Chapter 9 - The Ghost from the Past
By morning, the estate had become an armed fortress under clean-up protocol.
Vincent had failed to secure the transport. Marco and his reinforcements had cornered him in the eastern tunnels. The treason had been excised with brutal efficiency—Vincent was dead, and the remaining Moretti mercenaries had fled back across the river.
In the master suite, the smell of gunpowder had been replaced by the sterile scent of fresh antiseptic.
Dante sat on the edge of the leather sofa while I carefully wrapped a fresh sterile bandage around his ribs. He didn't flinch, but his muscles tightened under my fingertips every time I pulled the gauze taut. His body was a map of old violence—faded scars, knife marks, and the dark ink of a sprawling tattoo across his shoulder blades: an archangel trampling a serpent.
"You're good at this," he said quietly, his voice low in the quiet room.
"When you grow up where I grew up, you learn basic trauma care," I replied, taping the edge of the dressing. "My father was never around, and my brother was always picking fights he couldn't win."
Dante went quiet. He reached out, his calloused fingers lightly catching my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. The intensity in his storm-gray eyes made my heart skip a beat.
"Your father," Dante said softly. "Arthur Montgomery."
My hands froze against his chest. "How do you know my father's full name?"
"Because," Dante said, dropping his hand but keeping his gaze locked on mine, "your father didn't die in an ordinary hit-and-run seven years ago, Cara."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. "What are you talking about? The police report said—"
"The police report was written by detectives on the payroll of Don Moretti," Dante interrupted smoothly. "Your father wasn't an accountant for a trucking firm. He was the chief forensic auditor for the Five Families' shared holdings. Ten years ago, he discovered that Moretti was skimming tens of millions from the joint pension funds and setting up a private army."
I backed away, stumbling against the edge of the mahogany desk. "No. No, that's impossible. My dad drove a ten-year-old station wagon. We barely had enough money for groceries!"
"Because Arthur was an honest man who refused to take their dirty money," Dante explained, rising slowly to his feet, ignoring the pain in his flank. "Before Moretti had him silenced, your father hid something. A physical cryptographic ledger that contains every illegal offshore account, every corrupted judge, and every political asset controlled by Moretti's syndicate."
Dante took two steps toward me, towering over me, his presence magnetic and suffocating all at once.
"For six years, everyone assumed Arthur took the location of that ledger to his grave," Dante whispered. "Until three weeks ago, when Moretti began liquidating assets and mobilizing soldiers. Moretti found out the ledger still exists. And he believes Arthur left the key with the only person he cared about."
I stared at Dante, my voice trembling. "Me?"
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"Yes," Dante said. "The attempt on my life last night wasn't just Vincent trying to take over my throne. It was coordinated by Moretti to eliminate me so there would be no one left to protect this territory when he comes for you."
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