Chapter 2 - THE SECRET SHE COULDN’T SAY
Dante’s expression didn’t change.
“Say it.”
Emma hesitated.
His mother grabbed her wrist.
Not hard.
Desperate.
Then she signed.
“Tell him now.”
Emma took a breath.
“She said your father didn’t die the way you think he did.”
No one moved.
Dante’s face became unreadable.
“What?”
Emma looked toward his mother.
The older woman’s hands shook as she continued.
“She says the night your father died, he wasn’t alone.”
One of Dante’s men, Salvatore Rizzo, immediately looked toward the door.
Dante caught it.
“Sal.”
Sal froze.
“What?”
“Why did you look at the door?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Sal gave a nervous laugh.
“Boss, come on.”
Dante’s chair scraped backward.
Suddenly the room felt too small.
His mother signed rapidly.
Emma watched.
“She says don’t blame him. He doesn’t know.”
Dante turned to Emma.
“Who doesn’t know?”
“Sal.”
Sal’s face went white.
“Mrs. Moretti, what are you talking about?”
She couldn’t hear him.
Emma interpreted.
The woman answered.
“She says Sal was only twenty-five then. He was outside.”
Dante stared at Sal.
“You were outside my father’s house the night he died?”
Sal looked trapped.
“You knew that.”
“No, I knew you found him.”
Sal shook his head.
“I found the car.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
His father, Carlo Moretti, had died seventeen years earlier.
Officially, a heart attack.
Unofficially, everybody in New York’s darker corners had whispered that Carlo Moretti’s death had changed the balance of power overnight.
Dante had inherited an empire at twenty-nine.
He had also inherited enemies.
Emma had heard enough neighborhood stories to know the rest.
Men disappeared.
Businesses changed hands.
Everybody stopped asking questions.
Dante turned back to his mother.
“Ma.”
He crouched beside her chair.
“Look at me.”
She did.
He made a few clumsy signs.
“What happened?”
His mother’s eyes softened.
Then hardened again.
She signed slowly.
Emma translated.
“She says she tried telling you at the funeral.”
Dante looked stunned.
“I talked to you at the funeral.”
His mother signed.
“No. You held me. You kissed me. You told everybody I was too upset to speak. Then you made decisions.”
Emma’s voice grew quieter as she translated.
“You stopped looking at my hands.”
Dante looked down.
His mother continued.
“You were angry. Everyone was afraid. Men kept coming to the house. Every time I tried to tell you, someone pulled you away.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Emma saw guilt flash across his face.
Then he opened them again.
“What did she see?”
The woman’s hands slowed.
“I saw your father arguing with someone.”
“Who?”
Her eyes shifted toward the men at the table.
Emma felt her stomach drop.
The older woman signed one name.
Emma didn’t recognize it.
Dante did.
His entire body went rigid.
“What name?”
Emma repeated it.
“Michael Santoro.”
Victor whispered, “No way.”
Sal cursed under his breath.
Dante stood.
Michael Santoro had been dead for twelve years.
A respected attorney.
A family friend.
And according to rumors Emma had heard from her father years ago, one of Carlo Moretti’s closest advisers.
Dante’s mother signed again.
“She says Michael left the house twenty minutes before your father collapsed.”
Dante’s breathing changed.
“Did she see him do anything?”
Emma translated.
His mother answered.
“No.”
Dante exhaled.
Then the woman added something.
Emma stared at her.
“What?”
Dante demanded.
Emma looked up.
“She says Michael came back.”
Silence.
“After your father died?”
Emma nodded.
“She says around two in the morning.”
“For what?”
The woman’s eyes turned wet.
Emma signed the question.
The answer came immediately.
“He came for the red book.”
Dante’s face went blank.
“What red book?”
His mother looked almost angry.
“She says that’s what she’s been trying to tell you for seventeen years.”
Dante paced once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
“What was in it?”
His mother’s reply came fast.
“Names. Payments. Judges. Police. Politicians. People your father owned.”
Victor whispered, “Holy…”
Dante snapped his fingers.
“Phones.”
Everyone at the table took out their phones.
“On the table. Now.”
Even Emma jumped.
One by one, phones were placed beside the plates.
Dante grabbed his own.
Then looked at Emma.
“You too.”
“My phone is in my apron.”
“Table.”
Emma put it down.
Dante looked at his mother.
“Where was the book?”
She answered.
“In your father’s study.”
“And Santoro took it?”
“No.”
Dante frowned.
Emma’s pulse quickened.
“She says he searched for it.”
“Then who took it?”
His mother looked toward Dante.
Then signed.
“I did.”
The room exploded with voices.
Dante raised one hand.
Silence returned instantly.
He turned to his mother.
“You took it?”
She nodded.
“Where is it?”
The older woman’s expression changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
Emma saw it.
Then she signed five words.
Emma translated carefully.
“She says someone already knows.”
Dante stared.
“Knows what?”
“That she still has it.”
At that exact moment, a loud crash came from the restaurant outside.
Then screaming.
May you like
The private room lights went out.
And someone fired three shots through the door.
