Chapter 2 - The Man in the Dark
The emergency lights flickered on three seconds later.
Three seconds was enough to change everything.
Dante had Clara behind him before she understood he had moved.
Marco was crouched behind the bar.
Two of Dante’s men came through the kitchen doors with their hands inside their jackets.
Sophia was gone.
She had left with Dante’s driver ten minutes earlier.
That fact was the only reason Dante did not look completely murderous.
Julian stood near the private staircase.
Calm.
Dry.
Perfectly dressed.
As though he had not somehow entered a locked restaurant seconds before the lights failed.
Dante’s voice was flat.
“How did you get back in?”
Julian looked toward the kitchen.
“Your staff still uses the service entrance.”
Marco shook his head.
“It was locked.”
“Then perhaps your lock is broken.”
Dante held up Elena’s locket.
Julian’s eyes dropped to it.
The reaction was fast.
Almost invisible.
But Clara saw it.
Recognition.
Then calculation.
Julian smiled.
“I haven’t seen that in years.”
“You shouldn’t have seen it at all.”
“Why?”
“Elena was wearing it when she died.”
Julian’s smile faded.
Dante walked closer.
“Her body was returned without it.”
“That was a chaotic night.”
“You were the one who identified her belongings.”
Julian said nothing.
Clara felt the atmosphere shift.
This was not a family argument.
This was an old wound opening.
Dante turned the locket.
“J.V. Eleven.”
Julian glanced at the letters.
“Initials.”
“Yours.”
“Half our family has a name beginning with J.”
“Not with V.”
Julian looked at Clara.
“She found this?”
“Yes,” Dante said.
Julian’s gaze lingered on her.
“Interesting.”
Clara hated the way he said it.
Dante stepped between them.
“Look at me.”
Julian did.
“Did Elena give this to you?”
“No.”
“Did you take it from her?”
“No.”
“Did Sophia see you with it?”
“No.”
Dante studied him.
Julian sighed.
“If you’ve decided I murdered your wife because your traumatized child finally whispered my name, say it plainly.”
Marco lowered his eyes.
Clara stopped breathing for a moment.
Dante’s face showed nothing.
“Did you?”
Julian’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“You answered quickly.”
“Because the accusation is absurd.”
“Then why is my daughter afraid of you?”
“I have no idea.”
“She hasn’t spoken for three years.”
“I’m aware.”
“And tonight, her first word was your name.”
Julian’s jaw flexed.
“That does not make me guilty.”
“No.”
Dante slipped the locket into his pocket.
“But it makes you interesting.”
Julian looked toward Clara again.
“She should leave.”
Clara blinked.
Dante did not.
“Why?”
“This is family business.”
“She’s involved.”
“She’s a waitress.”
“She’s the person my daughter chose.”
Julian’s eyes sharpened.
That sentence meant something.
Clara could feel it.
Dante noticed too.
Julian recovered.
“You’re emotional.”
“My wife is dead.”
“She has been dead for three years.”
The silence after that sentence felt dangerous.
Dante moved so quickly Clara barely saw it.
His hand closed around Julian’s collar and drove him back against the dark wooden wall.
Crystal glasses trembled on nearby shelves.
Dante spoke quietly.
“Say her name with respect.”
Julian did not resist.
He looked into his cousin’s eyes.
“You see enemies everywhere.”
“Maybe I finally started looking in the right place.”
For several seconds neither man moved.
Then Dante released him.
Julian straightened his jacket.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Then help me correct it.”
“How?”
“Tell me what eleven means.”
Julian’s eyes flicked toward the locket.
“I don’t know.”
Dante nodded.
“Fine.”
He looked at one of his men.
“Luca.”
A broad-shouldered man near the kitchen stepped forward.
“Take Julian’s phone.”
Julian laughed once.
“You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“Dante.”
“The phone.”
Julian slowly removed it.
Luca took it.
“Unlock it.”
Julian stared at Dante.
Dante waited.
Finally, Julian placed his thumb on the screen.
“Search everything,” Dante said. “Messages. Calls. Photos. Deleted files.”
Julian’s voice became colder.
“You’re crossing a line.”
“You crossed one first. I’m trying to find out which one.”
Clara looked down at the dessert plate still sitting on the table.
The two chocolate hearts had begun melting.
The crossed-out one looked almost black under the emergency lights.
Sophia had not simply become afraid when she saw Julian.
She had tried to communicate something.
A heart.
Crossed out.
A dead mother?
Clara stepped closer to the table.
Something bothered her.
The locket had been under Sophia’s chair.
Yet Dante said Sophia never had it.
If that was true, someone else had placed it there.
Why?
To send a message?
To frame Julian?
Or to make sure Dante found it?
Clara crouched.
There was another object beneath the table.
Tiny.
White.
A folded piece of paper.
She picked it up.
It was not restaurant stationery.
It looked torn from a child’s sketchbook.
Clara unfolded it.
A drawing.
Three stick figures.
One large man.
One woman.
One child.
