Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE SMILEAt 6:12 the following morning, Beatrice Moretti arrived at Dante's mansion carrying a basket of fresh pastries.
She had absolutely no idea that her nephew had spent the night discovering the truth about her.
At least, that was what Dante intended to find out.
Beatrice was sixty-three, elegantly dressed, and famous for three things.
Her expensive jewelry.
Her flawless manners.
And her extraordinary ability to make cruelty sound like concern.
She had been one of the first people to welcome Isabella into the family.
She had helped choose the wedding flowers.
She had even given Isabella a pearl necklace that once belonged to Dante's grandmother.
But behind that affectionate performance, Beatrice had allegedly signed documents authorizing the illegal transfer of Isabella's newborn daughter.
Dante stood in his study when the housekeeper announced her arrival.
"Send her in."
Marco waited beside the fireplace.
"Are you certain about this?"
Dante adjusted his cuff links.
"Not even slightly."
"She may suspect something."
"Then we'll see how well she lies."
The door opened.
Beatrice entered with her usual theatrical warmth.
"My darling boy!"
She kissed Dante's cheek.
"I heard about the dreadful incident at the gala. Three hundred guests sent home! What on earth happened?"
Dante smiled faintly.
"Isabella wasn't feeling well."
"Oh, that poor little thing."
Beatrice placed the basket on his desk.
"Is she resting?"
"At the hospital."
Her smile faltered.
"The hospital?"
"Yes."
"Good heavens. Is it serious?"
Dante watched her carefully.
"Someone injured her."
Beatrice's eyes widened.
"Injured?"
"Broken rib. Extensive bruising."
She pressed a jeweled hand against her chest.
"How horrible!"
Dante didn't blink.
"Do you know anyone who would want to hurt my wife?"
"Of course not!"
"Anyone connected to our family?"
Her expression became offended.
"Dante, surely you aren't suggesting—"
"I'm asking a question."
Beatrice straightened.
"Your uncle and I love Isabella."
Dante looked down at his desk.
A framed wedding photograph stood beside his laptop.
Beatrice was smiling in the background.
Her hand rested possessively on Isabella's shoulder.
"That's what I thought," he said.
Beatrice relaxed.
Then Dante opened a folder.
"Tell me about St. Bartholomew's Private Hospital."
The color vanished from her face.
Only for an instant.
But Dante saw it.
"I'm not familiar with it."
"Really?"
"Why should I be?"
Dante placed a photocopy of a medical transfer form on the desk.
At the bottom was her signature.
Beatrice stared at it.
Her smile disappeared.
"Where did you get that?"
Dante leaned back.
"Interesting question."
"Dante—"
"You told me you weren't familiar with the hospital."
"I may have served on a committee there years ago."
"A committee that approved transferring newborn babies without their mothers' consent?"
Her expression hardened.
"Be careful what you're accusing me of."
Dante stood.
"Isabella Hart gave birth to a little girl six years ago."
Beatrice looked toward Marco.
"Perhaps we should discuss this privately."
"We are."
"No," she said sharply. "Not with the staff."
Marco didn't move.
Dante's voice turned cold.
"Marco is staying."
Beatrice studied him.
Then something calculating appeared behind her eyes.
"What exactly has Isabella told you?"
Dante felt disgust rise in his throat.
"Enough."
"That girl has always been emotional."
He stepped forward.
"Choose your next words carefully."
Beatrice scoffed.
"She came from nothing, Dante. You gave her a life most women would kill for."
Dante stared at her.
"And that entitled you to take her child?"
Beatrice's lips tightened.
A long silence followed.
Then she said something Dante would never forget.
"Sometimes families must make unpleasant decisions."
Dante felt his hands go cold.
"Unpleasant decisions?"
"It wasn't personal."
He laughed once.
The sound was frightening.
"You stole a baby."
"Lower your voice."
"You let a twenty-two-year-old woman believe her daughter was dead."
Beatrice's expression sharpened.
"You have no idea what was happening back then."
"Then enlighten me."
She looked toward the door.
Dante noticed.
"Nobody's coming to rescue you, Aunt Beatrice."
For the first time, she seemed genuinely frightened.
