Chapter 7 - THE BOX THAT EVERYONE WANTED
Dante had my mother moved before sunrise.
She complained the entire time.
Apparently even the mafia was no match for a sixty-two-year-old woman angry about leaving her cat.
At nine fifteen, Dante and I entered the bank.
Three guards waited outside.
Two came inside.
“You realize this is subtle only by your standards,” I whispered.
“I don’t do subtle when people threaten families.”
The bank manager personally took us downstairs.
Nobody asked Dante for identification.
That was disturbing.
Box 317 was small.
I inserted the key my mother had overnighted years ago to an attorney who delivered it that morning.
The lock clicked.
Inside was no money.
No diamonds.
No dramatic stacks of cash.
Just a black notebook.
A flash drive.
And a photograph.
I picked up the photo first.
My father stood beside Dante’s father.
Both younger.
Both smiling.
Between them stood a third man.
Vincent Caruso.
Dante stared at it.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“My father hated Caruso.”
“Apparently not always.”
I opened the notebook.
Numbers.
Dates.
Initials.
Payments.
One page had been circled in red.
Dante grabbed the notebook.
“What?”
He read silently.
Then his face changed.
“My father didn’t lose twelve million.”
“What?”
“He moved it.”
“To whom?”
Dante turned the page.
A single company name was written there.
Carmine Development Holdings.
I shrugged.
“Means nothing to me.”
“It was Caruso’s first legitimate company.”
My heartbeat picked up.
“So your father paid him?”
“No.”
Dante traced the figures.
“This says Caruso paid my father.”
We looked at each other.
“Why?”
Before he could answer, an alarm screamed.
The bank manager jerked.
“What’s happening?”
One of Dante’s guards touched his earpiece.
“Boss.”
Dante’s hand moved toward his gun.
“What?”
“Front entrance.”
Gunshots exploded upstairs.
The bank manager screamed.
Dante grabbed me.
“Down.”
We hit the floor.
More shots.
People yelling.
Dante shoved the notebook and flash drive into his jacket.
“Back exit?”
The manager pointed toward a service corridor.
We ran.
My stitches burned.
Dante kept one hand around my wrist.
Behind us, bullets cracked through glass.
We reached the hallway.
A man stepped around the corner.
Gun raised.
Dante fired first.
One shot.
The man dropped.
I froze.
Dante pulled me forward.
“Elena!”
I stumbled after him.
The service door opened into an alley.
A black sedan waited.
We rushed toward it.
Then someone grabbed me from behind.
An arm locked around my throat.
A gun pressed against my ribs.
Dante turned.
“Drop it.”
The man holding me shouted.
Dante’s weapon didn’t move.
“I said drop it!”
I couldn’t breathe.
Dante looked into my eyes.
Strangely calm.
Then he said, “Elena.”
“What?”
“Remember the restaurant?”
I understood.
Before the gunman could react, I dropped my full weight.
His grip slipped.
I drove my elbow backward.
He cursed.
Dante fired.
The man collapsed.
Dante caught me.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
His hands moved over my arms.
Shoulders.
Face.
I stared at him.
“You just shot two men.”
“They were trying to kill us.”
“I know.”
My voice shook.
“I just haven’t had enough coffee for this.”
He almost smiled.
Then his phone rang.
One of his men spoke quickly.
Dante’s face drained of color.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“Matteo’s school transport was attacked.”
My stomach dropped.
“Is he okay?”
Dante didn’t answer.
“Dante.”
His eyes met mine.
“The car is empty.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
“They took him.”
