Chapter 4 - A Ghost’s Warning
The grandfather clock in the downstairs gallery chimed twice, its low bell reverberating through the heavy timber of the estate. Gabriel remained motionless for a long moment, his forehead pressed against the bed, breathing in the scent of cedar, linen, and my lingering medicine. When he finally looked up, the vulnerability had vanished, replaced by an absolute, icy resolve.
"Get dressed," he said, rising to his feet with fluid grace. "The heavy wool dress from the wardrobe. The dark one. Dr. Silva cleared you to walk fifty yards. That is all you will need."
"Where are we going?" My fingers still clutched the yellowed pages of Elena’s letter.
"Dante Moretti is downstairs," Gabriel said, checking the diamond face of his watch. "He arrived twenty minutes ago for our bi-weekly accounting of the Atlantic freight terminals. He brought two of his lieutenants and a tin of imported Italian chocolates for Leo. He plays the grieving, dutiful cousin with exceptional talent."
A knot of ice tightened in my stomach. "He's in this house? The man who tried to kill Leo in the sunroom?"
"He didn't pull the trigger himself," Gabriel replied, walking to the nightstand and picking up the heavy platinum signet ring. He held it out to me. "He hired the Marcone syndicate's throwaway soldiers so that if they were captured, the trail would lead straight to Newark instead of the Moretti estate in Boston. He wanted me to wipe out the Marcones in a blood feud while he quietly consolidated the docks from behind my back."
He took my right hand. His skin was warm and rough against mine as he slid the heavy platinum band onto my middle finger. It fit perfectly, as if crafted for my bones.
"This ring carries the legal power of attorney for the Moretti maritime trust," Gabriel continued, his thumb lingering over my knuckle. "Without this signet, Dante cannot sign the transfer of the shipping terminals to the international port authority. For three years, he believed Elena’s shares were tied up in Swiss probate courts. He had no idea she had already gifted them via inter-vivos deed to an unnamed surviving niece."
"He'll know the moment he sees it," I whispered.
"That," Gabriel said with a dark, chilling smile, "is the entire point."
Twenty minutes later, leaning slightly against Gabriel’s arm to take the pressure off my healing ribs, I descended the sweeping marble staircase.
I had walked these stairs hundreds of times with a dust rag and a bucket of polish, stepping to the side whenever a guest passed, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the polished steps. Now, Gabriel held my elbow with possessive firmness, matching his long stride to my slower, cautious pace.
The double doors of the formal dining room were open. Inside, seated at the long mahogany table beneath a crystal chandelier, sat Dante Moretti.
He was thirty-five, handsome in a sharp, predatory way, with slicked-back dark hair and wearing a bespoke camel-hair coat over an open-collared silk shirt. He was laughing, gesturing with a crystal tumbler of scotch as he spoke to one of his bodyguards.
The laughter died in his throat the moment the heavy doors clicked open.
Dante’s eyes flicked to Gabriel, then down to me. A slight, condescending smirk formed on his lips. "Gabriel. I heard rumors you had moved the domestic staff into the executive suites, but I assumed the housekeepers were exaggerating. Taking comfort where you can find it after the attack, are we?"
The room went deathly still. The two armed men flanking Dante instinctively shifted their hands toward their jackets.
Gabriel didn't even blink. He pulled out the master armchair at the head of the table and gently guided me into it, placing himself directly behind my shoulder, his hands resting lightly on the carved woodwork behind my head.
"Dante," Gabriel said, his voice deceptively pleasant. "You're late with the fourth-quarter freight manifests."
"Customs held up the manifests at the terminal," Dante replied smoothly, leaning back and crossing his legs. "Which brings me to why I'm here. The board is getting nervous, Gabriel. After the shooting in your sunroom, the port authority thinks the Rossi family is unstable. They want me to assume temporary chairmanship of the docks until you clean up your domestic... mess."
"Is that so?" Gabriel asked quietly.
"It's the prudent move," Dante said, pulling a leather document folder from his briefcase and sliding it across the polished wood. "Sign the operational proxy over to me today. I handle the logistics, you handle the street war with the Marcones. We keep Elena’s legacy safe."
I rested both hands flat against the mahogany table, directly beside the folder.
The heavy platinum signet caught the glare of the chandelier. The nightingale and the dagger gleamed brightly against the dark wood.
Dante’s gaze dropped to the folder, then drifted to my hands.
His entire body locked up. The color drained from his face so fast it looked as though his heart had stopped beating. The glass of scotch in his fingers tipped sideways, amber liquid spilling across the table, soaking into the leather documents.
"Where..." Dante’s voice was suddenly hoarse, stripped of all its smooth charm. He stared at the ring on my finger, then lifted his eyes to my face, seeing for the first time the shape of my jaw, the curve of my brows, and the slate-green eyes that had haunted his family for two generations. "Where did you get that?"
"It belonged to Clara Moretti," I said, my voice steady, clear, and ringing through the silent room like an iron bell. "My mother."
Dante stood up so fast his heavy armchair scraped violently against the floorboards. "That’s a lie! Clara died in Vermont! She had no heirs!"
"She had a daughter," Gabriel’s voice rolled across the room like thunder, dropping any pretense of courtesy. "A daughter your father discarded like trash at St. Jude's. A daughter who bled three pints of blood protecting my son from your hired hitmen three weeks ago."
Dante’s bodyguards reached inside their jackets.
May you like
Before their hands could clear their lapels, the heavy velvet curtains behind them snapped open. Four of Gabriel's men stepped out, suppressed pistols already leveled at the base of their skulls.
"Sit down, Dante," Gabriel commanded softly. "We have a great deal of family business to discuss."
