Chapter 2 - The Name Dante Never Forgot
Dante did not sleep.
At 2:17 in the morning, he remained behind the desk in his study while snow buried the estate.
Samuel Bellwood.
He had not heard that name spoken aloud in nearly four years.
But he remembered the night Samuel died.
The truck had left Warehouse Twelve shortly after midnight.
Officially, it had been carrying machine components.
Unofficially, somebody had altered the manifest.
Samuel discovered the discrepancy.
Forty-three minutes later, his vehicle left the road.
Samuel died.
His daughter survived.
The investigation called it an accident.
Dante had never believed that.
He had ordered an internal inquiry, but records disappeared. Employees changed stories. A security camera failed precisely during the crucial hour.
Someone inside Valerio Freight had cleaned the scene before Dante could reach it.
And Dante had spent four years trying to discover who.
Now the surviving witness was asleep downstairs.
Tomas folded his arms.
“You think she knows who you are?”
“No.”
“How can you be certain?”
“You saw her.”
“I saw a woman who walked directly to your table.”
“Because it had an empty chair.”
Tomas remained skeptical.
Dante understood.
Trust had become expensive in their world.
“Find out what happened to her after the accident,” Dante said.
Tomas left.
At seven the next morning, Rosie woke to silence.
She opened the curtains.
White.
Everything was white.
Her phone showed several weather alerts.
Road closures remained in effect.
“One night,” she whispered bitterly.
She dressed and opened her door.
The smell of coffee guided her toward the kitchen.
Dante stood beside a long counter.
His jacket was gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms.
Rosie paused.
He looked less like an untouchable businessman in the morning.
Almost.
“You cook?” she asked.
“No.”
Rosie looked at the eggs in a skillet.
“That explains those.”
Dante glanced down.
They were nearly black.
Rosie laughed before she could stop herself.
It was the first genuine laugh Dante had heard from her.
Something unexpectedly warm moved through the room.
“I can make coffee,” he said.
“That's harder to destroy.”
He poured her a cup.
Rosie approached the table.
Dante pulled out a chair, then caught himself.
“Would you prefer I leave it?”
Rosie looked at him.
“You remembered.”
“Yes.”
She nodded toward the chair.
“Pull it out.”
He did.
Breakfast was strangely comfortable.
Then Rosie noticed the photograph on a cabinet.
Dante standing beside several Valerio Freight employees.
Her smile disappeared.
“You own Valerio Freight.”
Dante set down his cup.
“I do.”
“You said you worked in river transportation.”
“I do.”
“You made it sound like you drove a tugboat.”
“I didn't say that.”
Rosie stared at him.
Then her face drained of color.
“My father worked for Valerio Freight.”
“I know.”
Silence.
The warmth vanished.
“How?”
“I recognized the surname after you went to bed.”
Rosie pushed away from the table.
“You investigated me?”
“I verified something.”
“You had no right.”
“No.”
The answer stopped her.
Most powerful men defended every action.
Dante didn't.
Rosie reached for her crutch.
“My father died because of your company.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
The word struck harder than an excuse.
“You know?”
“I know he died while working for us.”
“He didn't just die.”
Rosie's voice shook.
“He was terrified for weeks.”
Dante remained still.
“He kept saying someone had changed cargo records. He told me if anything happened, I should never trust anyone from Valerio Freight.”
“Did he name anyone?”
Rosie laughed bitterly.
“Of course that's what you care about.”
“No.”
Dante stood.
“What I care about is that your father tried to tell someone the truth and died before he could.”
Rosie's eyes filled.
“And I lost my leg.”
Dante looked at her face.
Not downward.
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
She stepped closer.
“You don't know what it's like waking up in a hospital and asking where your father is while everyone refuses to answer. You don't know what it's like learning to stand again while lawyers argue over whether you're entitled to enough money to pay for rehabilitation.”
Dante's expression changed.
“Lawyers?”
“Your company's lawyers.”
“I never authorized anyone to fight your rehabilitation claim.”
“Well, someone did.”
That landed differently.
Dante walked to his desk and called Tomas.
“Bring me the Bellwood settlement file.”
Rosie stared.
“You expect me to believe you didn't know?”
“I expect you to believe nothing until I prove it.”
Twenty minutes later, Tomas entered carrying a folder.
Dante read it.
Then read it again.
His expression became frighteningly still.
The claim had been denied under an executive authorization.
At the bottom was Dante's signature.
Rosie saw it.
“There.”
Dante touched the paper.
“I didn't sign this.”
Rosie laughed.
“Convenient.”
“It isn't my signature.”
“It looks exactly like it.”
“That's the point.”
Tomas examined it.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“This authorization came through Vincent's office.”
Dante looked up.
Vincent Valerio.
His cousin.
His chief financial officer.
The man who had managed Valerio Freight's internal finances for twelve years.
Rosie backed away.
“I don't care about your family.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because if Vincent falsified this document, your father's death may not have been an accident.”
Rosie's hand tightened around her crutch.
She looked suddenly unsteady.
Dante stepped forward.
She raised one hand.
“Don't.”
He stopped.
“Four years,” she whispered. “You had four years.”
“Yes.”
“And you never found anything?”
“Someone made certain I wouldn't.”
Rosie looked toward the window.
Snow continued falling.
She was trapped inside a house owned by the man whose company name had haunted her nightmares.
Her phone rang.
Aunt Martha.
Rosie answered immediately.
“Aunt Martha?”
Only breathing came through.
Then a man's voice.
“Rosalie Bellwood?”
Rosie's expression changed.
Dante noticed instantly.
“Who is this?”
“You should have stayed gone.”
The call ended.
Rosie stared at the phone.
Dante crossed the room.
“What happened?”
She said nothing.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Rosie's travel bag.
Taken inside the restaurant the previous night.
Underneath were six words:
YOUR FATHER SHOULD HAVE KEPT QUIET.
Rosie's hands began trembling.
Dante read the message.
The calm disappeared from his eyes.
“Who knew you were going to that restaurant?”
“Nobody.”
“Who knew where you were staying?”
“My aunt.”
“And whoever watched you last night.”
Rosie looked toward the windows.
For the first time, Dante understood something worse than coincidence had brought Rosalie Bellwood back into his life.
Someone had been following her.
And whoever had killed Samuel Bellwood four years earlier had just discovered that his daughter was sitting inside Dante Valerio's house.
Then Tomas's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His face hardened.
“What?” Dante asked.
Tomas slowly lowered the phone.
“Warehouse Twelve was broken into last night.”
Dante said nothing.
Tomas continued.
“Only one thing was taken.”
May you like
“What?”
“The Bellwood evidence box.”
