Chapter 6 - The Bride Who Changed Sides
Elena wanted to make the exchange.
Dante refused.
They argued for eleven minutes.
Then Elena picked up Sofia’s ledger and headed for the door anyway.
Dante blocked her.
“Move.”
“No.”
“That is my mother.”
“And Charles will kill both of you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know men like Charles.”
“So do I now.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“You don’t get to decide which risks I’m allowed to take.”
Dante stared at her.
“Then we decide together.”
That stopped her.
Not command.
Not permission.
Together.
“All right.”
They built a plan.
Charles demanded Elena come alone to an unfinished Harlow luxury tower near the river.
She would.
What Charles would not know was that the ledger she carried was a duplicate and Dante’s people would already be inside.
At 11:20 p.m., Elena entered the building.
Charles Harlow waited on the twenty-second floor.
Isabel sat nearby, wrists bound.
Vittorio stood beside her.
Seeing them together made Sofia’s story suddenly real.
Charles smiled.
“Elena.”
“Let her go.”
“The ledger.”
She held it up.
“Mother first.”
Vittorio laughed.
“She has spirit.”
Elena looked at him.
“So did Sofia.”
The smile vanished.
“Careful.”
“No.”
She took another step.
“You’ve had seven years of people being careful around you.”
Charles lifted a gun.
“Ledger.”
Elena tossed it onto the concrete floor.
Charles retrieved it.
He flipped through several pages.
Then smiled.
“Good girl.”
“Now my mother.”
Instead, Vittorio raised his weapon.
Elena’s stomach dropped.
Charles frowned.
“We agreed.”
Vittorio pointed the gun at Charles.
“No. You assumed.”
Charles barely had time to react.
A gunshot cracked.
He fell.
Isabel screamed.
Elena froze.
Vittorio calmly lowered the weapon.
“You always were disposable, Charles.”
Then the lights died.
Dante.
Elena dropped.
Gunfire erupted.
Men shouted.
She crawled toward her mother.
“Elena!”
“I’m here.”
She reached Isabel and worked at the restraints.
Emergency lights flickered red.
A figure appeared.
Vittorio.
He grabbed Elena by the hair and pulled her upright.
A gun pressed beneath her jaw.
“Dante!”
Everything stopped.
Dante emerged from the darkness.
Blood marked his shirt, but he was standing.
His gun pointed at Vittorio.
“Release her.”
“Drop it.”
“Don’t,” Elena whispered.
Vittorio tightened his grip.
Dante dropped the gun.
It hit concrete.
“You see?” Vittorio whispered to Elena. “Weakness.”
Then another voice came from behind him.
“No.”
Vivien.
She stood near the stairwell holding Charles’s fallen weapon.
Her hands shook violently.
Vittorio turned slightly.
“Put that down.”
Vivien’s face was wet with tears.
“You killed Sofia.”
“You helped.”
“I know.”
The words nearly broke her.
“I’ve known every day for seven years.”
“Then you know what happens to people who interfere.”
Vivien looked at Elena.
“I invited you because my father told me to.”
Elena stared at her.
“But I winked at you because I hated you.”
Her voice cracked.
“I hated that you could still look at me without becoming what I was.”
“Vivien—”
“I’m sorry.”
Vittorio moved.
Vivien fired.
The bullet struck his shoulder.
Dante moved instantly.
He crossed the distance and slammed Vittorio to the floor.
Security flooded the room.
Within seconds, it was over.
Isabel was free.
Charles was alive but badly wounded.
Vittorio was restrained.
Vivien dropped the gun.
Marcus appeared from the stairwell.
She looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
He did not embrace her.
But he took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.
That was all.
Sometimes mercy did not look like forgiveness.
Police sirens approached.
Dante walked to Elena.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
Blood ran from a cut near her temple.
He touched it gently.
“You’re not fine.”
“Neither are you.”
He looked down at his shirt.
“Not mine.”
Elena laughed shakily.
Then she began crying.
Dante pulled her into his arms.
For several seconds she simply stood there, breathing against his chest.
Her mother was alive.
Dante was alive.
They had survived.
Then Isabel called weakly.
“Elena.”
She ran to her.
Isabel held the brass key.
“I found this in my coat.”
Elena frowned.
“Vittorio searched me. He never understood.”
“Understood what?”
“The key.”
Isabel turned it over.
“Look.”
Along the edge was the number 317.
But beneath years of tarnish was another engraving.
S.S.
Dante crouched beside them.
“Sofia Salvatore?”
Isabel shook her head.
“Sofia told me something when she gave it to me.”
“What?”
“I remembered while they held me.”
She looked at Dante.
“She said, ‘He’ll think it’s about me. Tell Dante it’s where our father kept the truth.’”
Dante went still.
“Our father?”
He took the key.
Then suddenly understood.
“Safe 317.”
“Where?”
Elena asked.
Dante looked toward the Chicago skyline.
“My father’s old bank.”
The next morning they opened safe-deposit box 317.
Inside was no money.
No jewelry.
Only documents.
Dante read the first page.
His face changed.
“What?”
He handed it to Elena.
It was a legal agreement signed by Dante’s father.
The Salvatore criminal empire had been scheduled for dismantling.
Seven years earlier.
His father had intended to cooperate with federal authorities, transfer legitimate holdings to Dante and Sofia, and end the organization permanently.
Vittorio had discovered the plan.
Sofia had discovered Vittorio’s laundering operation.
And both father and daughter had died within eighteen months.
Dante sat down.
“My father didn’t die of a heart attack.”
Elena understood.
May you like
Vittorio had not merely killed Sofia.
He had stolen Dante’s entire future.
