Chapter 3 - THE ECHOES OF THE PAST
Maya tried to yank her wrist away, but Dante’s grip was unyielding. His dark eyes burned with a ferocity that made her chest tighten with real fear.
“Let me go!” Maya whisper-shouted, mindful of the sleeping child on her lap. “You’re hurting me.”
Dante loosened his grip just enough not to bruise her, but he didn’t let go. His thumb pressed against the cold metal of the braided silver bracelet. “I asked you a question. That melody. That bracelet. My wife sang that exact lullaby to Sophia every night. And she wore the exact same bracelet.”
Maya’s eyes widened, the defiance draining from her face, replaced by a sudden, chilling realization. “Your… your wife?”
“Elena Russo,” Dante said, testing the name to see her reaction. “She vanished three days ago. Tell me how you know her.”
Maya’s breathing turned shallow. She finally pulled her hand free, rubbing her wrist. She looked away, staring into the dark streets of New York. “I don’t know any Elena Russo. I swear.”
“Then explain the bracelet.”
Maya swallowed hard. “I… I got it when I was seven. My older sister made it for me. She made a matching one for herself. We were in the foster system together.” Maya’s voice cracked slightly. “That lullaby was the one our mother used to sing before she passed away. My sister sang it to me when we were scared.”
Dante felt the ground shift beneath him. “Your sister. What was her name?”
“Eliana,” Maya whispered. “Eliana Rossi. But I haven’t seen her in fifteen years. When she turned eighteen, she left the group home. She promised she would come back for me when she got money. She never did.”
Dante leaned back against the leather seats, his mind racing. Elena had always told him she was an only child, tragically orphaned, with no living relatives. It was part of what drew him to her—he wanted to build a fortress of a family around her. He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a small, folded photograph he had been carrying since the morning she disappeared. He handed it to Maya.
“Is this her?” he asked quietly.
Maya took the photo with trembling fingers. It was a candid shot of Elena laughing in the Hamptons, wearing a silk dress, her dark hair blowing in the wind. Maya stared at the woman’s face, tracing the curve of her jaw, the familiar shape of her eyes. A tear slipped down Maya’s cheek, landing heavily on the glossy paper.
“Oh my god,” Maya choked out, covering her mouth with her hand. “Elie. It’s her. You married my sister.”
The Maybach pulled into the private underground garage of Dante’s building. Dante’s mind was a storm of calculating rage and confusion. Elena had lied to him. For six years, she had maintained a fabricated identity. If she lied about her family, what else had she lied about? And why had she run?
They rode the private elevator up to the penthouse in heavy silence, Sophia still dozing in Dante’s arms. The penthouse was a sprawling masterpiece of modern architecture, but tonight, it felt like a tomb.
Maya stood awkwardly in the foyer as Dante carried Sophia to her room. When he returned, he poured himself a neat glass of scotch and offered one to Maya. She shook her head.
“My security team is running a full trace on Elena’s past right now,” Dante said, taking a sip, the burn grounding him. “If she was your sister, why wouldn't she reach out to you when she married into wealth?”
Maya wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know. Maybe she was ashamed of me. Maybe she just wanted to forget her old life. We came from nothing, Mr. Russo. Sometimes, people will do terrible things to make sure they never have to go back to the gutter.”
The bitterness in Maya’s voice was unmistakable. Dante realized she resented Elena for abandoning her, yet she had instantly protected Sophia.
Just then, small footsteps padded down the hallway. Sophia stood in the doorway, clutching a large, ornate wooden toy box covered in hand-painted purple flowers. It was heavy, but the little girl dragged it across the hardwood floor toward Maya.
Sophia looked up at Maya, her large, dark eyes filled with a desperate urgency. She pointed to the box.
Maya knelt down. “What is it, sweetie? Do you want to play?”
Sophia shook her head. She patted the bottom of the box, then looked at Maya expectantly.
Maya frowned, running her hands over the smooth wood. Suddenly, her fingers caught on a small, nearly invisible latch hidden beneath the ornate carving of a rose. Maya gasped.
“Eliana used to do this,” Maya whispered, looking up at Dante. “She used to carve false bottoms into our cheap jewelry boxes at the group home so the older kids wouldn't steal our things.”
Dante stepped forward, his heart pounding. “Open it.”
Maya pressed the latch. The wooden bottom clicked and popped open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside lay two items: a velvet pouch containing a heavy, tarnished antique brass key, and a cheap, plastic pre-paid burner phone.
Before Dante could reach for it, the burner phone’s screen lit up in the dim room. It vibrated violently against the wood.
A text message appeared on the cracked screen.
Time is up, Elena. I know about the brat. If you don't bring the ledger to the docks by midnight, the husband and the child die. No more hiding.
May you like
Maya read the message aloud, her voice trembling. She looked up at Dante in horror.
Dante’s blood turned to ice. His wife hadn't abandoned them. She was being hunted.
