Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE WITH THE BROKEN WINDOW
By 7:45 that morning, Bethany had stopped caring about Dante's scratched car.
Her mother was missing.
A supposedly dead mafia uncle had threatened her life.
And Dante Moretti was refusing to let Bethany drive home alone.
"I'm not getting into your car," she said.
Dante opened the passenger door.
"Your Honda has a damaged bumper, and you haven't slept."
"The bumper is fine."
"You reversed into a parked vehicle."
"Thank you for the eyewitness testimony."
He studied her exhausted face.
"Bethany, whoever took your mother knows where you work."
That silenced her.
She looked toward the hospital entrance.
Nurses were arriving for the morning shift.
A father carried a sleepy toddler through the sliding doors.
Ordinary people.
Ordinary problems.
She would have given anything to return to that world.
Finally, she entered Dante's car.
Marco drove while Dante sat beside her.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Then Bethany asked, "What do you know about Antonio Moretti?"
Dante looked out the window.
"He was my father's younger brother."
Bethany stared.
"Your uncle?"
"Yes."
"Then if he's my father..."
"We may be cousins."
She let out a nervous laugh.
"Well, that certainly kills any chance of this becoming a romantic comedy."
Dante turned toward her.
For the first time, a faint smile appeared.
"Let's not make assumptions until we know the truth."
Bethany frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means the Moretti family has a history of changing names, hiding children, and burying inconvenient facts."
They reached Lorraine's small house on Dayton's west side.
The front door stood slightly open.
One downstairs window was broken.
Bethany jumped out before the car stopped.
"Mom!"
Dante caught her wrist.
"Wait."
She spun around.
"That's my mother!"
"And someone wants you to rush inside without thinking."
His voice was firm but not cruel.
He released her immediately.
Marco and another guard checked the house.
Minutes later, they returned.
"Clear."
Bethany ran inside.
The living room was destroyed.
Drawers hung open.
Family photographs lay shattered on the floor.
Lorraine's favorite blue vase had been smashed beside the sofa.
Bethany searched every room.
"Mom!"
Nothing.
Then she noticed something strange.
Her mother's bedroom closet was untouched.
Except for a small wooden jewelry box.
Its lid was open.
Inside lay an old photograph.
A young Lorraine stood beside a handsome dark-haired man.
Behind them was a church.
Written on the back were three words.
OUR WEDDING DAY.
Bethany stared at the man's face.
He looked nothing like the father in the photograph Lorraine had shown her throughout childhood.
Dante appeared beside her.
He went completely still.
"Where did you find that?"
Bethany held up the photograph.
"Who is he?"
Dante took a slow breath.
"That's my father."
Bethany's heart stopped.
"Your father?"
He nodded.
"Vittorio Moretti."
She looked down at the photograph again.
Then back at Dante.
"If your father married my mother..."
May you like
Dante's expression became grim.
"Then someone has been lying to both of us about who you really are."
