Chapter 13
Sofia’s death had one remaining witness.
The driver.
Thomas Vale.
He had survived the crash with a broken shoulder and spent three years refusing to speak about the minutes before the car left the road.
Dante had never pressured him.
At the time he believed accident.
Now he visited.
Thomas lived above a small garage outside Albany.
No entourage.
Dante brought only Nico.
Thomas opened the door.
Saw him.
Almost shut it.
Dante blocked it with one hand.
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
Thomas laughed nervously.
“That sentence from you has a reputation.”
Fair.
Dante stepped back.
Choice.
Thomas noticed.
“What do you want?”
“Sofia.”
The man’s face changed.
Dante continued:
“I know Stefano arranged the road.”
Thomas stared.
Then slowly opened the door.
Inside, no dramatic confession.
Coffee.
Old furniture.
A frightened man.
Thomas spoke after fifteen minutes.
“Sofia knew we were followed.”
“By who?”
“Black sedan.”
“Stefano?”
“Driver I never saw.”
“What happened?”
“She told me not to speed.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Sofia.
Always fighting the instinct to panic.
“Then?”
“She made a call.”
“To who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did she say?”
Thomas remembered.
“‘If I don’t make it, the children stay out.’”
Dante’s chest tightened.
Children.
Dominic.
Laura.
Lily not yet born? Wait Lily is 3, Sofia died 3 years ago, Lily maybe infant at the time. Yes.
“She had Lily with her?”
“No.”
“Home.”
Good.
“What happened?”
“The black car came beside us.”
“Did it hit?”
“No.”
“That’s what I never told anyone.”
Dante frowned.
“The crash wasn’t from impact.”
“What?”
Thomas’s hands trembled.
“Sofia grabbed the wheel.”
Silence.
Dante stared.
“Why?”
“She saw something ahead.”
“What?”
“A truck blocking the road.”
“She knew stopping would be worse.”
Dante felt cold.
“So she turned us over the edge.”
“Yes.”
Not accident.
Not forced directly.
Choice.
Sofia had chosen the crash rather than capture.
“Why?”
Thomas looked at him.
“She said, ‘Stefano needs me alive.’”
Dante’s expression hardened.
“What for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she survive the initial crash?”
Thomas’s face changed.
Dante knew before he answered.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“How long?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
Dante could barely hear.
“Who arrived?”
“Not ambulance first.”
“Stefano?”
“No.”
“Gabriel.”
Dante stopped.
Gabriel had been there.
Thomas continued:
“He pulled me out.”
“What about Sofia?”
“He got to her.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Dante’s hand tightened.
“And?”
“She told him something.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t hear.”
“Then?”
“A second car came.”
“Stefano.”
“Yes.”
“What did Gabriel do?”
Thomas looked away.
“He ran.”
Dante stared.
“He left her.”
“Yes.”
Rage returned.
Gabriel had omitted that.
He had been there.
He could have helped.
Maybe impossible.
Maybe cowardice.
Maybe strategy.
But he left.
Thomas continued:
“Stefano took Sofia.”
Dante stopped breathing.
“What?”
“She did not die at the crash site.”
The grave opened again.
Dante’s voice came out low.
“I saw her body.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Next day.”
Dante knew.
Funeral preparation.
Family house.
Sofia had been alive after the crash.
Taken.
Then killed later.
That changed the final hours.
“Where?”
Thomas shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Dante stood.
Before leaving he asked:
“Why stay silent?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Because Gabriel told me if I spoke, you would burn half the city.”
Dante almost laughed.
Everyone knew his old self.
Everyone built decisions around him.
“And was he wrong?”
Thomas said nothing.
Three years ago?
Maybe not.
May you like
Dante left with the truth he deserved.
Not the truth he wanted.