The woman’s face had been covered with black crayon.
Beside her stood another tall figure.
Above his head was a single letter.
J.
Clara’s throat tightened.
At the bottom of the picture, written shakily in a child’s handwriting, were two numbers.
11:17.
“Dante.”
He turned.
Clara held up the paper.
Julian went completely still.
Dante walked over.
He took the drawing.
His face hardened.
“That’s Sophia’s.”
“You recognize her handwriting?”
“Yes.”
Clara pointed.
“Eleven seventeen.”
Dante stared at the numbers.
Julian spoke from behind him.
“It could be a time.”
Dante looked over his shoulder.
“You said you didn’t know what eleven meant.”
“I said I didn’t know what was scratched on the locket.”
“You recognized this.”
“I can read.”
Clara looked between them.
“Was there something significant about 11:17?”
Dante’s expression shifted.
He seemed to be searching an old memory.
“Elena died at eleven twenty-three.”
Clara felt the hair rise along her arms.
Six minutes.
Whatever Sophia had seen, it happened six minutes before her mother died.
Dante stared at the drawing.
“Where was Sophia that night?”
Julian asked.
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“You know exactly where she was.”
“I know what I was told.”
“She was supposed to be home.”
“But she wasn’t.”
Clara looked at Dante.
He seemed reluctant to answer.
Finally he said, “Elena took her to the gala.”
“And afterward?” Clara asked.
Dante’s mouth tightened.
“The security detail said Elena sent Sophia home with a nanny before leaving.”
Julian gave a small shrug.
“Then Sophia could not have witnessed the shooting.”
Clara stared at the black crayon over the mother’s face.
“Maybe she witnessed what happened before it.”
Dante looked at her.
A phone vibrated.
Not Julian’s.
Clara’s.
Everyone turned.
She pulled it from her apron.
Unknown number.
A text message.
DON’T LET HER SPEAK AGAIN.
Clara’s blood went cold.
A second message appeared.
YOU WON’T SURVIVE HER NEXT WORD.
Dante took the phone from her.
“Who has your number?”
“My manager. Coworkers. Landlord.”
“Julian?”
“No.”
Julian smiled faintly.
“How convenient.”
Dante looked at him.
“Luca. Keep him here.”
Julian’s smile disappeared.
“Dante.”
“You wanted me to investigate. I’m investigating.”
Dante handed Clara’s phone back.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To get Sophia.”
Clara hesitated.
“Why me?”
“Because she trusts you.”
“That doesn’t mean she needs me at your house.”
“No.”
Dante’s voice softened by a fraction.
“It means whoever sent that message thinks she does.”
Twenty minutes later Clara sat in the back of Dante’s armored sedan.
The city lights slid across the windows.
She should have been terrified.
Instead she was thinking about Sophia.
A little girl who had held three years of fear behind her teeth.
And one word had finally escaped.
Julian.
Dante sat across from Clara.
“What did you do?”
She frowned.
“With Sophia.”
“Nothing.”
“She hasn’t allowed anyone near her like that since Elena.”
“I drew a heart.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“It’s chocolate.”
“To you.”
He looked out the window.
“To her, maybe it wasn’t.”
Clara studied him.
“You really didn’t know she was afraid of Julian?”
“No.”
“He spent time with her?”
“He was family.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dante’s eyes returned to hers.
“Yes. He was around her.”
“How often?”
“After Elena died, more often.”
Clara felt uneasy.
“Why?”
“Because he said I shouldn’t be alone.”
The car turned through iron gates.
Ahead, a large stone residence appeared beyond trees.
Clara had expected a mansion.
She had not expected the silence.
No music.
No open windows.
No warmth.
Only guards.
Dante got out first.
A woman in a black dress rushed down the steps.
Sophia’s nanny.
“Mr. Vancini.”
Dante stopped.
“What?”
The woman’s face was pale.
“Sophia locked herself in Elena’s old bedroom.”
Dante went still.
“That room is locked.”
“I know.”
“No one has the key.”
“I know.”
“Then how did she get in?”
The nanny shook her head.
Dante hurried upstairs.
Clara followed.
At the end of a long hallway stood a white door.
Dante tried the handle.
Locked.
“Sophia.”
No response.
He knocked.
“It’s Daddy.”
Silence.
Clara stepped closer.
“Can I try?”
Dante moved aside.
Clara rested her hand against the door.
“Sophia? It’s Clara.”
Something moved inside.
A chair scraped.
Then came three soft knocks.
Clara looked at Dante.
“Three?”
His face drained of color.
“What?”
“Three knocks.”
Dante stared at the door.
“Elena used to do that.”
Clara’s pulse quickened.
A tiny sound came from inside.
Not a word.
A metallic click.
The lock released.
Dante reached for the handle.
The door opened two inches.
Sophia stood on the other side.
She was holding an old photograph.
Her face was wet with tears.
May you like
Behind her, on the bedroom floor, someone had opened Elena Vancini’s hidden safe.
And the safe was empty.
