Chapter 5 - THE MAN HOLDING LEO
Dante moved faster than I had seen any man his age move.
He grabbed the driver by the jacket.
“Where is he?”
The driver went pale.
“Mr. Rosselli, your uncle came ten minutes ago. He said you sent him.”
“I did not.”
“He knew the security phrase.”
Dante released him.
That scared me more than if he had punched him.
“What security phrase?”
Dante looked at me.
“One only three people know.”
“Let me guess. Carlo is one.”
“Yes.”
“Who are the others?”
“Me.”
“And?”
His expression darkened.
“My daughter knew it.”
Sofia.
My pulse climbed.
Dante pulled out his phone.
Then stopped again.
“Why aren’t you calling him?”
“Because if Carlo wanted to hurt Leo, he would not announce himself to my driver.”
“You think kidnapping your grandson politely makes this better?”
“No.”
A black SUV turned the corner.
Dante’s guards exited before it fully stopped.
He spoke to them rapidly.
Addresses.
Routes.
No shouting.
No threats.
Just terrifying efficiency.
I finally understood why people moved when Dante Rosselli entered a room.
Then his driver said, “Sir.”
We turned.
He pointed through the windshield toward my building.
A folded piece of paper had been tucked beneath the wiper.
Dante snatched it.
Three words.
Beacon Hill. Home.
“Your house?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why take Leo at all?”
Dante looked at the note.
“To make sure I came.”
I should have stayed behind.
Instead I climbed into the SUV before Dante could stop me.
“If my mother is connected to this, I’m coming.”
He got in beside me.
For once, he did not argue.
Dante’s townhouse sat on a quiet Beacon Hill street where even the trees looked expensive.
The front door stood open.
Two guards waited outside.
Neither looked injured.
“That’s reassuring,” I said.
“It isn’t.”
Inside, I heard a baby laugh.
Dante stopped.
So did I.
Carlo Rosselli sat in the formal living room with Leo bouncing on one knee.
He was in his seventies.
Silver hair.
Beautifully tailored navy suit.
Soft brown eyes.
He looked like someone’s beloved grandfather.
That unsettled me instantly.
Leo held Carlo’s glasses in one hand.
Carlo laughed and tried getting them back.
“Thief,” he murmured.
Then he saw us.
His smile disappeared.
“Dante.”
Dante stood between Carlo and me.
“Give me my grandson.”
Carlo looked wounded.
“He is also my family.”
“You removed him without permission.”
“I removed him from a sidewalk where one of your drivers allowed me to walk away with him.”
The driver behind us stared at the floor.
Carlo handed Leo over.
No resistance.
Dante checked the baby so thoroughly it would have been funny in any other situation.
Leo patted his chest.
“I’m fine too,” Carlo said dryly.
Then his gaze moved to me.
It lingered.
Not rudely.
Almost sadly.
“You look like Marisol.”
“I’ve heard.”
“And Dante.”
“I’m trying not to.”
Carlo gave a quiet laugh.
Dante did not.
“You knew she was alive,” Dante said.
Carlo looked at his nephew.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Dante’s voice became almost gentle.
“For thirty-one years?”
Carlo removed his glasses from Leo’s abandoned grip and cleaned them.
“Not all thirty-one.”
“How many?”
“Enough.”
Dante took one step forward.
I caught his sleeve.
I had no idea why.
Maybe because Leo was watching.
Dante looked down at my hand.
Then back at Carlo.
Carlo noticed everything.
“Marisol was right,” he said.
I released Dante immediately.
“About what?”
“That finding you would destroy whatever peace you had built.”
My anger sharpened.
“She’s missing.”
“I know.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“I know where she went.”
Dante said, “Carlo.”
“Newburyport first.”
My hand tightened around the rosary in my coat pocket.
“How do you know that?”
Carlo sighed.
“Because I sent her there.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“You sent my mother away?”
“Eight months ago.”
“Why?”
“To keep her alive.”
Dante laughed once.
It contained no humor.
“Interesting. You used the same excuse thirty-one years ago.”
Carlo looked at him.
“Yes.”
That answer surprised both of us.
“You admit it?” Dante asked.
“I helped Marisol leave Boston with the baby.”
