Chapter 6 - A Deal With the Devil
I stared at Dante.
"What did you say?"
He held up his phone.
The photograph of Daniel filled the screen.
Same chair.
Same bruise.
Same dark room.
But Dante's message was different.
YOU OWE US TWENTY-SEVEN MILLION.
YOUR FAMILY'S DEBT COMES DUE AT MIDNIGHT.
I looked from his phone to mine.
"Twenty-seven million?"
Dante nodded grimly.
"The amount missing from my father's trust."
My chest tightened.
"Are they saying Daniel stole it?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Dante lowered himself into a chair.
"Someone wants us to believe the missing money and your brother are connected."
"Are they?"
His silence frightened me.
I took a step closer.
"Please don't make me ask three times."
Dante looked at me.
"I think your brother found the answer to a question that has been haunting my family for decades."
"What question?"
"Who stole the money."
I glanced at Daniel's photograph.
"And now they want us to pay for it?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
Dante studied the message.
"People who really want money usually provide instructions for transferring it."
"This is something else."
"What?"
"A deadline."
I felt sick.
"So what do we do?"
Dante looked up.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that I wasn't asking him to solve everything.
I was asking him to help me keep my brother alive.
"We make sure Daniel survives tonight."
The words were simple.
But I had never needed to hear anything more.
By noon, Marco had gathered a small team in a private conference room.
Dante insisted on attending despite his doctor's objections.
I sat beside Detective Shaw, who had agreed to coordinate with the authorities rather than allow the Moretti security team to operate alone.
Elena Price stood near the window.
A digital map of the city filled a large screen.
Marco pointed to three possible locations.
"The photograph doesn't show enough background detail to identify the room."
Shaw leaned forward.
"Any metadata?"
"Stripped."
"Phone number?"
"Disposable."
I looked at the picture again.
Daniel sat beneath a hanging light.
Behind him was a green wall.
On the left side of the image, barely visible, was a narrow strip of red.
I frowned.
"Can you make that bigger?"
Marco enlarged the image.
The red strip became clearer.
It wasn't paint.
It was fabric.
A curtain.
My heart jumped.
"Wait."
Everyone looked at me.
I stood.
"I've seen that curtain."
Marco frowned.
"Where?"
"At Bellini's."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
"The private dining room has old red curtains."
"They're heavy velvet."
"And the walls behind them are green."
Marco enlarged the photograph again.
The room was dim, but the combination looked familiar.
I pointed.
"That's the same fabric."
Dante looked toward Marco.
"Check every property associated with Bellini's."
Marco nodded.
Shaw raised a hand.
"Not without coordination."
Dante turned toward her.
"Detective, my wife's lover just demanded twenty-seven million dollars using a photograph of a kidnapped man."
"And if you send armed men storming into a restaurant, you could get that man killed."
The room fell silent.
Then Dante surprised me.
"You're right."
Shaw looked almost as startled as I felt.
He turned back to Marco.
"Work with the detective."
Marco nodded.
I watched Dante carefully.
He was used to giving orders.
Used to people obeying.
Yet he'd listened.
Not because he had become less dangerous.
Because he understood that saving Daniel mattered more than proving who had power.
At three in the afternoon, I received another message.
YOU WERE TOLD TO COME ALONE.
I showed Shaw immediately.
She photographed the screen.
"Don't respond yet."
A third message appeared.
WE KNOW YOU TOLD MORETTI.
My stomach twisted.
"How?"
Nobody answered.
Dante's expression hardened.
"Someone is leaking information."
Marco looked around the room.
"Only six people know about the meeting."
Shaw frowned.
"Your hospital staff, security personnel, and anyone monitoring the communications could be involved."
I looked toward Elena.
She shook her head.
"Don't jump to conclusions."
Dante stood.
"Clear the room."
Marco hesitated.
"Boss?"
"Everyone except Cara and Detective Shaw."
The others left.
Dante looked toward the detective.
"Can you identify the source?"
"We're working on it."
"Do it quickly."
Shaw stood.
"I'll give you two a moment."
She turned to me.
"Don't make any decisions without contacting me."
I nodded.
When the door closed, Dante faced me.
"We need to talk."
I folded my arms.
"That sounds ominous."
"Your brother may have been taken by someone who knows how I operate."
"Meaning?"
"They know my people."
"They know my properties."
"They know how to send messages without being traced."
I looked down.
"And you think I should stay out of it."
"No."
His answer surprised me.
"I think you know things that could help us find him."
I stared.
"What things?"
"Daniel's habits."
"His memories."
"His hiding places."
"Everything you know about him that strangers don't."
My chest tightened.
"He used to leave clues when we were children."
Dante leaned forward.
"Tell me."
"We played treasure hunts."
"He'd hide something and give me little riddles."
"Like the note about the Christmas lights?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
Dante thought for a moment.
"Then maybe Daniel isn't just telling you where to find evidence."
"What else?"
"Maybe he's telling you where to find him."
I looked at my phone.
At the photograph.
At the green wall and red curtain.
Then something occurred to me.
"Daniel hated Bellini's."
Dante frowned.
"Why?"
"He said the restaurant made him nervous."
"When?"
"About eight months ago."
"Did he explain?"
"No."
I hesitated.
"He told me he'd seen someone there who was supposed to be dead."
Dante's expression changed.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
He reached for his phone.
"Marco."
I grabbed his wrist.
"Wait."
He looked at me.
"There's something else."
I swallowed.
"Daniel used to call Bellini's the birdcage."
"Why?"
"Because of the big golden bird decoration above the bar."
Dante's eyes sharpened.
"The falcon."
I nodded.
He looked toward the photograph of my mother.
The stamped symbol.
The Moretti Family Trust.
For the first time, the pieces began to connect.
Dante reached for the folder Elena had left behind.
He opened it to a page showing several older properties.
One address had been highlighted.
A former private club purchased by the Moretti family twenty-eight years ago.
The property had been converted into storage.
Its name was printed beneath the address.
THE FALCON HOUSE.
I stared.
"Where is that?"
Dante's face darkened.
"Across from Bellini's."
A chill ran through me.
I had walked past that building hundreds of times.
It was narrow.
Brick.
Almost entirely windowless.
There was a small service entrance in the alley.
And above that entrance was an old metal plaque.
No number.
No street address.
Just a silver falcon.
I looked at Dante.
"That's the door."
His expression hardened.
"What door?"
"The one Daniel told me to find."
Dante stood so quickly that pain flashed across his face.
I reached toward him.
"You're not supposed to move like that."
He ignored me.
"Marco!"
The door opened.
Dante pointed to the map.
"Find out who currently has access to Falcon House."
Marco checked his phone.
Then his expression changed.
"What?"
Dante's voice sharpened.
"Tell me."
Marco looked at the screen.
"The property was transferred last month."
"To whom?"
Marco swallowed.
"Vanessa Moretti."
The room went silent.
Then my phone vibrated again.
A new photograph appeared.
Daniel was no longer sitting in the chair.
He was standing.
His hands were tied behind his back.
And behind him, reflected in a dark window, stood a woman wearing a bright red dress.
I recognized her immediately.
Vanessa.
But the most terrifying detail wasn't her presence.
It was the man standing beside her.
May you like
A man I had watched walk out of Dante's hospital room less than an hour earlier.
Marco.
