Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Dante’s villa did not look like a safe house.
It looked like a palace pretending not to be one.
Clare stood inside the entrance beneath a centuries-old ceiling while Maya stared at a marble staircase.
“You live here?”
“Sometimes,” Dante said.
Maya nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s too big.”
Clare nearly laughed.
Dante actually did.
The sound surprised everyone.
A housekeeper named Sofia prepared rooms for Clare and Maya.
Clare refused the bedroom beside Dante’s.
“Other end of the hall.”
Dante raised an eyebrow.
“Afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
The honesty struck him harder than an insult.
She continued.
“But not for the reason you think.”
“What reason?”
“I’m afraid of getting used to feeling protected.”
Then she walked away.
Dante remained motionless.
Marco appeared behind him.
“That woman is dangerous.”
Dante looked over.
Marco shrugged.
“You smiled twice today.”
“Find the photographer.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And Richard Peterson.”
Marco’s expression sharpened.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Three hours later, Clare found Dante alone in a library.
Leo slept against his chest.
The feared man she had seen commanding bodyguards now paced slowly while patting a baby’s back.
“You’re holding him wrong.”
Dante stopped.
“He’s asleep.”
“His head is tilted.”
“He’s still asleep.”
“He’ll wake with gas.”
Dante sighed.
“Show me.”
Clare adjusted Leo against his shoulder.
Their hands touched.
Both went still.
Clare stepped backward first.
Then she noticed a framed photograph on the desk.
A beautiful dark-haired woman.
Alessia.
“You loved her.”
Dante looked at the photograph.
“Yes.”
“How did she die?”
His expression closed.
“An explosion.”
“You said it was meant for you.”
“Yes.”
Clare waited.
He gave her nothing else.
Then Marco entered carrying a folder.
“Sorry.”
His eyes shifted toward Clare.
Dante understood.
“She stays.”
Marco placed the folder down.
“Richard Peterson. Forty-one. Financial consultant. Two complaints for domestic disturbance. Neither resulted in charges.”
Clare looked away.
Dante noticed.
Marco continued.
“He has substantial gambling debt.”
“How substantial?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
Clare turned.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Marco said. “It’s documented.”
“To whom?”
Marco looked at Dante.
That silence answered the question.
Criminal lenders.
Clare sat down.
Richard had always controlled their money.
Every purchase.
Every bank statement.
Every dollar she earned before he pressured her to leave nursing.
“You didn’t quit,” Dante said.
Clare looked at him.
“What?”
“Your job.”
She swallowed.
“Richard said Maya needed me home.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“I didn’t want to quit.”
Dante’s eyes darkened.
Marco continued carefully.
“There’s more. Richard recently received two hundred thousand dollars.”
“From whom?”
“A shell company.”
Dante opened the folder.
The company name stopped him.
Vescari Holdings.
Marco saw the recognition.
“So you know it.”
Dante closed the folder.
Clare stood.
“What is Vescari Holdings?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Her expression hardened instantly.
“No.”
Dante looked at her.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide what I’m allowed to know because you think ignorance will keep me safe.”
Dante said nothing.
Clare stepped closer.
“I spent seven years with a man who controlled information so he could control me. If I’m staying under your roof, don’t become another version of him.”
Marco suddenly found the bookshelf fascinating.
Dante’s voice was quiet.
“Vescari Holdings belongs to Luca Vescari.”
“Who is he?”
“My enemy.”
“And Richard took money from him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Clare’s face went pale.
Then Leo stirred.
She reached instinctively toward him.
Something fell from the blanket.
The stuffed rabbit.
Maya’s Bun.
Clare smiled faintly.
Then she noticed the photograph beside it.
Alessia.
The woman’s face caught the light.
Clare stopped breathing.
“What?”
Dante followed her stare.
Clare picked up the photograph.
“I’ve seen her.”
Dante went completely still.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Clare stared at Alessia’s face.
Memory returned in fragments.
A hospital corridor.
Blood.
A terrified pregnant woman.
Security outside a private room.
“I worked at St. Matthew’s in Manhattan before Maya was born.”
Dante took one step toward her.
“Clare.”
“She came in under another name.”
“When?”
“Almost four years ago.”
Dante’s voice became dangerously soft.
“Alessia had never been pregnant before Leo.”
Clare looked at him.
“I didn’t say she was the patient.”
Silence.
“She brought someone in.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. A young woman. Pregnant. Terrified.”
Clare’s eyes narrowed as the memory sharpened.
“Alessia kept asking us not to record her name.”
Dante gripped the desk.
“What happened to the woman?”
“She delivered a baby.”
“A boy or girl?”
Clare looked at him.
“A girl.”
From the doorway came a tiny voice.
“Mommy?”
Everyone turned.
Maya stood there holding the banister.
Behind her, one of Dante’s security guards was running down the hallway.
“Mr. Salvatore!”
Dante turned.
“Sir, the west gate camera just went down.”
May you like
Marco reached for his weapon.
Then every light in the villa went black.
