Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Room
“Dante.”
Carmela’s whisper barely carried across the dining table, but in the dead silence of the room, it sounded like a gunshot.
Don Lorenzo’s head snapped backward. He turned slowly, his joints stiff with age, to look at the young man standing dutifully behind his chair.
Dante had been Lorenzo’s personal bodyguard for three years.
He was twenty-five years old.
He had pitch-black hair, piercing gray eyes, and a jawline that looked like it was carved from granite.
And as he stepped forward into the light of the crystal chandelier, the entire table gasped.
Beside Leo, the resemblance was undeniable. They shared the same eyes, the same stance, the same broad shoulders.
Elena gripped the edge of the mahogany table, her knuckles turning white.
“No,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “No, my baby died. The nurses told me his lungs weren't strong enough. They said he didn't make it through the night.”
She looked desperately at Antonio, her husband of twenty-six years.
But Antonio wasn't looking at her. He was staring at his older sister, Carmela.
“You paid them,” Antonio said, his voice thick with the poison still ravaging his system. “You paid the hospital to lie to her.”
Carmela lifted her chin, refusing to look ashamed.
“I did what had to be done to protect this family's bloodline,” she sneered. “Elena was a stray dog our father forced you to marry to settle a territory dispute. I knew she was pregnant before the wedding. I knew the child wasn't yours.”
Don Lorenzo leaned heavily on his silver-handled cane.
“So you stole a child?” Lorenzo’s voice was a dangerous, low rumble. “You stole my grandson?”
“He isn't your grandson!” Carmela screamed, her composure finally breaking. “Look at the DNA test! They carry the blood of the Moretti cartel! The men who killed our mother!”
The room erupted. Frank tried to grab Carmela’s arm, but she slapped him away. Elena was sobbing openly, reaching out a trembling hand toward Dante, the son she had mourned for twenty-five years.
But Dante didn't look at her.
He didn't look at Leo.
He slowly reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a tarnished silver object.
He tossed it onto the center of the table.
It landed with a heavy clatter right next to the medicine bottle of poison.
It was half of a St. Christopher medal. The edges were jagged, as if it had been broken in two.
Leo reached into his own pocket, his hands shaking for the first time all evening, and pulled out the matching half. He had worn it on a chain around his neck since he was a little boy. Elena had given it to him, telling him it was a reminder of the brother waiting for him in heaven.
They fit together perfectly.
“I didn't just find out today, Leo,” Dante said. His voice was cold, devoid of the warmth Leo possessed. “I’ve known who I am since I was fifteen years old.”
Elena covered her mouth, her tears falling freely now. “You knew? All this time, you were standing right there, and you knew I was your mother?”
Dante finally looked at her. The pain in his gray eyes was absolute.
“You aren't my mother,” he said softly. “A mother doesn't spend five years in bed with a coward while her husband is being poisoned.”
Frank flinched at the word coward.
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Frank barked, trying to regain some authority.
Dante moved so fast nobody saw him draw the weapon.
In a fraction of a second, he had his heavy black pistol unholstered and pressed directly between Frank’s eyes.
“Sit down, Frank,” Dante whispered.
May you like
But Dante wasn't looking at Frank anymore. He slowly turned his gaze back to Carmela, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“You think you know all the secrets in this family, Aunt Carmela,” Dante said, his voice dripping with venom. “But you don't know who actually signed the paperwork to have me thrown in the orphanage.”
