Chapter 4 - The Night at Pier NineThey met in a church.
Isabella chose it because neither Morty brother would dare turn Saint Michael's into a battlefield.
Dante arrived alone.
That surprised her.
He wore a charcoal suit, no tie, and exhaustion beneath his eyes.
For the first time Isabella noticed his age not in the silver at his temples but in the heaviness around his mouth.
He stopped ten feet away.
She did not invite him closer.
“Tell me.”
Dante looked toward the altar.
“Your father called me at 11:38 that night.”
Isabella remembered the date perfectly.
She had been eighteen.
Waiting at home.
Carlo never returned.
“He told me Lorenzo had arranged a shipment through Pier Nine. He had evidence and wanted to give it to me.”
“You went there?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I found Carlo bleeding beside his car.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Was he alive?”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more.
“What did he say?”
Dante's eyes met hers.
“He said Lorenzo.”
Isabella looked away.
“I tried to get him to a hospital. He died before we reached the gate.”
“Then why did you lie?”
“Because Lorenzo had disappeared, and three captains were already preparing for war. If the Bellandis learned a Morty had killed Carlo, dozens of people would have died.”
“So you protected your family.”
“Yes.”
“At the expense of mine.”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
She had expected excuses.
Dante's honesty was somehow more painful.
“And marrying me?”
“Your uncle proposed the marriage to stop retaliation.”
“And you agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dante hesitated.
“Initially?”
She almost smiled bitterly.
“That's usually how questions work.”
“Because it solved the problem.”
There it was.
Her marriage reduced to strategy.
“But before the wedding,” he continued, “I promised myself you would never pay for what Lorenzo did.”
Isabella stared.
“You controlled my inheritance.”
“To keep Lorenzo away from it.”
“You controlled me.”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“I told myself they were the same thing.”
“And were they?”
“No.”
The church became very quiet.
Dante reached into his jacket.
Marco immediately stepped from the rear pew.
Dante stopped.
Isabella had not told him Marco was there.
Something almost approving crossed Dante's face.
“Good.”
“Slowly.”
Dante removed an envelope.
He placed it on the pew between them.
“Documents restoring every Bellandi asset. My attorneys filed them this morning.”
She did not touch them.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“I don't believe you.”
“You shouldn't.”
That answer silenced her.
Dante stepped backward.
“Lorenzo killed your father. I hid the truth. Whatever distinction exists between those acts is yours to decide.”
He turned to leave.
“Dante.”
He stopped.
“Why Boston?”
His shoulders stiffened.
She saw it.
“Tell me.”
He faced her again.
“Lorenzo told me he had found Carlo's missing ledger page. He said we needed to meet privately.”
“And?”
“There was no page.”
“A trap?”
“An opportunity. He wanted my signature transferring Bellandi voting rights permanently.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
That surprised her.
“Why?”
Dante's gaze held hers.
“Because it was yours.”
Isabella almost laughed.
“You knew that for six years.”
“Yes.”
“What changed?”
His eyes dropped.
“You turned twenty-five.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“What changed?”
Dante looked at her for a long moment.
Then said quietly:
“I realized I had spent six years waiting for you to become old enough to stop needing my protection, while making certain you could never become independent enough to leave it.”
That landed harder than any declaration of love could have.
“Then I heard Lorenzo joke about you.”
Her expression hardened.
“And you agreed.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Dante's face changed.
Shame.
She had never seen shame on him.
“Because cruelty is easy when the person you're hurting isn't in the room.”
Isabella's eyes burned.
“And now?”
“Now the room is empty.”
He looked at her.
“And I understand what was in it.”
Dante left.
She remained in the church.
For the first time, she did not know what to feel.
Hatred would have been easier.
But Dante had returned her assets without conditions.
That did not erase six years.
It merely complicated them.
Three days later, Isabella moved into her father's old Providence townhouse.
She reopened Bellandi Harbor under independent management.
She hired investigators.
She replaced every Morty-appointed director.
And she discovered she was very good at running the company.
Not because Dante had taught her.
Because she had quietly been doing pieces of it for years.
Then Eleanor brought her another discovery.
“The missing ledger page.”
Isabella stood.
“You found it?”
“No.”
Eleanor placed a bank statement down.
“Someone is selling it.”
“To whom?”
“Lorenzo.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he wired five million dollars into an escrow account this morning.”
“Who owns the account?”
Eleanor hesitated.
“A woman named Celeste Marino.”
Isabella knew the name.
Everyone did.
Celeste had been Dante's fiancée twenty-seven years ago.
Before Isabella was born.
She had vanished from Morty society after marrying another man.
“What does she have to do with my father?”
Eleanor's expression darkened.
“Maybe nothing.”
Then she slid over a photograph.
Isabella stared.
It showed Carlo Bellandi leaving a restaurant.
Beside him walked Celeste.
The date stamped on the photograph was three days before Carlo's murder.
On the back someone had written:
Carlo knew the wrong Morty brother was being blamed.
Isabella looked up sharply.
“What does that mean?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Isabella reached for her phone.
Then it rang first.
Dante.
She answered.
His voice was low.
“Isabella, don't go home.”
Her blood chilled.
“Why?”
“Because Lorenzo isn't after you anymore.”
“What?”
“He knows you copied the ledger.”
“So?”
May you like
Dante's next words changed everything.
“He took Maria.”
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