Chapter 4 - THE FORGED DEPOSIT
"I have never seen that paper in my life!" Harper shouted, ignoring the blinding pain that shot through her shoulder as she tried to scramble out of the bed.
Dante stood motionless, the crumpled deposit slip in his hand. The warm, almost protective demeanor he had shown minutes earlier was gone. In its place was the cold, calculating syndicate boss Harper had seen scanning the restaurant.
"A hundred thousand dollars," Dante read aloud, his voice devoid of inflection. "Wired into an account under the name Harper Vance. From a shell company owned by my Uncle Carlo."
"It's a setup!" Harper pleaded, looking wildly from Dante to Bianca. Bianca was shrinking back against the doorframe, tears in her eyes, looking at Harper like she was a monster.
"You set us up?" Bianca whispered, her voice cracking. "You knew they were coming? You took the bullet to look like a hero so we would bring you inside our home?"
"No! Bianca, please, you have to believe me. I barely make enough to buy discount bread! If I had a hundred grand, do you think I'd be working double shifts in cheap shoes?" Harper gripped the silk sheets, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Dante’s dark eyes locked onto hers. He stepped closer, leaning over the bed until his face was inches from hers. The smell of expensive cologne and gunpowder still clung to him.
"My uncle is a greedy man, but he is not reckless," Dante said quietly. "If he wanted the key, he would have taken it. Why would he pay you?"
"Because he didn't!" Harper cried out. "Think about it! If I was working for him, why would his men shoot at me? Why would I tackle your sister out of the way?"
"Maybe the hitman missed," Bianca said from the doorway.
"At that range?" Dante countered, never breaking eye contact with Harper. "A trained shooter doesn't miss a stationary target from twenty feet unless he’s trying to."
Dante pulled back, running a hand through his dark hair. The tension in the room was suffocating. He looked at the deposit slip, then at the bronze key on the nightstand, and finally back to Harper’s terrified face.
"Someone is playing a very dangerous game," Dante muttered.
"Dante, you can't trust her," Bianca pleaded. "Uncle Carlo wants us dead. If she's working for him—"
"If she was working for Carlo, you’d be lying in a morgue right now, Bianca," Dante snapped. His voice wasn't loud, but it held a command that instantly silenced the room.
He turned to his sister. "Go to your room. Lock the door. Do not speak to anyone in this house about this."
Bianca looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded tightly and disappeared down the hall.
Dante locked the bedroom door. He walked over to the window, pulling the heavy velvet curtain back just enough to look down at the street below.
"My apartment," Harper whispered, a new wave of panic washing over her. "You said it was torn apart?"
"Completely trashed," Dante said, not looking back. "They were looking for the key. When they couldn't find it, they left the deposit slip for my men to find."
"To frame me," Harper realized.
"To make me kill you," Dante corrected. He turned to face her. "If my men had found that slip, they would have put a bullet in your head without asking me. Carlo knew you had the key. He couldn't get it from you at the restaurant, so he tried to use my own paranoia to eliminate you."
Harper pulled her knees to her chest, ignoring the sting in her shoulder. She was a waitress. Just a girl trying to pay her electric bill. Now she was caught in a blood feud between mafia royalty, holding a key to a fortune her supposed father had stolen.
"Why me?" Harper choked out, a single tear escaping her eye. "Why now? If my dad died twenty years ago, why is Carlo coming after me tonight?"
Dante walked slowly back to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, surprisingly gentle as his weight shifted the springs.
"Because of the watch," Dante said softly.
Harper frowned in confusion. "What watch?"
Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold pocket watch. The casing was battered, dented on one side.
"This belonged to my father," Dante explained. "He always claimed your father stole it along with the money. But yesterday, a pawn shop owner in the West Loop called me. A man came in trying to sell this watch. My men picked the man up."
Harper held her breath.
"The man was a low-level thief," Dante continued. "He said he broke into a storage unit in Cicero three days ago. An abandoned unit registered under a fake name. Inside, he found this watch."
Dante clicked the watch open. Inside the cover, tucked behind the glass, was a tiny, faded photograph.
He held it out to Harper.
Harper looked at the picture, and all the air left her lungs.
It was a picture of a man holding a little girl. The man was smiling, his face smeared with grease. The little girl had bright, familiar eyes.
It was Harper. And her father.
"He didn't just find the watch," Dante said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He found the storage unit where your father hid everything before he disappeared. And Uncle Carlo bought that information."
Harper stared at the photo. Her mother had sworn her father was a simple man. A good man. But the truth was staring her in the face.
Before she could process it, the heavy oak door to the bedroom suddenly rattled. Someone was trying to open it.
Dante instantly stood up, drawing a sleek black handgun from the back of his waistband.
"Dante?" a voice called through the thick wood. It was Todd. The restaurant manager.
Harper’s blood ran cold. Todd? Here?
"I have the security footage from the restaurant, boss," Todd’s muffled voice came through the door.
Dante looked at Harper, pressing a finger to his lips. He walked silently to the door, his gun raised.
He unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
Todd stood in the hallway, clutching a USB drive. But his face was completely pale, sweating profusely.
May you like
And pressing a suppressed pistol against Todd’s spine was Dante’s most trusted bodyguard.
"Sorry, Boss," the bodyguard said, his eyes cold and dead. "Carlo sends his regards."
