Chapter 11 - The Brother at the Christmas TableI didn't sleep that night.
I watched the security footage of Maisie's room until the sun rose, looking for the person who had taken the photograph. The camera showed only an empty hallway and the guards outside the guest suite.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Whoever had sent the image had access to our security system.
That narrowed the suspects to twelve people.
I began with Dante's oldest friend, a man named Marco Bellini, who had managed the family's finances for seventeen years. Marco denied everything until Caleb placed the photograph in front of him.
Then he started crying.
"I was told the little girl would be taken somewhere safe," he said.
"By whom?"
"Dante."
"Who took the photograph?"
"I don't know."
I leaned forward.
"You have spent seventeen years handling my money. You know the names of every person who has ever betrayed this family. If you lie to me now, you will spend your final moments regretting the decision."
Marco shook his head.
"I swear I don't know."
Caleb searched his office while I questioned him. He found a second telephone, hidden inside a locked drawer. Its recent messages contained a scheduled meeting for Christmas Eve.
The location was my own estate.
The invitation list included Dante, Marco, and representatives of the Bellandi family.
Dante planned to stage a peace dinner, just as he had done four years ago.
Only this time, I would not arrive unsuspecting.
I sent a message to the number Elena had used.
I know you're alive. I know Dante is watching. Meet me at the old greenhouse at midnight. Come alone.
No reply arrived.
By evening, I had arranged for Caleb's most trusted men to surround the estate. Every vehicle was checked, every room searched, and every staff member accounted for.
At eight o'clock, Dante arrived.
He carried a bottle of expensive wine and wore a charcoal suit. He greeted the guards by name and walked into the dining room as though he had never ordered an attack on his own family.
"Brother," he said warmly.
I stood at the head of the table.
"Dante."
He glanced toward the empty chairs.
"Where is everyone?"
"I sent them away."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to have dinner with you."
He smiled.
"How sentimental."
I poured two glasses of wine.
"Do you remember Elena's last Christmas?"
His smile disappeared briefly.
"Of course."
"She bought you a ridiculous sweater. Green, with a reindeer on the front."
He laughed.
"I remember. I wore it to a meeting just to annoy you."
"She said you looked like a man who had been dressed by a blind grandmother."
Dante shook his head.
"She had a sharp tongue."
"She had a good heart."
"Yes."
He lifted his glass.
"To Elena."
I didn't drink.
Instead, I placed the photograph of him standing beside Elena on the table.
His hand froze around the stem of the glass.
"Where did you get that?"
"Does it matter?"
He studied the image, then looked at me.
"You've been digging."
"Four years of digging, apparently."
His expression hardened.
"Gabriel, whatever you've discovered, you need to think carefully about what it means. Your grief has made you vulnerable."
"My grief?"
"You've spent years blaming yourself. You're not thinking clearly."
I leaned closer.
"Then help me think clearly. Did you steal my daughter?"
He set down the glass.
"No."
"Did you order Elena's murder?"
"No."
"Did you tell Dr. Bell to declare a living child dead?"
Dante's eyes changed.
Not much.
Enough.
He looked toward the windows.
"You're making a terrible mistake."
"Answer me."
He stood.
"Elena was going to destroy this family."
"You destroyed it yourself."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"You have no idea what I did to keep this organization alive."
"Then enlighten me."
He leaned over the table.
"Your wife thought she could turn you into a respectable businessman. She wanted you to surrender territory, abandon our allies, and dismantle everything our father built. She would have made us weak."
"So you took my daughter."
"I protected the family."
I stood.
"You stole four years from a child."
"I gave her a chance to live."
"By telling her father she was dead?"
Dante's voice rose.
"By keeping her away from a man who would have used her as leverage!"
I stared at him.
There it was.
The confession hidden beneath the excuses.
Dante had convinced himself that every betrayal was justified because he was the only one capable of making difficult decisions.
I picked up my phone.
The recording icon glowed on the screen.
Dante noticed it.
His face went cold.
"You won't survive what happens next."
He reached inside his jacket.
Every man in the room would have reached for his weapon.
Instead, I watched my brother pull out a small photograph.
It showed Elena standing in front of a white house, holding a little girl in her arms.
On the back was a date.
Two weeks earlier.
Dante placed it on the table.
"You're looking for your wife," he said.
May you like
Then he smiled.
"She's already inside my hands."
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