Chapter 5 - The Man in the Black CarSomeone had been watching me for months
The key belonged to a safe deposit box.
Dante didn't tell me where.
He said I didn't need to know yet.
I hated that answer.
But I was learning that Dante Russo had built his life on secrets.
By noon, two guards followed us everywhere.
It should have made me feel safe.
Instead, I felt trapped.
That afternoon, I left Bellanote alone.
I wanted air.
I walked six blocks before realizing the same black sedan had been behind me since the restaurant.
I stopped.
It stopped.
I crossed the street.
It crossed.
My heart began pounding.
I turned into a crowded café.
The car parked outside.
I went through the back.
Then another vehicle blocked the alley.
A man stepped out.
"Elina."
I ran.
He caught my wrist.
"Let go!"
"Your mother sent me."
I froze.
"What?"
He released me.
"My name is Gabriel."
He was younger than Dante, maybe thirty.
He showed me an old photograph.
My mother stood beside him.
She was smiling.
Alive.
The date in the corner was from nine months ago.
I grabbed his shirt.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I've been protecting her."
"Then why did she disappear?"
"Because somebody betrayed her."
"Who?"
Gabriel looked around.
"The person closest to Dante."
Before he could say more, a gunshot cracked through the alley.
Gabriel shoved me down.
"Run!"
A second shot hit the brick wall.
He pushed me toward the back exit.
I ran.
A black SUV screeched to a stop.
Dante jumped out.
His face was terrifying.
"Elina!"
I threw myself toward him.
He grabbed my shoulders.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Who was with you?"
"Gabriel."
Dante looked over my shoulder.
Gabriel was gone.
Dante's men searched the alley.
Nothing.
Then Dante noticed the photograph in my hand.
"Where did you get that?"
"From Gabriel."
His face hardened.
"What did he tell you?"
"That my mother is alive."
Dante went silent.
"And he said the person closest to you betrayed her."
Dante's gaze shifted.
"Get in the car."
"Why?"
"Because we need to leave."
"You're not answering me."
He looked directly into my eyes.
"I don't know who I can trust."
That was the first time Dante Russo admitted fear.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for his daughter.
We drove for twenty minutes.
Then Dante's phone rang.
He answered.
"What?"
He listened.
His expression slowly emptied.
"Repeat that."
Silence.
Then:
"You're certain?"
He ended the call.
I watched him.
"What happened?"
"Someone entered my private apartment."
"Did they steal something?"
"No."
"What then?"
Dante looked at me.
"They left something."
"What?"
He reached into his pocket.
A tiny pink shoe.
Sophia's shoe.
My stomach dropped.
"But Sophia is—"
"Safe."
"Then whose is that?"
Dante turned pale.
"This shoe belonged to Sophia when she was two."
A folded photograph was attached.
Dante opened it.
It showed Sophia sleeping in her crib.
Taken from inside the room.
On the back, someone had written:
SHE REMEMBERS HER MOTHER.
Dante crushed the photograph in his fist.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
"Elina?"
My knees almost collapsed.
"Mom?"
The line went dead.
A second later, a text appeared.
COME ALONE.
And beneath it was an address.
May you like
The same address I'd heard once as a child.
An abandoned church in Brooklyn.
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