Chapter 4 - The Enemy Inside Dante’s House
By noon, Samuel Reed was inside one of Dante Romano’s most secure properties.
Elena hated the idea.
Samuel hated it more.
Dante ignored both objections.
The safe house occupied the top two floors of an ordinary-looking building near Central Park. No signs announced Romano ownership. No armed men stood on sidewalks.
The security was designed not to be seen.
Samuel sat near the window drinking coffee while Marco inspected the building’s systems.
Elena stood across from Dante.
“You promised nobody would approach Samuel.”
“I didn’t.”
“You moved him.”
“After someone threatened him.”
“You always have an answer.”
“I pay people to make sure I do.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then she looked toward Samuel.
“He spent seventeen years hiding from this.”
“And hiding didn’t stop them from finding him.”
Elena knew Dante was right.
She resented him for it anyway.
Dante handed Marco the photograph from his phone.
“Find the camera.”
“Already checking traffic feeds.”
“And Houseian?”
“Raymond Houseian died nine years ago. His son, Victor, owns the recovery company.”
“Connections to Vincenzo?”
“Several.”
Dante looked up.
“How many?”
Marco hesitated.
“That many?”
“Victor attended your uncle’s charity dinner last month.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Accounts?”
“Houseian Recovery receives consulting payments through three companies connected to Vincenzo’s investment group.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“So there’s your proof.”
“Proof of business.”
“Dante.”
“I know what it looks like.”
“What more do you need?”
“Enough that nobody can explain it away.”
She stared at him.
“This is why men like Vincenzo survive. Everyone waits for perfect proof.”
“And this is why innocent people get destroyed. Someone sees a pattern and decides it’s certainty.”
Samuel interrupted quietly.
“He’s right.”
Elena looked at him.
Samuel nodded toward Dante.
“Your father taught you to ask questions before deciding guilt?”
Dante’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
Samuel gave a tired smile.
“Then perhaps Carlo was right to trust him.”
Those words stayed with Dante.
That afternoon he returned to Romano Holdings alone.
He did not tell Vincenzo he was coming.
His uncle maintained an office on the twenty-sixth floor even though he had officially retired years earlier.
Vincenzo Romano was seventy-one.
Silver hair.
Perfect suits.
Still physically imposing.
He greeted Dante as though nothing had happened.
“Nephew.”
“Uncle.”
“You look terrible.”
“Long night.”
“Women or money?”
“Family.”
Vincenzo laughed.
“Usually worse.”
Dante placed a photograph on the desk.
The Moretti vehicle.
Vincenzo’s smile vanished for less than a second.
Enough.
“Recognize it?”
“No.”
“You didn’t look.”
“I don’t need to recognize every automobile in New York.”
Dante placed the old license plate number beside it.
Now Vincenzo looked.
“That belonged to one of our fleets.”
“Your fleet.”
“Perhaps.”
“Seventeen years ago, it struck another car and forced it through a barrier.”
Vincenzo leaned back.
“Where did this come from?”
“A witness.”
“Samuel Reed?”
Dante had expected denial.
Instead Vincenzo named him immediately.
The room turned cold.
Vincenzo realized his mistake.
Dante said quietly, “Interesting.”
His uncle smiled.
“I remember old problems.”
“You remember witnesses.”
“Same thing, sometimes.”
Dante stared at him.
“Did you threaten Samuel’s family?”
Vincenzo stood.
“You’re entering dangerous territory.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“It’s advice.”
“You had photographs of his wife and child.”
“Dante.”
“Did you kill Carlo Moretti?”
Vincenzo’s expression changed.
Not guilt.
Anger.
“You think I murdered that accountant?”
“I think his car was hit by one registered to you.”
“And you think your father knew nothing?”
Dante remained silent.
Vincenzo walked toward the window.
“Antonio was not a saint.”
“I never claimed he was.”
“He built what you inherited.”
“And spent his final years trying to change it.”
“You believe that because dead fathers become whatever sons need them to be.”
Dante approached.
“I heard Carlo’s tape.”
That stopped Vincenzo.
For the first time, genuine fear appeared.
Small.
But real.
“What tape?”
“Interesting question.”
Vincenzo turned.
“What did he say?”
“Enough.”
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
His uncle’s face hardened.
“You have no idea what you’re touching.”
“That phrase is becoming repetitive.”
“You think this is about money stolen seventeen years ago?”
“What is it about?”
Vincenzo moved closer.
“Your father protected secrets because he understood that organizations survive through stability.”
“That sounds like a confession.”
“It sounds like history.”
“Then tell me history.”
Vincenzo looked at him for several seconds.
Then said something unexpected.
“I didn’t order Carlo Moretti’s death.”
Dante studied him.
“But you threatened Samuel.”
“Yes.”
The admission came easily.
“Why?”
“Because Antonio told me to.”
Dante’s breathing stopped.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“My father told Carlo to bring him the evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Then why silence Samuel?”
“After the crash, Antonio believed whoever killed Carlo was inside our organization. Until he knew who, every witness was vulnerable.”
“That does not explain threatening a child.”
“No.”
Vincenzo looked down.
“That part was mine.”
There was regret in his voice.
“I thought fear was efficient.”
Dante stared.
“Who drove the car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who had access?”
“Several people.”
“Victor Houseian?”
“He was twenty-four.”
“Old enough.”
“Yes.”
“Was Raymond involved?”
Vincenzo hesitated.
“Yes.”
Dante’s thoughts moved quickly.
“Then why is Victor still working in our territory?”
“Because Raymond died before Antonio could prove anything.”
“What about Victor?”
“No evidence.”
Dante almost laughed.
Now his uncle was using Dante’s own argument.
Vincenzo opened a drawer.
He removed a small key.
“Your father spent years investigating Carlo’s death.”
Dante stared.
“He never told me.”
“He was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“Carlo came to him for protection.”
Vincenzo’s voice lowered.
“Antonio promised him he would be safe.”
A long silence.
“He failed.”
Dante understood.
His father had carried that failure until death.
“What does the key open?”
“A private archive in the old Romano house.”
Dante took it.
“Why give me this now?”
“Because someone found Samuel.”
Vincenzo looked toward the door.
“And if Samuel has resurfaced, whoever killed Carlo may decide finishing the old job is safer than remaining hidden.”
Dante returned to the safe house twenty minutes later.
Marco met him downstairs.
Something was wrong.
“Elena?”
“Upstairs.”
“Samuel?”
“Fine.”
“Then what?”
Marco handed Dante a phone.
Security footage.
Someone had attempted to access the building using a Romano executive credential.
Dante looked at the identification number.
His blood went cold.
The credential belonged to someone who had worked beside him for eleven years.
Someone who knew his schedules.
His security protocols.
Elena’s routines.
Someone Dante trusted enough to enter his home without being searched.
“Impossible.”
Marco shook his head.
“The system doesn’t make mistakes.”
Dante stared at the name.
Adrian Cole.
His chief financial officer.
And Elena’s closest friend inside Romano Holdings.
When Dante reached the top floor, Elena was standing near Samuel.
She saw his expression.
“What happened?”
He showed her the security record.
Elena read Adrian’s name.
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No. Adrian wouldn’t.”
“We need to find him.”
Her phone vibrated.
A message.
From Adrian.
She opened it.
ELENA, DO NOT TRUST DANTE. I KNOW WHO KILLED YOUR PARENTS.
A second message arrived.
AND IT WASN’T VINCENZO.
Then a photograph appeared.
Dante’s father.
Antonio Romano.
Standing beside the wrecked Moretti car.
May you like
Taken the night Elena’s parents died.
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