Chapter 3 - The Girl Who Remembered the LakeDante stared at Alessia as though she had just confessed to being someone else.
“Eleven years ago?”
She nodded.
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“And where were you?”
“Lake Geneva. Wisconsin.”
His expression sharpened.
Bianca Moretti had supposedly died during a private boating excursion near the Wisconsin shoreline of Lake Michigan.
The official report stated that her boat had capsized during an unexpected storm.
Her body had never been recovered.
“Explain,” Dante said.
Alessia looked toward Marco.
“Can we talk privately?”
Marco didn't move until Dante nodded.
The security chief stepped outside.
Alessia waited until the door closed.
Then she sat in the chair opposite Dante's desk.
“My father worked at a private marina. He repaired engines, maintained boats, and sometimes helped wealthy families who wanted to avoid attention.”
“What was his name?”
“Antonio Romano.”
Dante recognized the surname.
Something stirred in his memory.
A newspaper clipping.
A marina employee.
A death ruled accidental.
Alessia continued.
“One night, my father came home frightened. He told my mother he'd seen something he shouldn't have.”
“What?”
“He wouldn't say.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“Three days later, he disappeared.”
Dante leaned forward.
“Disappeared?”
“His truck was found near a bridge. Police said he probably fell into the water.”
“Was his body recovered?”
“No.”
The similarities were impossible to ignore.
“Why didn't you tell anyone?”
“We did. My mother went to the police. She called the marina owner. She even contacted the Moretti estate.”
Dante's stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“A woman answered.”
Alessia looked toward the security monitor.
“Mrs. Conti.”
Dante remained silent.
“She told my mother that Bianca Moretti was dead, that the family wanted privacy, and that my father had probably abandoned us.”
Her voice cracked.
“My mother cried for three days after that call.”
Dante felt something unfamiliar.
Shame.
He had spent eleven years believing his mother's death was an accident.
Meanwhile, another family had been destroyed by the same mystery.
“Why did you come to work here?”
Alessia hesitated.
“I needed money.”
“That isn't the whole answer.”
“No.”
She looked down.
“My mother died last year.”
Dante said nothing.
“Before she passed, she gave me a box of my father's belongings. There was a photograph inside.”
“What photograph?”
“Your mother. Standing beside my father at the marina.”
Dante straightened.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In my apartment.”
He considered that.
“Why didn't you bring it?”
“Because I didn't come here planning to accuse anyone.”
“Then why?”
Alessia's eyes lifted.
“Because my mother spent ten years wondering whether my father was a coward who abandoned his family.”
Her voice trembled.
“I wanted to know if she died believing a lie.”
Dante looked away.
He understood that kind of grief.
The kind that never ended because the truth never arrived.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
Alessia blinked.
“For what?”
“For what happened to your family.”
She gave a sad smile.
“You didn't do it.”
“I might have been able to help.”
“You were grieving your mother.”
He looked back at her.
“And you were grieving your father.”
For a moment, the distance between the feared mafia boss and the housemaid seemed smaller than either expected.
Then Dante's phone rang.
Marco.
“Boss, Mrs. Conti is conscious.”
“Where?”
“Medical room. Dr. Harris is examining her.”
“Is she talking?”
“Barely.”
Dante stood.
“I'm coming.”
Alessia rose too.
He looked at her.
“You don't have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
They found Mrs. Conti lying on a narrow medical bed with a bandage above her left eyebrow.
The elegant housekeeper who had commanded the staff for fifteen years looked suddenly fragile.
Her eyes widened when Dante entered.
“Mr. Moretti.”
He approached.
“Who attacked you?”
“I don't know.”
“Who took the red folder?”
Her face changed.
“I don't understand.”
Dante placed the tablet on the bedside table.
The frozen footage showed her accepting the folder from Bellini.
Mrs. Conti closed her eyes.
“Please.”
“Who were you protecting?”
She shook her head.
“Please don't ask me.”
“Was it Bellini?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Dante leaned closer.
“Eleven years ago, did you speak to Antonio Romano's wife?”
Mrs. Conti looked at Alessia.
Recognition appeared.
Then horror.
“Oh, God.”
Alessia stepped forward.
“You remember my mother?”
Mrs. Conti began crying.
“I remember everything.”
Dante's voice became dangerously quiet.
“Then tell us.”
Mrs. Conti gripped the blanket.
“Your mother discovered money was being transferred from the Moretti charitable foundation into shell companies. She confronted Lorenzo Bellini.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“And?”
“She believed the money was financing something illegal.”
“What?”
“I never saw the documents.”
“Who else knew?”
Mrs. Conti looked at him.
“Your uncle.”
Dante went still.
“Vittorio?”
She nodded.
Vittorio Moretti had raised Dante after Bianca's death.
He had taught him business.
Loyalty.
Survival.
He had died five years earlier.
At least that was what Dante believed.
Mrs. Conti continued.
“Your mother arranged to meet someone at the marina. Someone who could help her expose everything.”
“Antonio Romano?”
“Yes.”
Alessia covered her mouth.
Mrs. Conti's eyes filled with tears.
“But Vittorio found out.”
Dante felt the room tilt.
“What did he do?”
“He ordered Bellini to stop her.”
“Stop her how?”
“I don't know.”
Dante's voice hardened.
“Don't lie to me again.”
Mrs. Conti sobbed.
“I swear I don't know. I was told Bianca had died in an accident. Vittorio made me promise never to speak about the meeting.”
“Why did you obey?”
“Because he threatened my son.”
Silence.
Mrs. Conti looked toward Alessia.
“When I saw you working here, I recognized your father's eyes.”
Alessia stepped back.
“You knew who I was?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me spend seven months cleaning your floors?”
Mrs. Conti began to cry harder.
“I was afraid.”
Alessia's expression changed.
Not to anger.
To something more painful.
Disappointment.
“You let my mother die without knowing the truth.”
Mrs. Conti could not answer.
Dante took the tablet.
“Where is the red folder?”
Mrs. Conti shook her head.
“I gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
She looked at the doorway.
Then whispered:
“The person who told me to fire Alessia.”
Dante turned.
Marco stood motionless beside the door.
May you like
Mrs. Conti raised one trembling finger.
And pointed directly at him.
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