Chapter 3 - The Second Prisoner
I had ordered men to evacuate burning buildings.
I had stood beneath gunfire in Naples and watched friends die in the street.
None of those moments frightened me as much as the sound of that lock clicking.
Because my wife was behind it.
And I couldn't reach her.
"Nico, find the power source."
He knelt beside the door.
"There's a control wire leading into the wall."
"Can you disable it?"
"Not without knowing what it's connected to."
Grace's voice returned.
"Dante, listen carefully."
"I'm listening."
"There's a little boy in here."
I stared at the door.
"A boy?"
"He can't be more than seven."
Nico looked at me.
"Grace, whose child?"
"I don't know."
She coughed.
"They brought him in two weeks ago."
"Is he hurt?"
"He's sick."
I closed my eyes.
My mother had claimed she was protecting our family.
Yet she had kept my pregnant wife beneath the house with a child whose name I didn't even know.
"Tell me what you can see."
"There's a hospital bed, a cabinet, and a second door."
I motioned for Nico to inspect the wall.
"Is there another exit?"
"I found a ventilation opening yesterday."
"Can you reach it?"
"Not anymore."
"Why?"
Her answer barely reached me.
"They moved the cabinet in front of it after I tried to crawl through."
Then a child spoke.
"Is that your husband?"
I heard Grace whisper something.
The boy began crying.
Nico pointed toward the ceiling.
A thick cable passed through a narrow opening above the door.
He followed it with his flashlight.
"Independent power."
"Can you cut it?"
"Maybe."
"How long?"
"Give me a minute."
I looked at the camera.
"Mother, if you're listening, this ends now."
The speaker remained silent.
Grace suddenly screamed.
Not from fear.
From pain.
"Grace!"
"I'm okay."
Her breathing became shallow.
"Just a contraction."
I felt the world tilt.
"What?"
"It's happening, Dante."
Her voice cracked.
"The baby's coming."
I pressed my forehead against the steel.
"No."
I couldn't stop the word.
I had promised to be there.
I had missed months of her pregnancy.
I had allowed my own mother to convince me that Grace needed distance and rest.
And now she was going into labor inside a cell.
"I'm here," I whispered.
"Stay with me."
"There's something I need to tell you."
"Anything."
She hesitated.
"Your mother didn't lock me up because she hates me."
I waited.
"She found the files."
"What files?"
"The ones your father left."
I opened my eyes.
My father had been dead for almost three years.
He had left behind a criminal empire disguised beneath transportation companies, real estate holdings, and international shipping contracts.
I had inherited control.
Or so I believed.
"Grace, what files?"
"The inheritance."
A sharp cry interrupted her.
I heard her slide against the floor.
"Dante!"
Nico pulled me back.
"Sir, cover your face."
His technician cut the exposed control cable.
The clicking stopped.
Nico tested the lock.
Nothing happened.
"Now."
They forced open the panel beneath the electronic keypad.
A moment later, the bolts withdrew.
I lunged for the handle.
Nico caught my shoulder.
"Wait."
He pushed the door open with a steel rod.
No flames.
No explosion.
Only darkness.
And then I saw her.
Grace lay on the concrete floor, one arm wrapped around her stomach.
Her hair was tangled.
Her skin was pale.
A little boy crouched beside her, clutching a threadbare stuffed rabbit.
I dropped to my knees.
"Grace."
She looked up.
For a moment, she seemed unable to believe I was real.
Then she reached for me.
"Dante."
I gathered her into my arms.
She was lighter than I remembered.
Too light.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She pressed her face against my neck.
"You came."
"I should never have left you here."
Her fingers tightened around my shirt.
"You didn't know."
I kissed her forehead.
"I know now."
She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes.
"Then you need to know something else."
I brushed the hair from her face.
"What?"
Her gaze shifted toward the boy.
"He isn't just another prisoner."
The child stood.
For the first time, I noticed his eyes.
Dark gray.
The same unusual color as my father's.
Grace's voice trembled.
"His name is Samuel Rossi."
I stared at her.
"Rossi?"
She nodded.
"And Dante..."
May you like
Her next words nearly stopped my heart.
"He's your father's son."