"Salvatore said the arrangement was necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
"To secure a partnership."
Dante stared.
"What partnership?"
"Pierce International needed investors. Your uncle needed political protection. The adoption arrangements created connections with families who could provide both."
Dante's stomach turned.
"Children were bargaining chips?"
Beatrice began shaking.
"That's not how it was described to me."
"How many?"
"I don't know."
"How many children, Beatrice?"
She closed her eyes.
"More than Isabella's daughter."
Dante felt physically ill.
"And my mother?"
Beatrice opened her eyes.
"What about Lucia?"
"Why was she imprisoned?"
"Because she wouldn't stop asking questions."
Dante gripped the back of his chair.
Beatrice continued rapidly.
"Lucia discovered what Salvatore was doing. She threatened to contact federal investigators. Vittorio said she had to be controlled."
Dante stared.
"My father helped imprison his own wife?"
Beatrice looked away.
"Your father was a complicated man."
Dante's voice dropped.
"My father was a monster."
She said nothing.
Dante opened another folder.
"These documents have already been copied and secured with independent counsel. You're going to tell investigators everything you know."
Beatrice's face drained.
"You can't do that."
"Watch me."
"Salvatore will destroy us."
Dante stepped closer.
"He's already tried."
Beatrice's phone began ringing.
She looked down.
The name on the screen read:
SALVATORE.
Dante nodded toward it.
"Answer."
Beatrice shook her head.
"Please."
"Answer it."
Her trembling thumb touched the screen.
"Hello?"
Salvatore's voice filled the room.
"Where are you?"
"At Dante's house."
A pause.
"Why?"
"He invited me."
Another pause.
Then Salvatore asked, "Is he alone?"
Beatrice looked at Dante.
"No."
Dante leaned forward.
"Good morning, Uncle."
The silence was immediate.
Then Salvatore laughed.
"Dante! My boy. I heard about Isabella. Dreadful news."
Dante didn't respond.
Salvatore continued.
"We should talk. Privately."
"We will."
"When?"
Dante looked at Beatrice.
"After the authorities finish speaking with your wife."
The call went silent.
Then Salvatore's voice changed.
"What have you done?"
Dante smiled without warmth.
"Something you should have done years ago."
"Listen to me carefully, nephew."
"I'm listening."
"If Beatrice talks, more than your company will collapse."
"Then perhaps it deserves to."
Salvatore gave a bitter laugh.
"You think your father is the villain?"
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"He hurt my wife."
"And you think I ordered it?"
Dante didn't answer.
Salvatore lowered his voice.
"Your father isn't running this operation anymore."
That stopped Dante.
"What?"
"He lost control months ago."
"To whom?"
A harsh sound interrupted the call.
Then muffled voices.
Salvatore suddenly shouted:
"Don't touch her!"
A woman screamed.
The phone struck something hard.
Dante grabbed it.
"Salvatore!"
Silence.
Then another voice spoke.
A younger man.
Calm.
Almost amused.
"Good morning, Dante."
Dante recognized him from business meetings.
Adrian Cross.
The billionaire investor.
The man who had offered to sponsor the foundation's oncology wing.
"Where's my uncle?"
Adrian chuckled.
"He's learning what happens when family members become liabilities."
Dante looked toward Marco.
Marco immediately began tracing the call.
Adrian continued.
"I believe you have something that belongs to me."
Dante's expression hardened.
"What?"
"A flash drive."
Dante said nothing.
"And a woman who knows far too much."
Dante looked toward the door.
Isabella was safe at the hospital.
Armed officers guarded her room.
Or so he believed.
Adrian's voice became colder.
"Tell your wife I appreciate her cooperation."
Dante's heart lurched.
"She hasn't cooperated with you."
"Not knowingly."
"What does that mean?"
A pause.
Then Adrian answered:
"Check the medical file your wife gave you, Dante."
The line went dead.
Marco stared at his tracing software.
"Boss. The call came from inside the city."
"Where?"
"St. Catherine's Medical Center."
Dante felt the blood drain from his face.
His wife was there.
May you like
Their unborn child was there.
And Adrian Cross had just called from the same hospital.
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