Chapter 9 - The Father Who Came Back From the Dead
I had seen Dante Moretti angry.
I'd seen him injured.
Suspicious.
Commanding.
And frighteningly calm.
But I'd never seen him afraid.
Not until his dead father's voice came through that phone.
For one brief second, Dante looked like the sixteen-year-old boy in his mother's photograph.
Then the expression vanished.
"Who is this?"
The voice laughed softly.
"You recognize me."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"My father is dead."
"That's what you were supposed to believe."
Marco stepped closer.
His face had gone pale.
He could hear the voice too.
Dante stared at the phone.
"Prove it."
The man paused.
Then he said, "When you were twelve, you broke your mother's silver falcon brooch."
Dante went still.
"You hid it beneath the loose floorboard in the west bedroom."
I watched the color drain from his face.
"She found it three weeks later."
"She never told you she knew."
Dante closed his eyes.
The voice softened.
"She told me."
For a moment, I thought Dante might break.
Instead, he opened his eyes.
"What do you want?"
"To correct a mistake."
"Which mistake?"
"Leaving you alive."
The room seemed to freeze.
Then the call ended.
Dante didn't move for almost a minute.
Marco finally spoke.
"Boss."
Dante turned toward him.
"Did you recognize the voice?"
Marco hesitated.
"Yes."
I looked between them.
"How is this possible?"
Dante walked to the window.
His father had reportedly died during a private flight over the Atlantic.
The aircraft was never recovered.
No bodies were found.
The company released a statement.
Memorial services were held.
Dante inherited control of the family's major businesses.
And for five years, everyone believed Vittorio Moretti was gone.
Now he was alive.
And according to his own words, he wanted his son dead.
"Why would he do this?"
My voice sounded small.
Dante looked at me.
"Power."
I shook my head.
"He's your father."
"That doesn't make him harmless."
I thought of my own family.
Of my mother working two jobs to keep food on the table.
Of Daniel giving me his birthday money one year because he knew I needed new shoes.
I couldn't imagine a parent wanting to murder their child.
Then I remembered the photograph taken through our kitchen window.
Maybe the world Dante came from had always operated by different rules.
The next morning, Elena confirmed that Vittorio's death had never been established through recovered remains.
The official determination relied on the missing aircraft, its last known location, and the absence of survivors.
Legally, Dante had inherited the company through estate proceedings.
But a living Vittorio could challenge portions of those arrangements.
I sat across from Elena.
"What happens if he comes back?"
She removed her glasses.
"That depends on which assets are involved and what legal claims he makes."
"Could he take everything from Dante?"
"Not automatically."
I glanced toward the next room.
Dante was speaking with Shaw.
"Would he try?"
Elena looked at me.
"If he's willing to arrange his son's death, I doubt he intends to settle this through a friendly board meeting."
I shivered.
That afternoon, Dante asked me to accompany him to his estate outside the city.
I refused at first.
"I don't belong in your house."
He looked at me.
"Your apartment is gone."
"I know."
"You need somewhere safe."
"I can stay with a friend."
"Someone already threatened your family."
I folded my arms.
"That doesn't give you the right to make decisions for me."
He was silent.
Then he nodded.
"You're right."
I hadn't expected that.
He continued.
"I can arrange a secure hotel."
"Or a temporary apartment."
"Or you can stay at the estate."
"You choose."
I looked at him carefully.
"Why are you doing this?"
He glanced toward the bandage on my wrist.
"Because you saved my life."
"That doesn't make me your responsibility."
"No."
His eyes met mine.
"But it makes me grateful."
There was no arrogance in his voice.
No hidden demand.
And for some reason, that frightened me more than any order would have.
I looked away.
"Fine."
"Which option?"
"The estate."
His expression softened.
"All right."
"But I want my own room."
"Of course."
"And I want to leave whenever I choose."
"Yes."
"And if you start acting like you own me, I'm walking out."
For the first time, Dante actually smiled.
"Understood."
The Moretti estate looked like something from another century.
An enormous stone mansion sat beyond iron gates and a long driveway lined with trees.
There were fountains.
Gardens.
A glass greenhouse.
