Chapter 2 - The House Behind the Iron GatesI walked into Dante Russo's world
I almost didn't go.
At ten the next morning, I stood outside my tiny apartment staring at the black business card on my kitchen table.
DANTE RUSSO.
No phone number.
No address.
Just a name embossed in silver.
The previous night kept replaying in my head.
The men at Bellanote.
Sophia whispering about my necklace.
Dante's expression when he'd seen it.
And the way his guards had arrived within seconds after the disturbance.
Nobody had been arrested.
Nobody had called the police.
And when I'd asked Tony what happened, he'd simply told me to forget it.
That was impossible.
I needed the money.
That was the truth.
One week of working privately for Dante would pay more than I'd make in a month.
So I went.
His home wasn't really a home.
It was a fortress wearing the clothes of one.
Black iron gates.
Stone walls.
Cameras hidden beneath eaves.
Two men watching the driveway.
A third watching me before I even stepped out of the car.
The house itself was enormous.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Dante opened the door himself.
He wore no jacket.
No tie.
For the first time, he looked less like a crime boss and more like a tired father.
"Sophia's upstairs."
"Does she know I'm coming?"
"No."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because she hasn't spoken since yesterday."
I followed him upstairs.
Sophia sat on the floor in front of a dollhouse.
She didn't look up.
"Hi."
Nothing.
I sat several feet away.
"We don't have to talk."
Her little head lifted.
She looked at me.
Then at my necklace.
Her face softened.
I touched the pendant.
"Your father said your mother had something like this."
Sophia nodded.
I hesitated.
"Can I see yours?"
She crawled toward a toy chest and pulled out a velvet box.
Inside was another crescent pendant.
Identical.
My stomach dropped.
Dante stood behind me.
"I told you not to show her."
"I didn't."
Sophia had found it herself.
I picked it up.
There were tiny letters engraved on the back.
E.R.
I looked at Dante.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't answer.
"Who gave this to her?"
"Her mother."
"What was her name?"
"Lucia."
The name hit me strangely.
Not because I had heard it before.
Because something about it felt remembered.
A dream.
A voice.
A lullaby I couldn't place.
Sophia crawled into my lap.
Dante stared at us.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
"Speak."
Silence.
His expression changed.
"Where?"
He looked at me.
"Are you certain?"
Another pause.
Dante ended the call.
"Who was it?" I asked.
"Someone found your photograph."
My blood ran cold.
"What photograph?"
"The one in your mother's belongings."
I stood abruptly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Dante's gaze sharpened.
"Your mother left you things after she died."
"Of course she did."
"Did she keep photographs?"
"Some."
"Do you have them?"
"Why?"
"Because I think my wife's disappearance may be connected to your family."
I stared at him.
He continued.
"Lucia was born in Brooklyn."
"So?"
"She had a sister."
My heart stopped.
"She never told me about one."
"Because the sister disappeared as a child."
"Who?"
Dante looked at my face for several seconds.
Then he said the words that made my entire body go numb.
"Elena Valdez."
My mother.
I stepped backward.
"No."
"Your mother's name was Elena Valdez."
"Yes."
"Lucia's birth records list her as Elena's twin sister."
The room tilted.
"My mother wasn't anybody's twin."
Dante reached into a folder.
He opened it.
There were hospital records.
Two names.
Two girls.
One birth date.
One mother.
And a photograph.
I looked down.
My mother's face stared back at me.
Beside her stood a teenage girl.
The same dark hair.
The same eyes.
The same crescent necklace.
I couldn't breathe.
Then Dante spoke.
"That girl is Lucia Russo."
I shook my head.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Why would my mother never tell me?"
"Maybe she was protecting you."
"From what?"
Dante looked toward the window.
His voice dropped.
"From the same people who took Lucia three days ago."
Before I could answer, the house lights went out.
Every light.
At once.
Sophia screamed.
Dante grabbed a weapon from the drawer.
Outside the windows, headlights flashed.
Then came the sound of tires screeching across the driveway.
Dante stepped in front of us.
"Stay here."
I grabbed his sleeve.
"Who are they?"
He looked directly at me.
"My family."
And somewhere downstairs, a man shouted one word.
"ELENA!"
I froze.
Not my name.
My mother's.
Then Sophia whispered:
"That's Uncle Victor."
May you like
Dante's face went white.
Because Victor Russo had been dead for seven years.
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