilt.”
“That is not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
Dante opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Emily waited.
His eyes dropped briefly toward her mouth.
That answered enough.
Emily’s heartbeat changed.
Dante stepped backward.
The distance returned.
Good.
Necessary.
Terrible.
A knock interrupted them.
Dante’s security chief entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Michael Baresi is gone.”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“Gone where?”
“He left the building seventeen minutes ago.”
“Find him.”
“We tried.”
The guard held out a tablet.
“His corporate phone is in his office.”
Emily walked closer.
“What about his car?”
“Still in the garage.”
Dante frowned.
“How did he leave?”
“We checked cameras.”
The guard opened a video.
Michael entered the service elevator on the thirty-ninth floor.
He carried a laptop bag.
The timestamp read 11:42 p.m.
The elevator descended.
The next video showed Michael entering the underground parking level.
Then nothing.
No exit.
No vehicle.
No stairwell footage.
Emily said, “He disappeared between two cameras?”
“Yes.”
She watched the clip again.
Something bothered her.
“Pause.”
The image froze.
Michael stood near a black SUV.
Emily zoomed in.
His reflection appeared faintly in the vehicle’s window.
Behind him was another person.
Only part of a face visible.
Dante leaned closer.
Vincent entered the room behind them.
His wrists were no longer restrained.
Dante turned sharply.
Vincent raised both hands.
“Your men released me after Clara’s recording.”
Emily pointed at the monitor.
“Who is that?”
Vincent looked.
His face changed.
Dante noticed.
“You know him.”
Vincent said nothing.
Dante stepped forward.
“Who?”
Vincent whispered a name.
“Gabriel Marino.”
Emily looked between them.
“Who is Gabriel?”
Dante’s face became unreadable.
“My uncle.”
“Where has he been?”
Dante stared at the screen.
“Dead.”
Emily exhaled slowly.
“Of course he has.”
Dante’s eyes remained fixed on the image.
Gabriel Marino.
Giuseppe’s younger brother.
A man killed in a warehouse fire fourteen years earlier.
Except apparently not.
Emily folded her arms.
“I would like to formally request that everyone in this family stop coming back from the dead.”
Dante looked at her.
Against all reason—
he laughed.
Only once.
A quiet breath of sound.
Then the security alarm began screaming.
Red lights flashed.
The elevators locked.
A voice came over the emergency system.
“Unauthorized access detected in the financial archive.”
Emily looked toward the computer.
Someone was inside the building.
Someone trying to erase Clara’s evidence.
And according to the security panel—
May you like
they were on the forty-second floor.
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