Dante’s face drained.
“You told me they died.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
Carlo looked suddenly older.
“Because your father intended to take the child.”
I frowned.
Dante did not move.
“What?”
“You were twenty years old,” Carlo said. “Violent when frightened. Loyal to a father who believed loyalty meant obedience.”
“I would never have hurt Marisol.”
“No. But you could not protect her from Vittorio.”
Dante’s father.
Carlo continued.
“Your father did not want an unmarried son producing a daughter with a woman outside the family. More importantly, Marisol had seen things in his office she should not have seen.”
“Money?”
“Names.”
Dante lowered Leo carefully into a playpen.
“What names?”
“Union men. Judges. Police officers. Men your father paid. Men he buried.”
My mouth went dry.
Carlo looked at me.
“Your mother was twenty-two and terrified. She wanted out.”
“So you helped her?”
“Yes.”
“The motel fire?”
“Staged.”
Not a fake death exactly.
A false trail.
Still, Dante recoiled as if struck.
“You let me grieve them.”
“I let you survive your father.”
“That was not your decision.”
“No.”
Carlo’s voice remained calm.
“That is a sin I have carried for three decades.”
For the first time, he did not sound like a villain.
That frightened me more.
“What changed eight months ago?” I asked.
Carlo looked toward Leo.
“Sofia.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Say her name carefully.”
“Your daughter found Marisol.”
“How?”
“She went looking for the truth about the blue-star locket.”
My hand closed over mine.
Carlo noticed.
“She always wondered why there were two.”
Dante stared at the floor.
“She asked me.”
“And you lied.”
“Yes.”
Sofia had inherited curiosity from somebody.
Possibly all of us.
Carlo continued.
“She found Marisol through old parish records. Then she learned about Alina.”
My heart stumbled.
“Sofia knew I was her sister.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Several months.”
“And she never came to me.”
“She wanted Marisol’s permission.”
That sounded like the woman in the photograph.
Careful.
Protective.
I hated that I could miss a sister I had never met.
“What happened the night she died?”
Carlo’s face changed.
“I followed her.”
Dante moved.
I grabbed his sleeve again.
This time he did not look down.
“You followed your own niece?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Sofia had stolen something from my office.”
“What?”
“A ledger.”
There it was.
Not just family history.
Something current.
“She believed it proved our legitimate companies were still being used to move illegal money.”
Dante stared at Carlo.
“Were they?”
Carlo’s silence answered.
Dante looked sick.
“I shut those routes down years ago.”
“You shut down the ones you knew about.”
Carlo’s voice hardened for the first time.
“I kept others alive.”
“Why?”
“Because clean money does not protect a family from men who are not clean.”
“That was not your choice.”
“Everything became my choice when your father died and left me two reckless boys and a criminal empire held together by fear.”
There it was.
Carlo’s motive.
Not greed alone.
Control disguised as protection.
“You killed Sofia,” Dante said.
“No.”
Carlo stood.
“I followed her because I wanted the ledger back. I argued with her near the river. She left angry.”
“And then?”
“I followed.”
My pulse hammered.
“The piece of dragon from your car was in my mother’s coat.”
Carlo looked at me.
For the first time, real shock appeared.
“What piece?”
I held it out.
The silver wing.
Carlo stared.
Then closed his eyes.
“Oh, God.”
Dante stepped forward.
“What?”
Carlo looked at him.
“My car was there.”
Dante’s voice dropped.
“You just said you followed her.”
“I did.”
“So why are you surprised?”
“Because I wasn’t driving it.”
Silence.
“Who was?”
Carlo looked toward the staircase.
A sound came from above.
A floorboard.
Everyone turned.
One of Dante’s guards moved first.
A man appeared at the top of the stairs.
Mid-fifties.
Gray suit.
No weapon visible.
I recognized him immediately.
Not from life.
From the diner photograph.
He had been standing behind Carlo near the black sedan.
Dante stared at him.
“Paul.”
The man slowly raised his hands.
Carlo whispered, “You were supposed to be in Providence.”
Paul looked at me.
Then at the broken silver dragon in my palm.
May you like
His face told me everything before his mouth opened.
“I wondered when Marisol’s daughter would find that.”
