Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH MY FATHER NEVER SHOWED ME
I stopped breathing.
“My father’s truck went off the expressway.”
“That’s what the report said.”
“You’re telling me police lied?”
“I’m telling you somebody wanted the questions to stop.”
My hands went cold.
Four years earlier, I had identified Dad’s body through a hospital window because the crash had crushed the driver’s side.
A state trooper told me he probably fell asleep.
I had believed him because grief leaves very little room for suspicion.
Dante crossed to a locked cabinet and removed a photograph.
My father stood in a fenced training yard.
Younger.
Laughing.
Beside him was Orion as a puppy.
And on the other side stood Dante.
Not the cold man in front of me.
A younger Dante with an actual smile.
I touched the photograph.
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
Dad had told me he was doing weekend maintenance work in New Jersey that year.
“What did he really do for you?”
“He installed and repaired security systems at several Moretti properties.”
“That still doesn’t explain Orion.”
“Your father volunteered with working dogs. Orion rejected three professional handlers. Michael walked into the yard, sat down, and ignored him.”
I looked at Orion.
“What happened?”
“He crawled into your father’s lap.”
Exactly what the dog had done to me.
Something inside my chest tightened.
Dante continued.
“Four years ago, my younger brother Matteo discovered that someone inside our organization was selling shipping routes to a rival group.”
“Mafia routes?”
His expression didn’t change.
“Among other things.”
There it was.
The truth beneath the expensive townhouse.
“Michael found evidence through our security system.”
“And then?”
“They arranged to meet me.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
Dante’s voice became flat.
“Matteo was shot before he reached the meeting.”
My stomach twisted.
“And Dad?”
“His truck went through a barrier forty minutes later.”
I looked at Orion.
Dante noticed.
“He was in Matteo’s car.”
“What?”
“Orion survived the shooting.”
The scar beneath the dog’s shoulder fur suddenly made sense.
“Afterward, he stopped trusting anyone.”
“But he trusted me.”
“Yes.”
“Because I smell like Dad?”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t believe that.
Neither did I.
Orion nudged the keychain.
Then gently caught it in his teeth and walked away.
“Hey.”
We followed him down a hallway.
He stopped beside an old wooden console table and scratched at the lowest drawer.
Dante opened it.
Empty.
Orion scratched again.
I crouched and looked beneath the cabinet.
There was a narrow gap.
My fingers found something metallic.
A small brass key.
Dusty.
Old.
Stamped with two letters.
M.M.
Michael Marshall.
I stared at Dante.
“My father put this here?”
Dante’s face had gone hard.
“He must have.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
Orion sat beside me.
Then another guard entered quickly.
“Boss, we have a problem.”
Dante turned.
“What?”
The man looked at me before answering.
“Someone accessed the security archive ten minutes after Miss Marshall entered the house.”
My pulse jumped.
“Who?”
The guard swallowed.
“We don’t know.”
Dante looked toward the key in my hand.
Then toward the cameras mounted discreetly in the hallway.
May you like
And I understood.
Someone inside Dante Moretti’s house had just realized Michael Marshall’s daughter had come back.
