Chapter 2 Dante
DANTE
The ledgers spread across my desk tell the same story they told an hour ago.
Twenty kilos of heroin left Istanbul on schedule and disappeared before reaching the port in Bari.
The numbers don’t lie, but someone along the chain is lying to me.
I’ve called every contact between Turkey and Italy.
Nobody saw anything.
Nobody knows anything.
Everyone is suddenly blind and stupid.
I lean back in my chair and press the phone tighter against my ear.
Kemal Durmaz speaks in rapid Turkish on the other end.
His interpreter translates the words into Italian, and though the tone is different, I can tell they're all threats.
"You understand my position, Dante. The product was your responsibility once it crossed into Italian waters. Now it's gone, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it."
I keep my voice calm as I respond. "I'm telling you someone intercepted the shipment before my people could secure it. We're tracking down every point of contact along the route."
"Tracking." Kemal laughs. "You have until Christmas Eve to return my product or provide full compensation. If you fail, certain information will reach your allies in Sicily and Naples. And you know what I'm talking about."
I take a silent, deep breath.
So I've been skimming here and there, and that hit I took out on the Bianchi witness was good for everyone, not just me.
But if either piece of information surfaces, every alliance I’ve built will shatter.
The Sicilians will move against me immediately.
The Neapolitans will sever all ties.
My organization will collapse from the inside, and I'll be dead before the new year arrives.
"I'll handle it," I say.
"You understand my position now," Kemal says. "Merry Christmas."
The line goes dead and I set the phone down and close the ledger in front of me.
The clock on the wall shows eight thirty.
I stand and walk to the window only to be irritated by the gaudy display of "Christmas Spirit", or so my housekeeper calls it.
Marta had my men string flashing lights everywhere in the garden.
And if it wasn’t bad enough outdoors, she's started inside too.
The whole thing grates on my nerves and I find myself even more annoyed now that I have six weeks to answer Kemal's warnings or find myself in over my head.
A sharp knock interrupts my thoughts and I turn as Rico opens the door without waiting for permission.
His expression tells me something's gone wrong.
"We have a situation at the gate," he says.
Curiosity piqued, I move past him into the hallway. "What kind of situation?" If it were some sort of attack or breach, he'd have led with that.
But calling this a "situation" means it's not emergent, but important.
"A delivery, sir, but not your normal shipment. Two people dropped off by a van that barely stopped—a woman and a child. The woman's handcuffed. There's a note pinned to her jacket."
I walk faster, now even more curious.
Who sends a woman and a child to my doorstep as a package?
And what on earth could it mean?
We descend the staircase and cross the main hall toward the entrance.
My guards have already brought them inside by the time I arrive.
Two figures stand near the door.
Enzo and Luca flank them on either side with guarded stances like they’re going to jump out and kill someone, but they look frightened.
The child is crying softly, sniffling.
Her dark hair is stringy and dirty, like she hasn't bathed in a few days, and her cheeks are grubby with dirt and tear stains.
She looks familiar to me, but I can't put my finger on it.
So much so, in fact, that I can't tear my eyes away from her face for a second, and when I finally do, I'm shocked.
Angelica.
I remember everything about that night in Trastevere.
The club where she worked.
The Don with his hands on her, forcing himself on her.
The way I intervened and paid her debts.
The conversation afterward in my hotel room.
The wine.
The way she spread those legs and let me drink from that well.
I could never forget a face.
Not like hers.
I told myself I would never see her again, that it was better that way.
She stares back at me now, and I watch recognition bloom across her face.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Then horror and accusation.
"You," she hisses, though her throat closes around the word and her voice hitches.
I don't even humor her with a response.
She'll get that soon enough—as soon as I can form a coherent thought.
Because my eyes drop to the child again, no more than five or six years old, which puts her at just the right age to have been conceived that night.
And suddenly, I know why she looks so familiar to me.
I can see it written all over her precious face.
She looks just like me.
Enzo steps forward and hands me a folded piece of paper.
I open it and read the message written in block letters.
We know your secrets. We can reach what's yours. You'll be dead by Christmas Eve.
I fold the note and slip it into my pocket.
My mind runs through possibilities.
Antonelli is the most likely suspect.
He's been testing my defenses for months, bribing my contacts and moving product through my territory without permission.
This is exactly his style, a message delivered and meant to intimidate me and cause me to fear him.
I look at Angelica again.
She shifts her weight and moves the child behind her body with an instinct that confirms my suspicion.
"Who sent you here?" I ask, stepping closer.
I see the panic flit across her face. She's still bound and she's ready to defy me.
"I don't know," she says. "Men grabbed us in Naples this morning. They didn't tell us anything."
"What did they say?"
"That debt’s come due. That someone wanted to send a message." Her voice rises with each word. "Now uncuff me and let us leave. We don't belong here."
I ignore her demand and gesture toward Rico.
"Take the child upstairs to the guest room. Second door on the left. Give her water and food. Send Marta to care for her for the time being, please."
Angelica moves before Rico can take a step.
She pivots and drives her foot into Enzo's knee hard enough to make him stumble backward.
He recovers quickly and grabs her arm, but she twists against his grip and bares her teeth at him.
"Don't touch her," she shouts. "Don't you dare touch my daughter."
The guards move forward, but I raise one hand and they stop.
