Chapter 9 - The Enemy Behind the Glass
Matteo disappeared before sunrise.
His apartment was empty.
His phone switched off.
Two private accounts had been drained.
Vale vanished too.
For the first time, Dante’s empire seemed uncertain.
Employees whispered.
Executives requested meetings.
Lawyers arrived before breakfast.
Dante remained calm.
Too calm.
I found him alone in his father’s office.
The red ledger lay open.
“You haven’t slept.”
“Neither have you.”
“I’m not running a multinational company while discovering my uncle helped destroy my family.”
He looked at me.
“Fair.”
I sat opposite him.
“What does the ledger really show?”
“Enough to destroy dozens of people.”
“Including you?”
“Possibly.”
“Did you know about these accounts?”
“No.”
“But the companies belong to you now.”
“Yes.”
I understood.
Legally, morally, publicly, the distinction might not matter.
“If you give this to authorities…”
“My entire organization could collapse.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I become my father.”
The answer came immediately.
That told me everything.
Dante already knew what he would do.
He simply hated the cost.
I reached across the desk.
“You said your mother believed there was goodness in you.”
His jaw tightened.
“She had an optimistic opinion of her son.”
“I think she was right.”
“You have known me nine days.”
“Long enough to know you hate compliments.”
“I don’t hate them.”
“You look personally offended.”
His mouth moved.
Then he looked down at my hand.
I had placed it over his.
He turned his palm upward.
Held mine.
“Stay tonight.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Dante.”
“Not because I need protection.”
“Good, because I would be terrible at it.”
He almost smiled.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
That honesty undid me.
I stayed.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No cinematic confession.
No reckless passion.
We sat in the private living room connected to his penthouse.
He told me about Lena as a child.
How she once painted his shoes blue.
How Sofia forced him to wear them to dinner because he had laughed when Lena cried.
I told him about my mother teaching me to make pasta badly.
About the year we ate canned soup for Christmas because her medical deductible had wiped out everything else.
At midnight, we stood on the balcony.
Chicago glowed below.
“You could leave,” Dante said.
“I know.”
“I mean all of this.”
“I know.”
“I could arrange money.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to buy you.”
“You solve everything with resources.”
“Yes.”
“Some things can’t be solved that way.”
He looked toward the city.
“I’m learning.”
I stepped closer.
“So am I.”
His eyes lowered to my mouth.
Then returned to my eyes.
He did not move.
He waited.
For all his power, for all his tendency to control every room, he gave me that choice completely.
I closed the distance.
The kiss was soft.
Almost cautious.
Nothing like the man the city imagined.
His hand touched my face.
Mine rested against his chest, exactly as it had in the rain.
But this time I had not stumbled.
This time I chose him.
When we separated, he rested his forehead against mine.
“Eliza.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What?”
“That this is complicated.”
“It is.”
“And dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And probably a terrible idea.”
“Definitely.”
I smiled.
“Then don’t ruin it with a speech.”
He laughed quietly.
Then Gabriel called.
The moment ended.
Dante answered.
His expression hardened immediately.
“What happened?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Your apartment.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Someone broke in.”
We arrived twenty minutes later.
Nothing expensive had been taken.
There was nothing expensive to take.
But drawers were emptied.
Mattress cut open.
Closet destroyed.
They were searching.
For Isabella’s copy of the ledger.
Marco arrived soon afterward.
He walked through the apartment slowly.
Then stopped in the kitchen.
“Your mother kept recipe books?”
I stared.
“What?”
“Isabella wrote everything down.”
“She had one.”
“Where?”
I looked toward a cabinet.
Gone.
“No.”
My mother’s old recipe book had survived every move.
It was thick, handwritten, stained with sauce and coffee.
And now it was missing.
Marco closed his eyes.
“That was the copy.”
“How?”
“She used codes.”
Dante turned.
“Recipes?”
Marco nodded.
“Measurements corresponded to account numbers. Ingredients were names.”
I felt sick.
“They took it.”
“Probably.”
Gabriel entered.
“We found a camera.”
He held up a tiny device.
Hidden inside the smoke detector.
Somebody had watched my apartment.
For how long?
Nobody knew.
Dante’s face became dangerous.
“You’re not staying here.”
I did not argue.
Not this time.
I moved into a guest suite at his penthouse.
That night, we learned the break-in had happened while Matteo’s known associates were all under surveillance.
Meaning someone else was involved.
Someone close enough to know exactly where to look.
Claire called at 2:13 a.m.
Her voice shook.
“Eliza.”
“What happened?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“Your employee file.”
“I just started.”
“Not the current one.”
My skin prickled.
“What do you mean?”
“There is a file in the old archives.”
“From when?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s under your name.”
I woke Dante.
We went downstairs.
Claire placed an old folder on the table.
Typed label:
ELIZA KI – CONTINGENCY
Inside was one sheet.
Written by Vittorio Richi.
If the child survives, protect her. Do not tell Dante until he is ready.
Beneath it:
Assigned guardian: Claire Bennett.
I looked up.
Claire had gone completely white.
Dante stared at her.
“You knew?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
But then tears filled her eyes.
And I realized something.
May you like
Claire was lying.
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