Chapter 2 - The Door That Had Been Locked for Eighteen Months“There,” Sophia repeated, pointing at Dante’s face. “You fixed it.”
Dante stared at her.
“Fixed what?”
“Your grumpy.”
Someone behind Rosa made a choking sound.
Rosa wanted the marble floor to split open and swallow her.
“Sophia Bennett.”
The warning in her voice would normally have worked.
Today, Sophia ignored it.
Dante slowly crouched until his eyes were level with hers.
“You think I’m grumpy?”
Sophia nodded enthusiastically.
“Very.”
“How unfortunate.”
“You need hugs.”
Rosa nearly died.
“Sophia—”
But the little girl had already opened both arms.
Dante looked at them as though she had presented him with a bomb.
For eighteen months, people had carefully avoided touching him unless he initiated it. Even Marina rarely embraced him anymore.
Sophia had apparently received none of those instructions.
She waited.
Dante’s eyes shifted toward Rosa.
Rosa saw something unexpected there.
Uncertainty.
This terrifying man genuinely did not know what to do with a three-year-old asking for a hug.
Finally Sophia sighed.
“You’re supposed to pick me up.”
One guard abruptly studied the ceiling.
Dante glanced at him.
The guard became very interested in a chandelier.
Then Dante reached down.
His enormous hands settled carefully around Sophia’s waist.
He lifted her.
The child immediately wrapped both arms around his neck.
Dante froze.
Rosa did too.
Sophia rested her cheek against his shoulder as if she had known him all her life.
Something changed in Dante’s face.
His eyes closed.
Only for a second.
When they opened again, the ruthless man everyone feared seemed suddenly exhausted.
Sophia pulled back.
“You got an owie.”
She touched the thin scar running beside his eyebrow.
Dante caught her wrist gently.
“Old one.”
“Did you cry?”
“No.”
“You should.”
His eyebrows drew together.
“Why?”
“Mommy says crying gets the sad water out.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
That was something she had said after Sophia’s father disappeared.
Dante looked toward her.
For one uncomfortable second, Rosa felt exposed.
Then his attention returned to Sophia.
“Your mother sounds wise.”
“She knows everything.”
“That must be convenient.”
Sophia nodded.
“It is.”
A faint smile appeared on Dante’s mouth.
Then Sophia pointed toward Carmela’s locked sitting room.
“What’s in there?”
Every smile vanished.
Rosa stepped forward.
“Sophia, enough.”
But Dante did not put her down.
He stared at the door.
“Memories.”
Sophia considered this.
“Are they bad?”
“No.”
“Then why lock them up?”
The question hit harder than any adult accusation could have.
Dante looked at the brass keyhole.
He had passed that door 548 times since Carmela died.
He knew because grief counted things.
Days.
Hours.
Anniversaries.
Last words.
He had never opened it.
Suddenly Sophia squirmed.
“Down.”
Dante lowered her.
She marched toward the door.
Rosa caught her.
“No.”
Sophia pointed.
“He needs his memories.”
Dante inhaled slowly.
Then he reached into his pocket.
Marina appeared at the end of the corridor just as he removed an old brass key.
Her face changed.
“Dante?”
He ignored her.
The key entered the lock.
His hand stopped.
Rosa watched his fingers tremble.
The most powerful man she had ever met was afraid of a door.
Sophia reached up and placed her tiny hand over his knuckles.
“I help.”
Dante looked down.
Then he turned the key.
Click.
The sound seemed impossibly loud.
He pushed the door inward.
Dust floated through a shaft of afternoon light.
Nothing inside had changed.
Carmela’s ivory shawl remained over the back of a chair. A book lay facedown beside the window. Her perfume bottles stood on the vanity. White roses, long dead, remained in a crystal vase.
And on the mantel was a photograph.
Dante and Carmela on their wedding day.
Marina covered her mouth.
Dante entered.
Sophia followed.
Rosa hesitated before Dante quietly said, “Let her.”
Sophia wandered toward the photograph.
“That lady is pretty.”
“She was.”
“Where is she?”
Dante swallowed.
“Gone.”
Sophia looked at him.
“My daddy’s gone too.”
Rosa stiffened.
Dante turned.
“Gone where?”
Sophia shrugged.
“Mommy doesn’t know.”
“Sophia.”
The little girl frowned at Rosa.
“You said we don’t.”
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
Rosa felt it immediately.
Not suspicion exactly.
Interest.
“My daughter’s father left before she was born,” Rosa explained. “That’s all.”
Sophia corrected her.
“He left a blue box.”
Rosa went pale.
Dante noticed.
“What blue box?”
“Nothing.”
Sophia was already talking.
“The one Mommy hides under her bed.”
“Sophia!”
Dante looked at Rosa.
She had never seen his expression become cold so quickly.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
“Miss.”
“Miss Bennett. What blue box?”
Rosa’s hands tightened.
“It belonged to Sophia’s father.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Dante studied her.
Before he could continue, Sophia tugged his trousers.
“Mister?”
“Yes?”
“Can we walk tomorrow?”
Dante looked down the hallway.
The ritual suddenly seemed ridiculous.
Eighteen months of marching beside a locked room because moving forward felt like betrayal.
“No.”
Sophia’s face fell.
Then Dante surprised everyone.
“Tomorrow we do something different.”
“What?”
He looked at Carmela’s photograph.
“I don’t know yet.”
Sophia smiled.
“That’s okay. I know lots of things.”
“I’ve noticed.”
For the first time since Carmela died, the sitting-room door remained open when Dante left.
That night Rosa carried a sleeping Sophia into their small apartment and immediately knelt beside her bed.
She pulled out a battered blue metal box.
Inside were photographs.
A silver chain.
Three letters.
And a newspaper clipping from four years earlier.
The headline read:
FEDERAL WITNESS VANISHES BEFORE FALCONE INVESTIGATION
Rosa stared at the photograph beneath it.
A younger man smiled at the camera.
Daniel Bennett.
Sophia’s father.
Rosa heard a floorboard creak behind her.
She spun around.
Her apartment door was open.
A man wearing black gloves stood in the hallway.
His eyes dropped to the box.
Then he smiled.
“Daniel’s girlfriend,” he said softly.
Rosa grabbed her phone.
The man lunged.
She slammed the bedroom door and locked it.
Sophia woke screaming.
Rosa dialed the only number she could remember from the estate emergency card.
The call connected.
A deep voice answered.
“Falcone.”
Rosa pressed her back against the door as something crashed against it.
“Mr. Falcone.”
Another impact cracked the frame.
Dante’s voice changed instantly.
“Rosa?”
“Someone’s in my apartment.”
Silence.
Then:
“Take Sophia into the bathroom. Lock both doors.”
The bedroom door shuddered again.
“Mr. Falcone—”
“Rosa.”
May you like
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
“I’m coming.”
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