Chapter 2 - THE PURPLE BAG
The silence in the dining room was absolute.
Dante didn’t shout. He didn’t flip the table. For a man who ran the most dangerous syndicate in the city, his stillness was far more terrifying.
He stared at his five-year-old daughter holding her little purple bag, then slowly turned his eyes to his fiancée.
“You told my daughter to leave this house,” Dante said. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the room like a blade.
Celine’s face flushed. She touched her diamond necklace, her perfectly manicured fingers trembling slightly. “Dante, you’re taking it out of context. The child is obsessed with a ghost. Elena is dead. If we are going to build a strong family, Lucy needs to understand that crying for a dead woman makes you look weak.”
She said it to appeal to his mob pride. It was the wrong move.
Dante reached down and gently took the purple bag from Lucy’s hands. He handed it to me.
“Mara,” he said, never taking his eyes off Celine. “Take Lucy upstairs. Unpack her things. You are not leaving tonight, or any night.”
“Dante, you can’t undermine me in front of our guests!” Celine hissed, her chair scraping loudly as she stood.
“The engagement is over,” Dante said coldly. “Pack your things, Celine. Have your driver take you to your sister’s. If you are still in this house in one hour, my men will remove you.”
A collective gasp rippled across the table.
I didn’t wait to see Celine’s reaction. I picked up Lucy, who buried her face in my neck, and hurried out of the dining room. My heart was hammering. Dante had just shattered a multi-million-dollar alliance with Celine’s family to protect a five-year-old’s feelings.
Upstairs, the nursery was quiet. I sat Lucy on her bed and opened the purple bag to put away her poorly folded socks.
As I pulled out her pajamas, something hard clattered onto the hardwood floor.
I picked it up. It was a heavy silver locket. I recognized it instantly. It was Elena’s—the necklace Dante’s late wife had worn every day until she died in a tragic car accident fifteen months ago.
“Lucy, where did you get this?” I asked softly.
“I found it in Celine’s closet,” Lucy whispered, rubbing her eyes. “She hid it in a shoe.”
Why would Celine hide Elena’s necklace?
I pried the delicate silver clasp open. The photograph inside had been scratched out, completely ruined by a sharp object. But tucked behind the ruined photo was a tightly folded piece of paper.
I pulled it out and smoothed it over my palm.
It was a baggage claim ticket from the city’s international train station. The date stamped in red ink was October 14th.
The exact day Elena died.
The bedroom door clicked open. Dante stepped inside, looking exhausted, his tie loosened. He saw the locket in my hand.
His eyes darkened instantly. He walked over, taking the ticket from my trembling fingers.
“Elena’s car crashed on the coastal highway,” Dante whispered, staring at the date. “She was supposed to be going to her mother’s house. She was never anywhere near the train station.”
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He looked up at me, the devastation in his eyes replaced by a terrifying realization.
“She didn't die in an accident,” Dante said. “She was trying to run away.”
