Chapter 2 - The Facade of Saint and Sinner
My lungs seized. "What did you say?"
"You booked your commercial flight using your real name," Dante said calmly, pulling a slim gold cigarette case from his pocket, though he didn't open it. "You thought you were an ordinary citizen returning to move an urn. But in this city, the name Elena Carter still triggers alerts on three separate wiretaps monitored by the Romano organization."
"I have been gone for three years!"
"And for three years, Silvio Romano has been waiting for an opening," Dante replied, his gaze unrelenting. "The alliance between the Moretti family and the Carter estate through Victoria stabilized the borders, but Silvio is old, sick, and paranoid. He knows my marriage to your sister is a fortress he can't breach from the outside. But a child? An unannounced Moretti heir born in secret to the woman I spent eight years loving?"
He stepped closer, his hand coming up. Before I could flinch away, his thumb brushed against my cheekbone, catching the tear that had spilled there. His skin was rough, calloused, and achingly familiar.
"You brought a holy relic into a den of wolves, Elena," he whispered. "You think you can just check into a hotel and catch a flight on Sunday? If Romano’s men get to that boy before my security secures him, you will trade your life and mine just to see him again."
"Don't touch me," I gasped, jerking my face away from his hand. "Don't you dare act like you're protecting us! You created this! You chose this world! You chose Victoria!"
"I chose to keep you breathing!" he roared, the sudden blast of his voice shattering the quiet café. The couple two tables down hurriedly threw money on their table and scrambled toward the exit. The barista vanished entirely into the back kitchen.
Dante didn't care. He leaned in, his eyes blazing with an anger that matched my own. "You think I wanted to put that ring on Victoria’s finger? You think I slept in her bed? You think I’ve spent a single night of the last three years doing anything other than drinking myself numb in an empty penthouse, wondering where in the world you were?"
The confession hit me like a physical blow. I shook my head, fighting against the desperate, dangerous urge to believe him. "Stop lying. You're married to her. I saw the papers. I saw the society photos of you two at the Lyric Opera, at the museum galas—"
"Theater!" Dante spat the word like poison. "All of it, theater! Victoria wanted the Carter name restored, she wanted the prestige of being a Moretti, and she wanted protection from her father’s creditors. We signed an ironclad prenuptial agreement that outlines a completely non-cohabitation, unconsummated contract. She has her wing in the Gold Coast estate; I have the penthouse downtown. We don't share a bed, Elena. We have never touched. Not once."
My breath hitched. The room tilted again. "Victoria... agreed to that?"
"Victoria is a pragmatist," Dante said coldly. "She knew I would never touch another woman after you. She used my name to build her fashion PR firm into an empire, and in return, she played the dutiful wife at the three galas a year where appearances mattered. But that contract has an expiration date, Elena. And that date is two weeks from now."
I backed away until my spine hit the cold glass of the window. "No. No, this is too much. You don't get to dump three years of lies on me in ten minutes and expect me to fall into your arms! You broke me, Dante. You let me board that plane to Switzerland thinking you threw me away like trash. I spent my pregnancy throwing up in public train stations, counting pennies, working three translation jobs just to afford baby formula because I was too proud to touch the trust fund you might trace!"
Dante’s face twisted into an expression of raw, unadulterated pain. His fists clenched at his sides so hard I heard the seams of his leather gloves groan.
"I know," he choked out. "Mia told me."
I froze. "What?"
"When I finally tracked Mia down six months after you left, she wouldn't give me your address. She threatened to call the FBI if I put men on her tail," Dante admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "But she told me you were alone. She told me you were struggling. I had five million dollars deposited into an anonymous blind trust in Zurich under a corporate shell. Why didn't you touch it?"
"Because it felt like blood money!" I screamed. "I knew it was from you! Some anonymous Swiss legal firm suddenly offering me an 'unconditional living stipend'? Did you think I was an idiot? I wouldn't take a single cent from the man who broke my heart to play house with my sister!"
"That money wasn't for you to forgive me!" Dante shouted back, closing the distance between us again until he had me pinned against the glass, his hands resting on the window on either side of my head, trapping me in his heat. "It was so my child wouldn't starve! It was so you wouldn't have to break your back while carrying my son!"
"He isn't your son by law!" I spat, staring directly into his furious gray eyes. "His birth certificate says father unknown! In the eyes of the world, Dante Moretti has no heir. You have nothing."
Dante’s gaze dropped to my mouth, then slowly rose back to my eyes. The fury in his expression suddenly cooled into something far more dangerous: total, immovable certainty.
"He has my blood, Elena," Dante said in a lethal whisper. "And in this city, blood is the only law that matters. Now, you are going to pick up your bag, and we are going to Mia’s apartment. We are going to pack your things, and you and Leo are coming with me to the Lake Shore penthouse."
"I would rather die."
"If you stay at Mia’s, you might get your wish," Dante said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen twice and held it up to my face.
It was a live security feed.
The camera showed the exterior of Mia’s brownstone in Lincoln Park. Parked across the street was an unmarked black Lincoln Navigator with tinted windows. Two men in heavy coats were standing on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes, their eyes fixed on Mia’s second-floor bay window—the exact room where my son was currently taking his afternoon nap.
"That's not my security," Dante said softly against my ear. "That’s Silvio Romano’s street crew. They’ve been there for fifteen minutes. My men are two blocks away, waiting for my call to breach."
The cold returned, instantly freezing the blood in my veins. My pride, my anger, my three years of bitter resentment vanished in a split second, replaced by the sheer, primal terror of a mother whose child is in the crosshairs.
"Leo," I breathed, my hand flying to my mouth.
May you like
"He's safe for now. They won't move in broad daylight on a residential street unless they get desperate," Dante said, sliding the phone back into his coat. He took my hand, his grip crushing and unyielding. "We have about six minutes before they realize I’m not at my office. Are you going to keep arguing with me about the past, Elena? Or are you going to let me save our son?"
***
