Chapter 4 - Someone Was Waiting Outside My Apartment Before I Got Home

I did not argue about protection after that.

Not because Dante was right.

Because someone had photographed my apartment door.

There are principles you can defend from a safe distance.

At midnight, distance had disappeared.

Dante sent two people ahead to check my building.

Not the men from table seven.

A woman named Tessa and an older man named Paolo.

Both wore ordinary coats.

Neither showed tattoos.

I appreciated the effort.

We waited in a private office above Aurelia.

Leo slept in a portable carrier beside Dante.

I sat across from him with my mother’s photograph in both hands.

“Who has my address?”

“Your employer. utilities. police. anyone with access to common databases.”

“Your people?”

“Yes.”

“Stefano?”

“Yes.”

“Gabriel?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.”

Dante ignored the sarcasm.

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

I almost declined.

Then I answered.

Silence.

I heard breathing.

“Hello?”

A click.

Gone.

Dante held out his hand.

“No.”

“I can trace through my people.”

“I said no.”

He withdrew it immediately.

That surprised me again.

I called Detective Sarah Lin instead.

She had handled my mother’s missing-person report months earlier.

At first she sounded tired.

Then I forwarded the apartment photograph.

Her voice changed.

“Where are you?”

I looked at Dante.

“A restaurant office.”

“With whom?”

“Dante Rosselli.”

Silence.

“Alina.”

“I know.”

“Do not leave alone.”

“That advice has already become popular.”

She arrived twenty-five minutes later with another detective.

Dante’s bodyguards stayed outside the office after she requested it.

Lin looked at the photograph of Marisol and Elena.

Then at me.

“You knew about the sister?”

“No.”

She sat.

“This changes things.”

“My mother’s missing-person file didn’t include family history?”

“She listed no siblings on prior documents we found.”

Because Marisol had erased Elena from ordinary life.

Lin turned to Dante.

“You’ve been looking for Marisol privately.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell police?”

“I did.”

“Which police?”

“People who answer calls differently when I make them.”

Lin’s expression flattened.

“Meaning?”

“Federal contacts. private investigators. local units.”

“Not me.”

“No.”

She did not like that.

Neither did I.

Parallel investigations meant nobody saw the whole picture.

Lin asked for Elena’s recovered phone.

Dante refused at first.

She said, “If you want me to protect Alina, stop deciding which evidence law enforcement deserves.”

He stared at her.

Then handed over the phone.

That was the first time I saw someone speak to Dante the way Elena apparently had.

Maybe he respected people who did not perform fear.

Lin read the unsent message.

Dragon closest to him.

“Stefano?”

“Possibly.”

“Gabriel Moretti?”

“Possibly.”

“Anyone else?”

“Myself.”

She looked up.

“You think Elena meant you?”

“No.”

“But objectively, you qualify.”

Dante almost smiled.

“I like you.”

“I don’t need that.”

“Even better.”

Tessa called.

My apartment was empty.

No forced entry.

But someone had placed an envelope beneath the door.

Police reached the building before anyone touched it.

Inside was one photograph.

My mother.

Recent.

Alive.

I knew because she wore the winter coat I bought her last Christmas.

Behind her was a concrete wall.

No visible location.

She looked thinner.

Frightened.

But alive.

I stopped breathing.

Lin placed the image carefully on the desk.

On the back:

ASK DANTE WHERE ELENA KEPT THE SECOND LEDGER.

I looked at him.

He had gone pale.

“What ledger?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I don’t.”

“Elena died because of missing money.”

“Yes.”

“She contacted my mother.”

“Yes.”

“Now someone wants a ledger.”

“Yes.”

“And you know nothing?”

His jaw tightened.

“Elena kept records. She was an attorney by training. She documented everything.”

“Did she have a ledger?”

“Not that I found.”

“First ledger?”

“We recovered transaction notes from her office after the crash.”

“So this says second ledger.”

“Yes.”

Lin asked, “Who knew what was recovered?”

Dante thought.

“Stefano. Gabriel. myself. two attorneys.”

“Names.”

He gave them.

Lin wrote.

My thoughts returned to the photograph.

“Can we trace where it was printed?”

“Maybe.”

“Background?”

“Maybe.”

“Anything?”

“We work the image.”

I hated maybe.

Dante looked at Marisol’s face.

“She’s alive.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I was told otherwise.”

I turned.

“By who?”

His silence told me.

“Stefano.”

Dante nodded.

“When?”

“Five months ago. He said one of our sources found evidence she had died under another name in Montreal.”

“Did you verify it?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Death certificate. hospital record.”

Lin interrupted.

“Documents can be forged.”

Dante’s expression became bitter.

“Yes.”

The story changed shape again.

Stefano had not simply failed to find my mother.

He may have convinced Dante to stop looking.

“Why would he do that?”

Dante looked toward Leo.

“To isolate Elena.”

The thought hit me hard.

Marisol disappeared first.

Then someone produced a false death trail.

Elena believed her sister was dead.

Three months later Elena died.

Maybe these were not separate events.

Maybe Marisol had been removed because she was the one person Elena trusted enough to run to.

Lin’s phone buzzed.

Image analysis.

The concrete wall behind my mother carried a faint reflection from something metallic.

A partial logo.

Three letters.

R-M-T.

Dante leaned closer.

His face changed immediately.

“You know it.”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Rosselli Maritime Terminal Four.”

I stood.

“My mother is at your docks?”

“Or someone wants us to believe she is.”

Lin raised one hand.

“No one moves.”

Dante looked at her.

“If she is there—”

“You show up with armed men, and whoever has her reacts.”

He said nothing.

Lin continued.

“We do this correctly.”

I almost laughed.

Correctly had been missing from my life for eight months.

Then another message arrived.

This time on my phone.

A video.

My mother sat in a chair.

Alive.

Terrified.

Someone off-camera said, “Tell Lena what you hid.”

Marisol looked directly into the lens.

Her voice shook.

“I’m sorry.”

Then she said the sentence that tore open everything I thought I knew.

“Alina, Elena wasn’t only my sister.”

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She closed her eyes.

“She was your mother.”