Chapter 3 - The Dead Brother
“Your brother is dead.”
Dante closed the bathroom door behind his guards.
“That is what everyone believes.”
I stared at him.
“You told me you watched Luca die.”
“I watched his car explode.”
“That's not the same thing?”
“I thought it was.”
There was something almost offensive about the calmness of his voice.
For two years, I had known Dante's childhood in fragments. His father had raised two sons inside a violent empire. Dante was the disciplined one. Luca was reckless, charming, adored.
At twenty-six, Luca supposedly died when his car exploded outside Brooklyn.
Dante became heir.
Five years later, his father died.
Dante became everything.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“A lot.”
“Of course.”
He winced.
Good.
I wanted the truth to hurt him.
He took a breath.
“Six months ago, money began disappearing from companies connected to the family. Not thousands. Millions.”
“And you thought Bianca's father was stealing it?”
“At first.”
“Then?”
“We found transfers authorized with Luca's old encryption key.”
A chill moved through me.
“You think he's alive?”
“I don't know.”
“Bianca apparently does.”
Dante's gaze hardened.
“Bianca knows enough to get herself killed.”
“And what do I know?”
His eyes met mine.
“Too much now.”
I laughed bitterly.
“There it is. The Moretti solution. Hide Elena somewhere until the men finish deciding reality for her.”
“Elena—”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You don't get to do this again.”
His expression tightened.
“You watched me leave that hotel.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me believe you had betrayed me.”
“Yes.”
“For three months.”
His voice dropped.
“Yes.”
“And you could have told me?”
“I could have told you part of it.”
“Then why didn't you?”
“Because the first surveillance photograph of you appeared forty-eight hours after you left.”
I stopped.
Dante removed his phone.
He opened an encrypted folder and handed it to me.
Photographs.
Me leaving my apartment.
Me buying coffee.
Me sitting beside my mother in Central Park.
Me walking into my office.
The dates covered twelve weeks.
My stomach turned.
“Who took these?”
“We don't know.”
“You knew I was being followed?”
“I had men watching whoever was watching you.”
“And you said nothing?”
“If you knew, you would change your behavior. Whoever was watching would know I had warned you.”
My anger collided with fear.
“You let me think you didn't care.”
“I needed them to think the same thing.”
There it was.
The terrible logic of loving Dante Moretti.
He could sacrifice his own happiness with ruthless precision.
Unfortunately, he had sacrificed mine too.
“You should have trusted me.”
“I should have.”
No defense.
No excuse.
Just agreement.
It disarmed me more effectively than an argument would have.
A gunshot cracked somewhere downstairs.
Dante moved instantly.
He pushed me behind him as shouting erupted beyond the corridor.
Another shot.
Then another.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Elena.”
“You spent three months making decisions for me. We're finished with that.”
His mouth almost twitched despite the danger.
“You choose tonight to become impossible?”
“I learned from you.”
He looked at one of his guards.
“Marco, get her to the east garage.”
I folded my arms.
“Try.”
Marco suddenly became fascinated by the carpet.
Dante swore under his breath.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Where?”
Silence.
“Alive?”
Another pause.
“I'm coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
“Bianca.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about her?”
“They found her downstairs.”
“Dead?”
“Alive. Barely.”
The service corridor behind the ballroom had become a crime scene.
Bianca lay against the wall with blood staining her black dress.
A bullet had passed through her shoulder.
She saw me.
“Elena.”
I knelt beside her before Dante could stop me.
“Where's the drive?”
“I don't have it.”
A weak smile touched Bianca's mouth.
“I know.”
“What?”
“I switched it.”
She lifted her trembling hand.
Around her wrist was a diamond bracelet.
One stone was missing.
“A microdrive,” she whispered. “Inside the clasp.”
Dante crouched.
“Who shot you?”
Bianca looked directly at him.
“Your brother.”
The corridor became silent.
Dante's face showed nothing.
But I knew him.
I saw the tiny movement in his eyes.
Hope.
Pain.
Rage.
All at once.
“You saw Luca?”
“He was here.”
“Where?”
“He wanted Elena.”
Dante went completely still.
Bianca looked at me.
“He said Dante took everything that belonged to him.”
I didn't understand.
Then Bianca whispered the sentence that made Dante's hand curl into a fist.
“He said that includes you.”
A crash came from the ballroom.
People screamed.
Dante stood and pulled me behind him.
The chandelier lights went black.
The giant screen above the orchestra stage suddenly illuminated.
Security footage appeared.
Dante entering hotels.
Dante meeting politicians.
Dante exchanging envelopes with judges.
Carefully edited fragments of years of private business.
Then the image changed.
A man appeared onscreen.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A scar across his cheek.
He looked enough like Dante to make the entire ballroom understand before he spoke.
“Good evening, brother.”
Dante stared upward.
Luca Moretti smiled from the screen.
“Did you miss me?”
Gasps spread through the crowd.
Luca leaned toward the camera.
“I've spent five years watching you enjoy my inheritance, my city, my name.”
Then his eyes seemed to look directly through the camera toward me.
“And apparently my woman.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I turned toward Dante.
“What does he mean?”
Dante didn't answer.
Onscreen, Luca smiled wider.
“Elena deserves the truth.”
The image disappeared.
Every phone in the ballroom chimed simultaneously.
Mine too.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
ASK DANTE WHO ARRANGED YOUR FIRST MEETING.
I looked at him.
Dante closed his eyes.
May you like
And I knew.
Our love story had begun with another lie.
