Chapter 2 - SOFIA WANTED MORE THAN MY HUSBAND
I called Dante for the first time in twenty-six days.
He answered before the first full ring.
“Lena.”
His voice cracked around my name.
I hated that part of me still recognized every emotion inside it.
“I need one answer.”
“Where are you?”
“That isn’t the answer.”
Silence.
“Did you sign a succession agreement using my name?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize Sofia Vale as executive proxy?”
Another silence.
Longer.
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Because my father’s health got worse. The board required a contingency structure.”
“You made your mistress my financial replacement?”
“She was not my mistress.”
I closed my eyes.
“I watched you kiss her.”
“She kissed me.”
“And you stood there.”
His breathing changed.
“I know.”
“No, Dante. You know what happened. You don’t know what it did.”
He said nothing.
I pushed the documents toward Rachel even though Dante could not see them.
“Someone forged my signature.”
His tone sharpened instantly.
“What?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s on a legal document.”
“Send it.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“You don’t get to command me anymore.”
He went quiet.
Then the dangerous calm entered his voice.
“Tell me exactly what you found.”
I explained the succession agreement.
The insurance policy.
The amendment.
By the time I finished, Dante sounded less like a guilty husband and more like the man Chicago feared.
“Who else has seen these?”
“My attorney.”
“Keep it that way.”
“No.”
“Lena—”
“I am not helping you bury anything.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
My blood ran cold.
“What does that mean?”
He did not answer quickly enough.
“You already knew something was wrong.”
“I knew someone was moving against me.”
“And you still put Sofia beside you?”
“I thought I could control her.”
I almost laughed.
“That seems to be your favorite mistake.”
Then somebody knocked on my rental-house door.
Three slow knocks.
Rachel looked toward me.
Neither of us moved.
Dante heard them through the phone.
“Lena?”
Another knock.
Then a woman’s voice.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
Dante became instantly alert.
“Do not open that door.”
I stepped toward the window.
A black sedan sat outside.
Not one I recognized.
The woman called again.
“I’m here on behalf of your father-in-law.”
Dante swore.
“My father doesn’t know where you are.”
“How does she?”
“Lena, listen to me. Get away from the windows.”
My pulse hammered.
The woman slid an envelope beneath the door.
Then returned to the car and drove away.
Rachel picked it up with a tissue.
Inside was one photograph.
Sofia Vale entering a private bank in Zurich.
Date stamped eleven days earlier.
Behind the photograph was a handwritten message.
Your husband did not betray you first.
His brother did.
I stared at Dante’s name glowing on my phone.
May you like
Dante Moretti had no living brother.
At least, that was what I had been told for five years.
