Chapter 7 - The Unveiled Truth
Marcus Vale and four armed security guards swarmed into the room, securing the terrace and checking the pulses of the two dead intruders.
"Clear!" Marcus shouted, kicking the weapons away from the bodies. "Call the cleanup crew and seal the front gates!"
Dante didn't let go of Anna; he lifted her gently onto the edge of the unmade bed, then turned to scoop Sophie into his left arm.
The little girl buried her wet face into his neck, her tiny arms wrapping around his collar as if he were an unmovable fortress.
"Dante," Marcus said, stepping forward, his eyes wide with shock as he examined the dead men’s tactical gear.
"These men are wearing syndicate comms. They belong to Salvatore Russo's personal hit squad."
"I know who they belong to," Dante said, his voice flat, hollowed out by a terrifying, murderous certainty.
He looked down at Anna, who was gently wiping her daughter’s tears while trying to hide her own shaking hands.
"Marcus, take Henry and clear the west wing," Dante ordered without turning around. "Leave us."
Marcus hesitated for a fraction of a second, sensing the massive seismic shift occurring in the room, then nodded and ushered the guards out.
The heavy door closed, leaving only the sound of the rain lashing against the broken terrace glass.
Dante set Sophie down between them on the mattress, then slowly pulled the folded photograph from his pocket.
He laid it on the blue quilt beside Anna's trembling hands.
Anna looked down at the photograph, her breath hitching in her chest as if she had been struck by lightning.
"Where did you get this?" she whispered, her fingers hovering over the image of Elena Vance.
"I've carried it for nine years," Dante answered softly, kneeling down until he was level with her eyes.
"I thought I watched you burn outside that restaurant in the North End."
Anna closed her eyes, hot tears spilling over her lashes as she slowly unpinned the dark hair hastily gathered at the back of her head.
The dark dye had begun to wash out at the roots, revealing the soft golden-brown strands Dante had buried in his memories.
"Salvatore Russo put that bomb under your car, Dante," she confessed, her voice cracking with nine years of suffocated agony.
"My father found out thirty minutes before it detonated. He pulled me from the passenger seat just before the tank blew, but he knew we couldn't stay."
"Why didn't you come to me?" Dante asked, his chest aching with an unbearable mixture of fury and heartbreak.
"Because Salvatore threatened to murder everyone you loved if I ever showed my face again!" she wept, gripping his forearms.
"He told my father that if I died, you would eventually marry his daughter, Isabella, to unite the docks!"
"My father took me into federal protection under a false identity in Maine. But three years ago... after Sophie was born... my father died."
Dante’s jaw tightened until the bone threatened to crack through his skin.
"And Sophie's father?" Dante asked, holding his breath as the world hung on the answer.
Elena looked at him, her hazel eyes completely naked, stripped of every housekeeping lie.
May you like
"There was never another man, Dante," she whispered.
"Sophie was conceived the week before the fire. She is your daughter."
