Chapter 3 - The Brother Dante Buried
Dante did not move.
Mara whispered, “You have a brother?”
“No.”
The shed door shook.
“Mr. Vale,” the voice outside repeated. “We know you’re inside.”
Dante pulled out his phone.
No signal.
Jammer.
Mara could tell from his expression.
“How many?”
“At least four.”
“You carrying?”
He glanced at her.
“Do you really want that answer?”
“Today? Yes.”
He opened his jacket enough for her to see the weapon.
“Good.”
“Stay behind me.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
“If they shoot through the door, standing behind you isn’t going to turn you bulletproof.”
He almost smiled.
Wrong moment.
Wrong man.
Yet there it was.
Dante checked the rear wall.
A narrow maintenance hatch sat behind stacked rope.
He pointed.
Mara understood.
They moved silently.
Outside, someone hit the door again.
“Last chance.”
Dante pushed aside the rope.
The hatch opened onto a narrow dock ladder descending toward the water.
Mara looked down.
Black water.
Cold.
“You first,” Dante whispered.
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Usually.”
He stared.
She climbed.
Dante followed.
The shed door crashed open above them.
Mara dropped the last four feet.
Water swallowed her.
Cold seized her lungs.
A second splash sounded beside her.
Dante surfaced.
“Under the dock.”
They swam beneath the wooden structure.
Boots pounded overhead.
Flashlights cut across the water.
Mara pressed one hand against a piling.
Dante was inches away.
For the first time since he walked into the boathouse, he looked genuinely furious.
Not afraid.
Furious.
One of the men above spoke.
“Case is gone.”
Another answered.
“Find them.”
A third said, “Mr. Vale’s brother wants the woman alive.”
Dante’s face went blank.
Mara watched him.
Brother.
The word had hit something.
A wound.
She didn’t know what.
The footsteps moved away.
Dante waited.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Then he whispered, “Swim east.”
They surfaced behind a neighboring yacht.
Dante climbed aboard using a rear ladder.
Mara followed, soaked and shivering.
“This yours?”
“No.”
“Breaking and entering?”
“Borrowing.”
He entered the cabin.
“Comforting.”
The yacht alarm began chirping.
Dante found a control panel.
Typed four digits.
The alarm stopped.
Mara stared.
“Definitely not yours?”
“Friend’s.”
“A friend who gives you his security code?”
“Not willingly.”
She almost laughed.
Then she remembered the envelope.
Still clutched in her hand.
Wet outside.
Sealed inside plastic.
Dante saw it.
“Open it.”
Mara hesitated.
“My mother wrote it.”
“I know.”
“It’s mine.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“Then stop ordering me.”
A pause.
Dante leaned against the counter.
“Open it when you’re ready.”
That surprised her more than any command would have.
Mara tore the plastic.
Inside were four handwritten pages.
Her mother’s words.
Mara,
If you are reading this, then I either failed to come home or I was forced to disappear.
There are things your father will never tell you because he believes silence can protect the people he loves.
He is wrong.
Mara stopped.
Dante watched her.
“Keep going.”
She glared.
He lifted both hands.
“Suggestion.”
She continued.
The Vale family is not your enemy.
But someone close to them is.
Lorenzo tried to stop the trafficking routes.
He trusted the wrong person.
If anything happens to me, look for the boy with the broken crown.
Mara frowned.
“Broken crown?”
Dante straightened.
“What?”
She handed him the page.
He read.
His expression changed again.
“You know what it means.”
“No.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m excellent at lying.”
“Then you’re terrible at lying to me.”
His eyes met hers.
For a second neither spoke.
Then he opened his shirt collar slightly and reached beneath it.
A chain.
On the chain hung a small medal.
A silver crown.
Cracked through the middle.
Mara stared.
“You.”
“No.”
“The letter says boy with the broken crown.”
“This belonged to my brother.”
The boat seemed suddenly quieter.
“What was his name?”
“Adrian.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died.”
“When?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
Mara’s blood ran colder than the water dripping from her hair.
“The same year my mother disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dante looked toward the dark marina outside.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“He drowned.”
“And unofficially?”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“We never found his body.”
Mara stared.
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
“You?”
“Nineteen.”
“What happened?”
Dante rubbed his thumb across the cracked medal.
“My brother discovered something he wasn’t supposed to.”
Mara’s eyes dropped to the letter.
“The trafficking routes.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t know?”
“My father refused to talk about it.”
“Apparently fathers enjoy doing that.”
Dante looked at her.
There was something almost like understanding there.
Then the yacht radio activated.
Static.
A voice.
“Dante.”
He froze.
Mara felt it before she understood.
Dante stepped toward the radio.
The voice continued.
“You still wear my medal?”
Dante’s face lost color.
Mara whispered, “Adrian?”
The radio crackled.
“Hello, brother.”
Dante stared at the speaker.
“Impossible.”
A soft laugh came through.
“You always were dramatic.”
Dante picked up the microphone.
“Where are you?”
“Close.”
“You died.”
“That was the idea.”
Mara watched Dante transform.
The polished control vanished.
In its place stood the nineteen-year-old brother who had never gotten an answer.
“Why?”
Adrian’s voice softened.
“Because Father chose his empire over me.”
“No.”
“He did.”
“You’re lying.”
“You sound exactly like him.”
Dante clenched the microphone.
“Did you attack Henry Voss?”
Silence.
Then:
“I sent men to retrieve property.”
“You nearly killed him.”
“He resisted.”
Mara moved toward the radio.
Dante blocked her.
She shoved past.
“You threatened me.”
A pause.
Adrian laughed.
“Mara Voss.”
“Come say it to my face.”
Dante grabbed her wrist.
She pulled free.
Adrian sounded entertained.
“You’re exactly like Evelyn.”
“Stay away from my family.”
“Your family?”
His tone changed.
“Sweetheart, your family is the reason mine was destroyed.”
Dante slammed the transmit button.
“Enough.”
“No, Dante. Not nearly.”
“Where are you?”
“You found the case?”
Dante looked at Mara.
Neither answered.
Adrian knew.
“Of course you did.”
The radio hissed.
“Then you found Evelyn’s letter.”
Mara’s stomach tightened.
“How do you know what she wrote?”
“I watched her write it.”
Dante looked sharply at Mara.
The voice continued.
“And if she told you to trust the boy with the broken crown…”
A pause.
“…she wasn’t talking about Dante.”
The radio went dead.
Mara stared at the medal around Dante’s neck.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
Lights suddenly flooded the yacht windows.
A boat had pulled alongside.
Black hull.
No markings.
Five armed men stood on deck.
At their center was a tall figure.
Dark coat.
Silver hair.
Dante stepped toward the glass.
The man looked up.
Even through the window, the resemblance was unmistakable.
Same jaw.
Same eyes.
Same Vale face.
May you like
Adrian lifted one hand.
And pointed directly at Mara.
