Chapter 6 - THE CHILD I HAD ALREADY HELD
Three years earlier, a lawyer contacted me about a woman named Ruth Marshall.
She claimed she was a distant relative of Dad’s.
He had quietly sent her money every month.
I visited because grief made me curious.
Ruth lived in a small Vermont town.
And with her lived a four-year-old boy.
Eli.
I still had his photograph on my phone.
Red sled.
Missing front tooth.
Serious gray eyes.
I showed Dante.
He stopped breathing.
“That’s him.”
His voice broke.
I didn’t need DNA to see the resemblance.
Same eyes.
Same stubborn jaw.
Same dark hair.
Dante sat beside me.
For once, power meant nothing.
“What did Ruth tell you?”
“His parents were dead.”
“She lied.”
“She probably thought she was protecting him.”
His eyes flashed.
“Everyone keeps protecting my son by keeping him from me.”
I understood the anger.
But I also understood fear.
“If Salvatore controlled your security, what would you have done if Sofia brought Leo home?”
Dante opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
That answer frightened him.
We called Ruth.
Disconnected.
Her address was empty.
Neighbors said she and Eli left three months earlier.
No forwarding address.
Dad’s trust records showed monthly payments rerouted to Pennsylvania.
Federal investigators traced them to a private school near Scranton.
We drove there the next morning.
Dante barely spoke.
Orion lay between us.
At the school, the director recognized Eli’s picture.
“Yes. He attended here.”
Dante gripped the chair.
“Where is he?”
Her face changed.
“A man collected him yesterday.”
“What man?”
“He had legal guardianship papers.”
The papers identified Salvatore Moretti.
Dante stood so fast the chair struck the wall.
I touched his wrist.
He stopped.
Barely.
“Do you have cameras?”
They did.
We watched Salvatore enter.
Seventy-two.
Silver hair.
Walking cane.
The man in dozens of family photographs.
Eli came down the hallway with a backpack.
He looked frightened.
Salvatore crouched.
The audio was weak.
But one sentence came through.
“Your father finally found out.”
Eli’s little voice answered:
“Is he coming for me?”
Salvatore smiled.
“No.”
Then he leaned closer.
“I’m going to make sure he never gets the chance.”
Dante looked away from the screen.
Something in him had changed.
This was no longer about an empire.
Or revenge.
It was about a six-year-old boy who had spent his entire life believing both parents were gone.
Then Dante’s private phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared.
Eli sitting on a sofa.
Alive.
Holding Orion’s old red training ball.
May you like
Underneath were four words.
BRING MICHAEL MARSHALL’S FILES. ALONE.
