Chapter 3 - THE WOODEN TRAIN
The air in the study felt so thick I could hardly breathe.
Forty million dollars. Stolen. And my father—the gentle, quiet man who struggled just to walk to the kitchen every morning—had been framed for it.
Victoria stared at Dante, her mouth slightly open. The heavy diamond bracelet dangled uselessly from her fingers. For a second, I thought she might faint. But Victoria Haines was a survivor of high society, a woman who knew how to twist reality to fit her needs.
“You’re out of your mind,” Victoria snapped, though her voice shook violently. She threw the bracelet onto the leather sofa. “My father is Thomas Haines. He is a respected attorney! You are going to believe a forged letter produced by a senile old woman and a thieving maid over the man who kept your family out of federal prison for two decades?”
“Thomas didn't keep us out of prison out of loyalty,” Dante said, his dark eyes boring into her. “He did it to maintain his access to the accounts.”
Dante stepped closer to his fiancée. He didn't yell. He didn't raise a hand. But the sheer gravitational pull of his anger forced Victoria to shrink back against the wall.
“How long have you known, Victoria?” Dante asked, his voice a low rumble. “How long have you known that your father stole from my mother? Is that why you pushed so hard for this wedding? To solidify your claim to the estate before I found the discrepancies?”
“I love you!” Victoria cried, tears spilling over her mascara. “Dante, we are supposed to be married in three weeks! I am the mother of a six-year-old boy who already calls you Dad. How can you do this to us?”
At the mention of her son, the heavy oak doors of the study slowly creaked open.
Standing in the doorway was a small boy in a miniature black tuxedo. His bowtie was crooked, and his dark hair was charmingly messy. He was holding a brightly painted wooden train engine in his little hand.
“Mommy?” Leo asked, his voice small and hesitant. “Why are you yelling?”
The tension in the room snapped in a completely different direction. Dante’s rigid posture instantly softened. He turned toward the boy, the terrifying mafia boss disappearing, replaced entirely by a man who genuinely loved the child standing before him.
“Hey, buddy,” Dante said softly, taking a step toward the door. “We aren't yelling. We’re just having a grown-up conversation.”
Victoria immediately seized the opportunity. She darted around Dante and scooped her son into her arms, pressing him tightly against her chest. Leo squirmed, looking uncomfortable with his mother’s frantic grip.
“He’s kicking us out, Leo,” Victoria sobbed, burying her face in the boy’s neck. “Dante doesn't want us anymore. He’s choosing the help over his own family.”
“Victoria, stop,” Dante warned, his jaw clenching. “Do not weaponize the boy.”
“You’re doing this!” she shot back, her eyes wild. “If you throw me out, Dante, you will never see Leo again. I will take him so far away you won't even be able to find his shadow. Is that what you want? To lose your son over a maid and an old housekeeper?”
I felt sick to my stomach. I looked at Evelyn. The elderly woman had tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. She knew how much Dante loved that little boy. He had spent the last two years teaching Leo how to ride a bike, reading him bedtime stories, and protecting him. Victoria was playing her absolute best card.
Dante stood paralyzed in the center of the room. The choice was agonizingly clear in his eyes. Demand the truth and lose the son he had claimed in his heart, or bury the secrets and keep his family intact.
Leo looked at Dante, his big brown eyes filled with confusion. Then, the little boy did something unexpected.
He wiggled hard, forcing Victoria to put him down. But he didn't run to Dante. He didn't stay by his mother.
Leo walked directly over to Evelyn’s wheelchair.
He gently placed his little wooden train on Evelyn’s lap, right next to the blue suitcase. “Miss Evie,” Leo said sweetly. “You look sad. You can play with my train.”
Evelyn let out a watery laugh and touched the boy’s cheek. “Thank you, my brave little man. That is very kind.”
Victoria’s face turned crimson. “Leo! Come here right now!”
Leo flinched at his mother’s harsh tone. He reached into the small pocket of his tuxedo trousers. “Mommy, you dropped this in the hallway when you were yelling at the man on the phone.”
He pulled out a crumpled, glossy piece of paper and held it out.
Victoria gasped. She lunged for the paper, but Dante was faster. He snatched the crumpled sheet from the boy’s hand before Victoria could reach it.
Dante unfolded it.
I watched his eyes scan the image. A muscle feathered in his jaw. The silence in the room returned, thicker and more suffocating than before.
“Take Leo to the kitchen, Rachel,” Dante ordered, not looking up from the photograph. “Get him some ice cream.”
“Yes, sir.” I quickly took Leo’s small hand. He came with me willingly, eager to escape the heavy atmosphere of the study.
As I guided the boy out the door, I glanced back over my shoulder.
Victoria was shaking her head frantically. “Dante, please. I can explain.”
“Explain what, Victoria?” Dante asked, turning the photograph around so she could see it.
Even from the doorway, I could see what it was. It wasn't a picture of Victoria. It wasn't a picture of her father.
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It was a surveillance photograph of my father, Arthur Bennett, walking with his cane outside his physical therapy clinic. Over his face, someone had drawn a thick, red X in permanent marker.
“Explain,” Dante whispered, “why your father hired a hitman to kill Rachel’s dad tonight.”
