Chapter 5 - The Price of LoyaltyMaria had served the Morty family for twenty-three years.
To Isabella, she had been something else.
Witness.
Confidante.
Sometimes mother.
Lorenzo understood exactly what he had taken.
His message arrived thirty minutes later.
Ledger and recorder. Midnight. Pier Nine. Come alone.
Isabella showed Dante.
“No.”
She folded the phone.
“That's not your decision.”
“It becomes my decision when he's using you as bait.”
“There it is again.”
Dante stopped.
“That voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one that assumes protection gives you ownership.”
He absorbed the blow.
Then nodded.
“You're right.”
It was so unexpected Isabella lost her next sentence.
Dante took a breath.
“What do you want to do?”
The question mattered.
More than he knew.
“I want Lorenzo to believe I'm coming alone.”
Dante's expression changed.
Then slowly, almost reluctantly, he smiled.
Not condescending.
Impressed.
“All right.”
At 11:57 p.m., Isabella drove onto Pier Nine.
Alone.
At least visibly.
The same waterfront where her father died waited beneath sodium lights and cold Atlantic wind.
Lorenzo stood beside Warehouse 4.
Maria was tied to a chair inside.
Her lip was bleeding.
Isabella's composure nearly broke.
Lorenzo smiled.
“My brother's little horse finally learned to wander.”
“Let her go.”
“The evidence.”
Isabella raised a flash drive.
“First Maria.”
“No.”
“You kill her, you get nothing.”
Lorenzo studied her.
“You've changed.”
“No. You just never looked at me.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“Dante has.”
“Too late.”
“Is it?”
Isabella said nothing.
Lorenzo laughed.
“Oh, that's interesting.”
He stepped closer.
“Do you know why Dante married you?”
“I know.”
“No, sweetheart. You know the noble version.”
She stiffened.
“He didn't marry you merely to prevent war. He married you because your father asked him to.”
Isabella's heart stumbled.
“Liar.”
“Carlo knew someone wanted him dead. He asked Dante to protect you.”
“Then why would Dante hide that?”
“Because Dante doesn't like admitting he obeyed a dying man.”
Isabella kept her expression still.
“Maria.”
Lorenzo sighed.
He gestured.
A guard untied her.
Maria stood shakily.
“Walk.”
She crossed the warehouse.
When she reached Isabella, Lorenzo extended his hand.
“The drive.”
Isabella tossed it.
He caught it.
Maria whispered, “I'm sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
Then Lorenzo plugged the drive into a laptop.
The screen opened.
Empty.
His face changed.
Isabella stepped backward.
“You really thought I'd bring the only copies?”
Lorenzo drew a gun.
Floodlights exploded across the warehouse.
Dante's men emerged from three entrances.
Police sirens followed.
Lorenzo grabbed Isabella.
The gun pressed against her ribs.
Dante walked in.
He had no weapon in his hands.
His face went still when he saw the gun.
“Let her go.”
Lorenzo laughed.
“You always did want what belonged to someone else.”
“She doesn't belong to me.”
Isabella heard it.
So did Lorenzo.
For the first time, Dante had said it where everyone could hear.
Lorenzo's smile disappeared.
“You've become weak.”
“No.”
Dante's gaze remained on Isabella.
“I became late.”
Lorenzo dragged her toward the loading door.
Then Maria moved.
The sixty-year-old housekeeper kicked Lorenzo behind the knee.
The gun shifted.
Isabella drove her elbow backward.
A shot exploded.
Dante lunged.
Lorenzo went down.
The weapon skidded across concrete.
Men rushed forward.
But Lorenzo escaped through a side loading gate, diving into a waiting car before police sealed the road.
Isabella barely noticed.
Dante was on the floor.
Blood spread across his white shirt.
“Dante.”
She dropped beside him.
His hand pressed his side.
“I'm fine.”
“You've been shot.”
“I've had worse.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
He almost smiled.
She pressed both hands against the wound.
His blood warmed her fingers.
“Stay awake.”
“Bossy.”
“Dante.”
His eyes focused on her.
There was no Don Morty in them now.
Only a tired man.
“I didn't sign it.”
“What?”
“The transfer.”
“I know.”
“No. Boston.”
His breathing hitched.
“I went because Lorenzo said he'd destroy your trust if I didn't sign. I told him I'd burn every Morty company first.”
“Stop talking.”
“I should've told you.”
“Yes.”
“I should've told you everything.”
“Yes.”
“Bella—”
Her eyes filled.
“Don't.”
“I love you.”
She froze.
Six years.
She had once imagined those words so often that eventually she stopped imagining them.
Now he said them on a warehouse floor with blood between her fingers.
It was almost cruel.
“You don't get to say that now.”
“I know.”
His eyes closed.
“Dante!”
Paramedics rushed in.
Hours later, Isabella sat outside surgery.
Maria slept against her shoulder.
Marco stood nearby.
At 4:16 a.m., the surgeon emerged.
“He'll live.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Relief hurt.
She visited Dante the next morning.
He looked pale and irritated by the hospital.
“You stayed.”
“Maria needed somewhere to sleep.”
“Of course.”
He did not ask whether she had stayed for him.
That was new.
Isabella approached the bed.
“I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“Did my father ask you to marry me?”
Dante's face went still.
So Lorenzo had told the truth.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were nineteen and grieving. If I told you it was Carlo's wish, you would have felt obligated to stay forever.”
She stared at him.
“I stayed anyway.”
“I know.”
“Would you have let me leave?”
Dante looked toward the window.
“Six months ago?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Her heart sank.
“And now?”
His eyes returned to hers.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“Even if I never come back?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
She believed him.
That frightened her almost as much as the alternative.
Then Marco entered carrying an envelope.
“Sorry.”
He handed it to Isabella.
“No return address.”
Inside was a single ledger page.
The missing one.
And a note.
Lorenzo did not order Carlo Bellandi's murder.
Below it:
Ask Dante who did.
Isabella slowly looked toward her husband.
Dante's face had gone white.
Not from blood loss.
Recognition.
“You know,” she whispered.
May you like
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
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