Chapter 4 - The Brother Buried Without a Body
Dante Falcone had spent eleven years believing his younger brother was dead.
His name was Gabriel.
And according to the story everyone in Chicago knew, Gabriel Falcone had been killed at twenty-four during a warehouse explosion near the river.
There had been a funeral.
A sealed coffin.
A grieving family.
But no body had ever been identified.
I learned all this in the back seat of Dante's armored SUV while Sophia slept against my shoulder.
Dante sat opposite us, staring at a photograph on his phone.
It showed two young men standing beside a motorcycle.
One was unmistakably Dante.
The other had lighter eyes, a crooked smile, and a tiny bird tattoo on the inside of his wrist.
"That's him," I whispered.
Dante nodded.
"Gabriel got the tattoo when he was eighteen. Our mother called him her little sparrow because he was always trying to escape the house."
"Why would someone fake his death?"
"I don't know."
"Could he have survived the explosion?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't he come home?"
Dante looked at the photograph.
"That's what I intend to ask him."
I watched Sophia sleep.
She had no idea that her innocent imitation of a lonely man's walk had dragged us into a mystery involving murder, family betrayal, and a dead brother who might not be dead at all.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe."
"You said the estate was safe."
Dante met my eyes.
"I was wrong."
The admission surprised me.
Men like Dante Falcone weren't supposed to admit mistakes.
But he said it without hesitation.
"I won't make that mistake twice."
We arrived at a large brick house in Lincoln Park, surrounded by mature trees and an iron fence.
Inside, an older woman waited near the staircase.
She had silver hair, kind brown eyes, and a face that changed completely when she saw Sophia.
"Oh, my goodness."
Sophia woke.
"Where are we?"
Dante crouched beside her.
"This is Mrs. Bellini. She's going to help your mother while we figure something out."
The woman smiled.
"Hello, sweetheart. My name is Teresa."
Sophia examined her.
"Do you have pancakes?"
Teresa laughed.
"I certainly do."
Sophia looked at Dante.
"See? She knows."
He almost smiled.
Teresa led my daughter toward the kitchen.
I waited until they were gone.
"Mr. Falcone, I need to know something."
"Ask."
"Are you protecting Sophia because she helped you? Or because you think someone might hurt her?"
His expression grew serious.
"Both."
"Then tell me how dangerous this really is."
He hesitated.
And that hesitation gave me my answer.
"Rosa, Carmela was investigating financial records before she died. I didn't know until yesterday."
"What records?"
"Money disappearing from companies my family controls. Payments made through shell businesses. Transfers connected to people who were supposed to be dead."
"Gabriel?"
"Possibly."
"And your uncle?"
"His signature appears on several authorizations."
I leaned against the wall.
"Did Carmela know?"
"She knew enough to be frightened."
His voice roughened.
"She tried to tell me something the morning she died. I was distracted by a dispute with another family. I told her we'd talk that evening."
He looked away.
"We never did."
For the first time, I understood the weight behind his daily walk.
It wasn't only grief.
It was guilt.
"That doesn't mean her death was your fault," I said.
He looked at me sharply.
"You don't know what I've done."
"No," I answered. "But I know what regret looks like."
He said nothing.
I thought of Sophia's father.
Of the promises he'd made.
Of the hospital corridor where I'd waited alone after my daughter was born.
"I know what it's like to replay one conversation and wish you'd said something different."
Dante studied me.
"Where is Sophia's father?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Gone."
"Dead?"
"No."
I folded my arms.
"He left before she was born."
Dante's expression tightened.
"Does he know about her?"
"Yes."
"And he never came back?"
"Not once."
Something cold passed through Dante's eyes.
"Then he's a fool."
I didn't know what to say.
Before I could answer, Marco entered.
"Boss. We found something."
He placed a tablet on the table.
Security footage filled the screen.
The west corridor.
Three days earlier.
A man in a maintenance uniform stepped out of the hidden passage near Carmela's sitting room.
His face was partly obscured by a baseball cap.
But his wrist was visible.
A small bird tattoo.
Dante leaned forward.
"Gabriel."
Marco nodded.
"Facial comparison is consistent, though the footage isn't clear enough for confirmation."
The man looked down the corridor.
Then toward the camera.
For one second, he lifted his head.
His lips moved.
Marco paused the recording.
"We had a lip-reading specialist examine it."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"What did he say?"
Marco swallowed.
"He said, 'Tell Dante I'm sorry.'"
Silence filled the room.
Then Marco continued.
"There's something else."
He changed the video.
A second figure entered the hallway.
An older man wearing a gray suit.
Vittorio Falcone.
My breath caught.
Vittorio stopped beside Gabriel.
They exchanged words.
Then Vittorio struck him across the face.
Dante's hand closed into a fist.
"What did he say?"
Marco hesitated.
"Boss—"
"What did he say?"
Marco looked at me, then back at Dante.
"The specialist believes Vittorio said, 'You already killed his wife. Don't make me bury the child too.'"
My knees weakened.
The child.
Sophia.
I stared at the screen.
"Why would they threaten my daughter?"
Dante didn't answer.
He was looking at the footage again.
At Gabriel.
At Vittorio.
At the timestamp.
Then he whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"That video was recorded before Sophia ever found the music box."
May you like
He turned toward me.
"Rosa, someone knew your daughter would be involved before she did."
