Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEADDante had ordered executions with less emotion than he felt watching the elevator numbers climb.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
His father was approaching.
The same father whose funeral had shaped Dante's entire childhood.
The same father whose death had forced a frightened twelve-year-old boy to become something ruthless enough to survive.
"Marco," Dante said, "lock down the building. Nobody enters this floor."
"Already done."
"Put six men outside this room."
Marco hesitated.
"Boss, there's something else."
Dante finally looked at him.
"What?"
"The elevator isn't responding to our security system."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
"Someone has overridden it remotely."
Before Dante could answer, a soft voice came from behind him.
"He planned this."
Isabella was standing beside the sofa, one hand holding her injured ribs.
Dante crossed the room immediately.
"Sit down."
"Dante, listen to me."
"You're hurt."
"And you're about to walk into exactly what he wants."
She gripped his sleeve.
"Your father doesn't want to reunite with you. He wants you angry."
Dante stared at her.
"What do you know?"
She glanced at Marco.
"Can we trust him?"
Marco looked genuinely wounded.
"Mrs. Moretti, I've protected this family for nineteen years."
"That's not what I asked."
The room went quiet.
Dante understood immediately.
"Marco. Outside."
"Boss—"
"Now."
Marco reluctantly left.
The moment the door closed, Isabella withdrew a small silver flash drive from her clutch.
Dante recognized it.
He had given it to her two years earlier to store photographs from their honeymoon.
"Where did you get that?"
"Your father returned it to me yesterday."
Dante frowned.
"Returned it?"
Isabella nodded.
"Someone took it from our bedroom three weeks ago. I didn't notice until he showed it to me."
"What is on it?"
"Not our photographs anymore."
Her breathing became shallow.
"Financial records. Offshore transfers. Payments to officials. Names of people who died years ago."
Dante's face hardened.
"Whose payments?"
"Your father's."
He looked toward the elevator monitor.
The numbers had stopped at seventeen.
The private floor.
"How do you know the documents are genuine?"
"Because he made me read them."
Dante turned back.
"He made you?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"He said I had to understand what your family really was before he gave me a choice."
"What choice?"
"Help him take your company, or watch him destroy you."
Dante took a slow breath.
"How did he contact you?"
"At the foundation office. Eleven days ago."
Isabella sat down.
Her fingers were trembling again.
"He came disguised as a donor. I didn't recognize him. He introduced himself as Victor Romano."
Dante knew that name.
A wealthy investor from Switzerland had recently pledged two million dollars toward the children's hospital.
"Romano," he repeated.
"Yes."
"He was supposed to meet with our accounting department."
"He did."
Dante's stomach tightened.
"And then?"
"He asked me to meet him privately. He said he had information about a donation that could compromise the foundation."
She looked down.
"I thought I was protecting the children."
Dante knelt beside her.
"Keep going."
"He showed me a photograph of you when you were twelve. Then he told me who he was."
Dante could barely process the words.
"Why didn't you call me?"
"Because he showed me another photograph."
"Of what?"
"Our house."
Dante waited.
Isabella swallowed.
"Inside our bedroom."
A cold sensation crept down his spine.
"Someone had photographed me sleeping," she whispered. "He said whoever took it could return whenever he wanted."
Dante's hand curled into a fist.
"He threatened you inside our home?"
"He threatened everyone I love."
"Then what happened to your ribs?"
Isabella looked toward the door.
"He wanted the flash drive hidden inside my dress tonight. I refused to bring it."
Dante's expression changed.
"Who struck you?"
"His security chief. A man named Rafe."
"Rafe what?"
"Rafe Callahan."
Dante knew him.
A former military contractor with a reputation for brutality.
Callahan had disappeared after a massacre involving a rival organization eight years earlier.
"Where did this happen?"
"A private office above the foundation's warehouse."
"Why were you alone?"
"I wasn't supposed to be. Someone canceled my security escort."
Dante went still.
"Who?"
"I don't know."
He rose and reached for his phone.
Before he could make the call, a familiar male voice sounded from the corridor.
"Always so protective, Dante. Just like your mother."
The voice came from the other side of the locked door.
Dante froze.
Twenty-three years disappeared in an instant.
He was twelve again, standing outside his father's study, listening to that deep, commanding voice order men to disappear.
"Hello, son."
Dante slowly turned.
His father spoke again.
"I know you're armed. That won't help her."
Dante looked at Isabella.
She was pale.
Terrified.
And suddenly staring at the air-conditioning vent above the sofa.
"Dante," she whispered. "Don't open it."
Vittorio laughed softly.
"She's smarter than you, boy."
Dante pulled out his phone and called Marco.
"Evacuate the floor below us. Now."
Marco didn't ask questions.
"Understood."
Dante moved toward the vent.
Inside, a tiny red light blinked.
A listening device.
He turned back to Isabella.
"Did he put that there?"
She shook her head.
"He showed me photographs of the building's electrical system."
Dante's pulse accelerated.
The entire lounge was compromised.
Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The emergency system activated.
And his father's voice came through the room's speakers.
"Let's not waste time, Dante. I want three things."
Dante stared at the ceiling.
"Name them."
"Control of Moretti Holdings. Access to the foundation's international accounts. And your signature on a document acknowledging me as chairman."
Dante laughed without humor.
"You think I'm handing you my life's work?"
"No."
A pause.
"I think you're going to hand it to me to save your wife."
Isabella covered her mouth.
Vittorio continued.
"She's carrying something far more valuable than my empire."
Dante turned toward her.
For one terrible second, she wouldn't meet his eyes.
Then Isabella whispered, "I was going to tell you after the gala."
Dante felt the floor shift beneath him.
"What?"
Tears slid down her cheeks.
"I'm pregnant."
The words struck him harder than any bullet ever had.
Dante stared.
His wife was pregnant.
Someone had beaten her while she carried their child.
His father knew.
And he had used that knowledge to control her.
Dante crossed the room, dropped to his knees, and gently took her hands.
"How far along?"
"Nine weeks."
He closed his eyes.
A wave of relief, horror, and unbearable tenderness washed through him.
Then his father's voice returned.
"Congratulations, son."
Dante lifted his head.
His expression had gone frighteningly calm.
"Listen carefully, Father."
Vittorio chuckled.
"I'm listening."
"If my wife or child dies because of what you've done, there won't be enough darkness in this world for you to hide in."
The speakers went silent.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Vittorio answered.
"You still don't understand, Dante."
"Understand what?"
A sharp electronic click sounded.
The wall monitor flickered.
A security recording appeared.
It showed Isabella entering the warehouse eleven days earlier.
Beside her walked someone wearing a black suit.
Someone Dante trusted with his life.
Marco Bellini.
And in the recording, Marco personally opened the door for Rafe Callahan.
Dante stared at the screen.
May you like
His father's next words were almost gentle.
"The man who betrayed your wife is standing right outside your door."
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