Chapter 6
Dante did not lock down the estate.
That surprised Helena.
It surprised his bodyguards more.
“Someone entered your office,” Anthony Velez, his security chief, said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re leaving gates normal.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever did it expects panic.”
Anthony looked toward the bell.
“You want them comfortable.”
“I want them moving.”
Dante had spent years resolving threats through force.
Force worked when the enemy needed territory.
This enemy wanted reaction.
Different rules.
He moved Lily into his own suite.
Not under guard alone.
With him.
Meetings came to the room.
Meals came to the room.
If a capo disliked discussing business while a three-year-old colored at the table, he could leave.
No one did.
Lily began eating normally after two days.
That should have been ordinary.
Instead Dante noticed every bite.
How fast she ate.
How she hid small pieces of bread in her cardigan pocket.
The first time he saw it, he nearly broke.
“Why are you keeping that?”
Lily froze.
“For later.”
“You can have more later.”
She stared.
“Aunt Helena says kitchen closes.”
Dante looked toward Maria.
The housekeeper lowered her eyes.
Dante crouched.
“The kitchen does not close for you.”
Lily considered.
“Bell?”
“No bell.”
“Ever?”
Dante looked at the brass bell sitting on a shelf where he had placed it.
He picked it up.
Then opened the balcony door.
Helena, standing in the corridor, saw.
Dante threw the bell into the fountain below.
Lily watched.
“No bell.”
She smiled.
Small.
Uncertain.
That smile mattered more than any victory Dante had won outside the estate.
Later, Helena asked to speak alone.
Dante allowed it.
She stood near the balcony.
“You’re making me the villain.”
“You made yourself useful for the role.”
“I know.”
Dante looked at her.
She continued.
“But someone wanted me to find those bells.”
“Why?”
“To make me react.”
“You did.”
“Yes.”
“Against Lily.”
Helena closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Dante’s voice hardened.
“Do not skip that part because you now understand it.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
Helena took a breath.
“The first bell appeared in my room.”
Dante frowned.
“You said wine cellar.”
“I lied.”
Of course.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What was with it?”
“A photograph.”
“Of?”
Helena handed him an image she had kept hidden.
Dante stared.
Anna.
His late wife.
Alive.
Dated one week after the date Dante believed she died.
His hand tightened.
“Where did you get this?”
“With the bell.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because on the back…”
She turned it over.
Anna’s handwriting.
IF DANTE SEES THIS TOO SOON, HE WILL KILL THE WRONG PERSON.
Dante stopped.
That sentence belonged to his wife.
He recognized the hand.
He recognized the judgment.
It hurt because she knew him.
“Anna survived.”
“For at least a week.”
Dante stared at Helena.
“You knew three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“And said nothing.”
“I thought it might be fake.”
“You tested that by starving my daughter.”
Helena looked down.
“No excuse.”
For once.
None.
Dante looked at the date again.
Anna alive.
One week after her supposed death.
No body had been shown to him.
Doctors had said infection complications after emergency surgery.
Closed coffin.
Private burial.
He had trusted family doctors.
Trusted Helena.
Trusted the house.
The pattern sickened him.
“Who told me she died?”
Helena looked at him.
“Dr. Mercer.”
Dante knew the name.
Old family physician.
Retired.
Living in Connecticut.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Dante stood.
He could go immediately.
Old instincts.
Find man.
Demand truth.
He looked toward Lily.
She was stacking blocks.
He stayed.
“Send someone to invite Dr. Mercer.”
Helena stared.
“You aren’t going?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Dante looked at his daughter.
“Because someone keeps building plans around the assumption that I leave her whenever I get angry.”
Helena said nothing.
May you like
Dante continued.
“They are done knowing me that well.”