I step in and grab Angelica's arm myself, pulling her away from Enzo with enough force to make her gasp.
She tries to jerk free, but I tighten my hold.
"Enough," I say.
My voice cuts through the chaos and her defensive posture, making her wilt.
"Your daughter is safe. My people will take her upstairs and feed her. You and I need to talk."
"I'm not leaving her."
"Yes, you are."
I drag her toward the hallway that leads to the guest wing.
She fights every step, digging her heels into the floor and pulling against me.
The child starts crying behind us, and normally, a child's cries don’t move me, but this time, I feel something in my chest turn.
Marta appears from somewhere and approaches the girl with her hands out and her voice gentle.
The child hesitates, then lets Marta guide her away.
I pull Angelica into the nearest guest room and shut the door.
She spins on me immediately, fury written across every inch of her face.
"Let me go," she demands vehemently before I can even get a word in.
I have no intention of keeping her bound, but her hostility toward me will stop or she'll learn why my men fear me.
I release her arm and growl, "Stand still," as I pull my knife from my pocket and drop to my knees behind her.
The cuffs are a challenge, but I've seen worse.
It takes me a few minutes, but I have her freed and rubbing her wrists before she can cuss me out again.
"Who are you?" she asks. "What do you want?" Her voice trembles a little, and while I do have that effect on people, I gather that there's more to this than meets the eye.
"You don't remember me." I walk calmly toward the window, glancing out before turning back to her.
"I remember you saved me six years ago. I remember sleeping with you was a mistake. I don't remember asking to be kidnapped."
"I didn't arrange this," I tell her. "Someone sent you here as a message for me. They're threatening me."
"What are you talking about?"
Her face contorts in confusion, so I pull the note from my pocket and hold it up.
"This was pinned to your jacket. It's from my enemies. They're telling me they know about you and the child."
She goes completely still.
The color drains from her face.
"They don't know anything," she says dismissively, but I know she's lying. Just the way her face blanched tells me that much. "Sofia has nothing to do with you."
"Sofia." I taste the word on my tongue and realize how much I like it. "How old is she?"
"None of your business."
"Answer me!" I shout, and it startles her so much, she jumps.
People do not disrespect me—ever.
"Five… almost six. January is her birthday."
The math confirms everything.
I got her pregnant that night.
She disappeared before she could tell me.
She's been hiding my daughter from me for six years.
"She's mine," I say.
"No."
"Don't lie."
"I'm not lying." Her voice cracks and she starts rubbing her wrists again, but this time, I know it's out of nerves.
"You don't know her. You have no right to her."
I step closer.
She backs up until she hits the wall.
I plant one hand beside her head and lean in until I can see every fleck of gold in her green eyes.
"Someone knows she exists," I say. "Someone knows she's connected to me. That makes her a target. That makes you a target. If I send you away, they'll find you again. They'll use you to hurt me, and they won't care what happens to either of you in the process."
Her breathing quickens.
I watch her pupils blow wide in fright as the fear creeps in despite her attempts to hide it.
"This is your fault," she says. "Whatever you did, this is because of you."
"Yes," I agree. "And now you're caught in it."
She shoves against my chest with both hands, but I barely move.
So she tries again, harder, and when that fails, she swings her fist at my face.
I catch her wrist before she connects and pin it against the wall above her head.
"Stop," I say calmly, though I want to shout.
Never in my life has anyone treated me this way and lived.
"Let me go."
"Not until you calm down."
We stay frozen like that, her chest heaving.
Her eyes shine with tears she refuses to shed.
And finally, I release her wrist and step back, putting space between us.
"You'll stay here until I figure out who sent you and what they want," I say. "You and Sofia will be protected. Nobody will harm either of you."
"I don't trust you."
"Do you think I care?" I glare at her and move toward the door.
One of my guards stands in the hallway when I open it and step out.
"Bring food for both of them. Make sure the child has whatever she needs. And take her to be with the girl. No one in or out. Got it?"
He nods and walks away while I turn back to Angelica.
She hasn't moved from her position against the wall.
"Why did you save me that night?" she asks timidly.
She's shaking a little, probably frightened by me, but maybe that’s a good thing.
It'll keep her too scared to do anything stupid.
"Because I wanted to," I tell her, but the truth is, she reminded me of my past, and that familiarity drew me in like a moth to a flame.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I close the door and lock it from the outside.
Then I walk back to my den and call Silvio, my doctor.
He answers immediately.
"I need a discreet DNA test," I say. "There's a chance I'm a father and I need to prove paternity. Can you do that?"
He hesitates for only a second. "When?"
"Tonight. I'll have samples ready within the hour."
"I'll be there in thirty minutes, Mr. Santonelli."
I hang up and sit at my desk.
The ledgers still sit where I left them, staring up at me in such a mocking way.
This wasn't a mistake.
Whoever dropped this on my doorstep the same day as Kemal's warning isn't messing around.
They intend to fuck up my concentration and make it harder to prove myself.
And now I have a daughter I didn't know existed and a woman I never forgot locked in my guest room.
When they're done eating, Marta will bring their silverware to me, and as soon as the doctor is done running his tests, I'll have my proof.
It will force Angelica to fall in line, so that much will be squared away, but with the added trouble of someone digging into my past, I know this is only going to get worse.
And if I don't bring my A game, my little girl will put her father in the grave before she turns six years old.