Chapter 11 - Richard Peterson Comes to Rome
Richard denied arranging the New York withdrawal.
Clare believed him.
That surprised everyone.
Including Richard.
“You believe me?” he asked.
“No.”
Clare folded her arms.
“I believe you’re too selfish to give away your own leverage.”
Marco looked toward Dante.
“She has a point.”
Richard frowned.
“Thank you?”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Dante almost smiled.
Richard noticed.
Something ugly crossed his face.
“You like this.”
Dante’s expression cooled.
“What?”
“You like playing family with my wife.”
The room changed.
Clare felt it immediately.
Old Richard.
Possessive Richard.
The man who spoke as if marriage were ownership.
“I am not your property,” Clare said.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You said ‘my wife’ like you were marking furniture.”
“We are married.”
“Legally.”
Richard laughed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means paperwork hasn’t caught up with reality.”
His face hardened.
“You’re leaving me?”
Clare stared.
“I left you.”
“You ran.”
“Yes.”
“With my daughter.”
“Our daughter.”
“You didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
“Maya needed stitches.”
“It was an accident.”
“You pushed her.”
“I was trying to get her out of the way.”
“You pushed a three-year-old.”
Richard stood.
Dante also stood.
Clare held up her hand.
“Sit down, Dante.”
Richard laughed.
“Now he takes orders from you?”
Dante sat.
The simple action affected Richard more than any threat could have.
Clare continued.
“This is what you never understood.”
“What?”
“You thought being strong meant everyone else had to be smaller.”
Richard stared.
“Dante scares people for a living, and somehow he understands the word no better than you do.”
Dante looked at the floor.
Marco coughed to hide what might have been a laugh.
Richard’s face flushed.
“You don’t know him.”
“No.”
Clare’s voice softened.
“But I know you.”
That ended the argument.
The investigation continued.
Someone had used a forged passport bearing Clare’s name to access the deposit box.
Security footage showed a woman wearing sunglasses and a scarf.
Not Clare.
But similar height.
Similar hair.
The bank employee had barely looked twice.
Inside the box had been Richard’s second drive.
Gone.
Hale now probably had it.
Or Matteo.
If they were separate people.
Dante’s team began analyzing Hale’s financial network.
Clare helped interpret hospital terminology.
Richard provided passwords.
Not willingly.
But Dante’s attorneys made his alternatives clear.
Cooperation with federal investigators might reduce his eventual sentence.
Refusal would not.
That evening, Clare sat outside while Maya slept.
Rome’s countryside stretched dark beyond the terrace.
Dante joined her.
“Coffee?”
“Wine.”
He poured a small glass.
Clare accepted.
For several minutes they said nothing.
Then Dante spoke.
“You were right.”
She looked at him.
“About?”
“Richard.”
“That narrows nothing.”
He smiled faintly.
“You shouldn’t need another man to protect you by controlling you.”
Clare studied him.
“That sounds suspiciously emotionally healthy.”
“I dislike it too.”
She laughed.
Then silence returned.
Dante looked toward the house.
“Do you hate him?”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
Clare considered.
“Sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Hate is exhausting.”
Dante understood.
“I hated the men who killed Alessia.”
“Past tense?”
“No.”
She waited.
“But I think hate became the only thing keeping me connected to her.”
Clare’s expression softened.
“If you stopped hunting them, you were afraid you were letting her go.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe letting go and forgetting aren’t the same.”
Dante looked at her.
“You say things like you’re seventy.”
“I feel seventy.”
He smiled.
Clare noticed.
“You do that more now.”
“What?”
“Smile.”
“Your daughter is a bad influence.”
“She likes you.”
“You mentioned that.”
“So does Leo.”
“He is genetically required.”
“That is not how babies work.”
Dante laughed quietly.
Clare’s heart shifted.
There it was again.
The dangerous warmth.
She looked away.
“You’re still married,” Dante said.
The sentence surprised her.
Clare turned.
“Yes.”
“I will not…”
He stopped.
“Won’t what?”
Dante’s expression became carefully neutral.
“Complicate your situation.”
Clare almost smiled.
“You think you’re the complication?”
“I generally am.”
“That’s fair.”
He looked toward her.
Their eyes held.
Neither moved closer.
Neither moved away.
Clare broke the moment.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
Dante’s eyes flickered.
“When?”
“When I’m somewhere long enough to find a lawyer.”
“I can provide one.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I need one who works for me.”
Dante understood immediately.
“Fair.”
She sipped wine.
“Thank you.”
“For not arguing?”
“Yes.”
“I’m growing.”
“Slowly.”
A sound came from inside.
Maya.
Clare stood.
Dante followed.
Maya stood at the top of the stairs crying.
“Mommy!”
Clare hurried up.
“What happened?”
“I had a dream.”
Clare lifted her.
“About what?”
“Daddy.”
She buried her face against Clare’s shoulder.
“He took me away.”
Clare held her tightly.
“He’s not going to.”
“Promise?”
Clare closed her eyes.
Legal reality complicated that promise.
Richard still had parental rights.
But a judge would decide.
“I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.”
Maya looked past her.
Dante stood several steps below.
“Can Mr. Dante make Daddy leave us alone?”
Clare’s heart tightened.
Dante answered carefully.
“Your mommy can.”
Maya stared.
“She can?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Clare.
“She is much stronger than she thinks.”
Clare felt tears rise.
Maya considered this.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
That night, after Maya fell asleep, Clare cried quietly in the hallway.
Not because she was weak.
Because someone had told her daughter that her mother was strong.
Richard had spent years teaching both of them the opposite.
Dante found her.
He did not touch her.
He simply stood nearby.
“Do you want company?”
Clare wiped her face.
“Yes.”
He sat on the floor beside her.
The feared Dante Salvatore, in a thousand-dollar suit, sat against a hallway wall at two in the morning beside a crying nurse from Ohio.
Neither spoke.
They did not need to.
Five minutes later, Marco appeared.
He stopped when he saw them.
“I can come back.”
Dante stood.
“What happened?”
Marco handed him a tablet.
“We identified the woman who used Clare’s identity at the bank.”
Clare took the screen.
A clearer camera angle showed the woman removing her sunglasses.
Clare stared.
She had never seen her before.
Dante had.
His face turned white.
“Who is she?” Clare asked.
Dante’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Alessia’s sister.”
Clare looked at him.
“You said Alessia had no sister.”
“She doesn’t.”
Marco shook his head.
“That’s what we believed.”
Dante stared at the image.
Then at another file Marco displayed.
Birth records.
Two girls born eleven months apart.
Same mother.
Different fathers.
One child raised as Alessia Romano.
The other placed with relatives in Sicily.
Her name was Elena Moretti.
And according to banking records, Elena had received monthly payments for years from one person.
Matteo Romano.
Dante’s dead uncle.
The conspiracy was no longer surrounding his family.
May you like
It was his family.
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