Chapter 5 - THE SON DANTE BURIED WITHOUT SEEING
Dante sat down.
Not slowly.
Like his knees had stopped working.
“My son died.”
Nobody spoke.
He stared at the birth certificate.
“I held Sofia while they told us.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“Did you see him?”
His eyes lifted to mine.
“No.”
The hospital had told Dante and Sofia that their premature son died minutes after delivery.
Sofia had nearly died too.
The casket remained closed.
Dante had buried a child he had never seen.
I felt sick.
The photograph of Sofia and Dad had been taken eight months later.
She had discovered the truth.
My father had helped her.
“Why didn’t they tell you?”
Dante looked toward the message on the photograph.
“They didn’t know who betrayed us.”
His technician opened more files.
Private ambulance records.
Hospital billing.
A transfer made on the morning Leo was born.
From a Moretti shell company to a clinic in Connecticut.
Authorized by Vincent Russo.
Dante stood.
“I’m talking to Vincent.”
I blocked the doorway.
Every guard froze.
He stared down at me.
“Move.”
“No.”
His expression darkened.
“You understand who you’re speaking to?”
“Better than yesterday.”
“Olivia.”
“You’re angry enough to kill him.”
“If he stole my son—”
“Then killing him before he talks would be stupid.”
Silence.
One guard looked like he wanted to disappear into the wall.
Dante stepped closer.
“You think you can stop me?”
“No.”
I forced myself not to move.
“But my father died trying to get you answers. Don’t waste that because you’re furious.”
Orion walked between us.
Then sat directly on Dante’s foot.
I almost laughed.
Dante looked down at the dog.
The terrifying Mafia boss sighed.
“Fine.”
Vincent talked after federal evidence from Dad’s files made denial pointless.
He admitted arranging the transfer of a newborn.
He claimed he had been told the child belonged to a protected witness.
“Who ordered it?” Dante demanded.
Vincent hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Salvatore.”
Dante went still.
His uncle.
The man who had raised him after his father was killed.
The man who advised him on every major decision.
“Why?”
Vincent looked genuinely afraid.
“Because Salvatore needed you without an heir.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Where is my son?”
Vincent swallowed.
“Alive.”
The room stopped.
“Where?”
“He was hidden with a woman named Ruth Marshall.”
I stared.
“My father didn’t have a sister.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Not by blood.”
Then he looked directly at me.
“But you’ve met the boy.”
I knew exactly one child connected to a woman named Ruth Marshall.
A quiet little boy in Vermont.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
May you like
Named Eli.
And suddenly I understood why his face had always felt strangely familiar.