And enough windows to make my old apartment building look like a cardboard box.
I stepped out of the car and stared.
"This is ridiculous."
Dante glanced at me.
"What is?"
"Your house."
"It's a little large."
"A little?"
He looked toward the entrance.
"You're right."
"It's absurd."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The sound surprised us both.
For a brief moment, the world felt normal.
Then I saw the armed guards standing near the entrance.
Reality returned.
A housekeeper named Mrs. Bennett showed me to a guest suite.
She was in her sixties, with silver hair and a gentle smile.
"This room gets the morning sun."
I stared at the enormous bed.
The fireplace.
The private balcony.
The bathroom larger than my entire kitchen.
"Are you sure this isn't somebody's apartment?"
She laughed.
"Mr. Moretti insisted you be comfortable."
I set my small bag beside the bed.
It contained everything I had left.
A pair of jeans.
Two shirts.
My phone charger.
And the childhood photograph Detective Shaw had returned after documenting it.
Mrs. Bennett noticed the bag.
Her expression softened.
"I heard about the fire."
I nodded.
"I'm sorry, dear."
"Thank you."
She hesitated.
"Mr. Moretti isn't used to having guests."
I looked at her.
"Really?"
"He hosts business dinners."
"That's different."
I glanced toward the hallway.
"Does he ever have friends?"
Mrs. Bennett smiled sadly.
"Not many."
After she left, I sat on the bed.
For the first time since the crash, I was alone.
The silence felt enormous.
I opened my phone.
There were no new messages from Daniel.
I stared at his photograph.
"Where are you?"
My voice broke.
Then someone knocked.
"Come in."
Dante stood in the doorway.
He had changed into a charcoal sweater and dark trousers.
Without his suit, he looked younger.
Less untouchable.
"Are you comfortable?"
I glanced around.
"I think this room costs more than my entire childhood."
He smiled faintly.
"I can move you somewhere smaller."
"No."
I looked at the bed.
"I've already developed feelings for the mattress."
He laughed.
A genuine laugh.
Deep and unexpected.
I stared.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He looked amused.
"You're the first person who's ever complained that the guest suite is too nice."
I shrugged.
"I'm full of surprises."
His expression changed.
"Apparently."
The silence between us grew warmer.
Then he said, "I owe you an apology."
I looked up.
"For what?"
"For knowing about your brother and not telling you sooner."
I studied him.
"Why didn't you?"
He looked toward the window.
"Because after Daniel disappeared, I believed anyone connected to him would be in danger."
"I was already in danger."
"I know that now."
I swallowed.
"Did you ever look for him?"
"Every week."
His answer startled me.
"What?"
"I never stopped."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
Dante's expression darkened.
"Because I gave him my word."
I looked down.
He continued.
"I told Daniel that if he helped me uncover the fraud, I would make sure he and his sister were protected."
My eyes filled.
"And then he vanished."
Dante nodded.
"I failed him."
I shook my head slowly.
"You didn't know what would happen."
"That doesn't change the result."
I stood.
For a moment, we faced each other without speaking.
Then I whispered, "Help me bring him home."
Dante looked into my eyes.
"I will."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
At two in the morning, I wandered downstairs to find water.
The mansion was dark.
Moonlight spilled across the marble floor.
I heard voices from a room near the library.
One belonged to Marco.
The other belonged to Dante.
I hadn't meant to listen.
Then I heard my name.
"Cara can't know yet."
I stopped.
Marco sounded worried.
"Boss, if she finds out another way—"
"She'll never trust me again."
My stomach tightened.
I moved closer.
Marco lowered his voice.
"What about the letter?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "Keep it locked away."
I felt cold.
"What letter?" Marco asked.
Dante's voice came through the doorway.
"The one Evelyn Fields wrote before she died."
My heart stopped.
My mother had written Dante a letter.
And he had been hiding it from me.
I took one step backward.
The floor creaked.
Silence fell inside the library.
Then Dante's voice cut through the darkness.
"Cara?"
I didn't move.
The door opened.
Dante stood beneath the warm light.
His face changed when he saw me.
May you like
I stared at him.
"Give me my mother's letter."
