Chapter 4 - THE MIDNIGHT FERRY
The name on the back of the ticket felt like a physical blow to Dante’s chest.
Isabella.
Isabella Romano. Carlo’s daughter. Dante’s cousin.
She was a brilliant corporate lawyer who managed the syndicate’s legitimate holdings. She had stood beside Dante at his father’s funeral, weeping softly into a black lace handkerchief. She had sworn absolute loyalty to him.
If Isabella had orchestrated Carlo’s release, it meant she had been playing a long, treacherous game.
Dante glanced in the rearview mirror. Leo was curled up in the backseat, clutching his stuffed bear, his eyes wide with silent trauma. The boy hadn’t spoken since they left the house.
Dante pulled the SUV into an underground parking garage beneath a luxury high-rise he owned under a shell corporation. It was a secure location, heavily fortified and off the books.
He carried Leo up to the penthouse. The apartment was expansive, minimalist, and cold.
“Marco,” Dante said into his phone as he set Leo on the massive leather sofa. “I need a security detail at the safe house. Bring a doctor for the boy. And lock down the hospital. Nobody gets near Harper.”
“On it, Boss. What about Carlo?”
“Let the street cops find him. He’ll bleed out or end up back in custody. Right now, I need you to locate Isabella.”
“Isabella?” Marco sounded shocked. “Boss, she’s out of town. She went to a charity gala in Newport this weekend.”
“No, she didn’t,” Dante said, staring at the ferry ticket on the kitchen counter. “She’s on Blackwood Island. And she’s waiting for me.”
Dante hung up. He walked into the living room and knelt in front of Leo.
“Leo,” Dante said gently. “A very nice man is going to come here and stay with you. He’s going to bring you some food and make sure you’re safe. I have to go help your mom.”
Leo looked at him, his small hands tightening around the bear.
“Are you going to shoot the bad people?” the six-year-old asked, his voice hauntingly flat.
Dante hesitated. He hated that the boy had already learned the currency of their world.
“I’m going to make sure they can never hurt you or your mom again,” Dante promised.
He left the penthouse, the heavy steel door locking securely behind him.
The harbor was shrouded in thick, freezing fog. The midnight ferry to Blackwood Island was a rusted, hulking vessel used primarily for transporting cargo to the isolated estates off the coast.
Dante boarded alone, his coat collar pulled up against the biting wind. He stood on the rear deck, watching the city lights disappear into the mist.
Blackwood Island was a sanctuary for the ultra-rich, completely private and heavily guarded. Isabella owned a massive cliffside estate there.
When the ferry docked, Dante didn’t take a cab. He walked the two miles up the winding coastal road, slipping past the island’s private security patrols like a ghost.
Isabella’s estate was ablaze with light. Classical music drifted from the open French doors leading to the massive stone patio overlooking the crashing ocean.
Dante moved through the manicured gardens, neutralizing two armed guards with precise, silent efficiency, leaving them unconscious in the hydrangeas.
He stepped onto the patio, drawing his weapon.
Isabella was sitting at a wrought-iron table, sipping red wine. She was wearing a stunning black evening gown, looking entirely relaxed.
“You’re late, Dante,” she said, not even turning around.
Dante aimed his gun directly at the back of her head.
“Turn around slowly, Bella,” Dante ordered.
She sighed, placing her wine glass on the table, and turned her chair to face him. She didn’t look afraid. She looked disappointed.
“I assume my father failed,” Isabella said dryly.
“He’s bleeding out in a suburban driveway,” Dante replied, stepping closer. “You broke him out of federal prison to orchestrate a coup.”
“I broke him out because you are running our family into the ground, Dante,” Isabella sneered, her polished facade cracking. “You’re obsessed with legitimacy. You’re turning a predator empire into a glorified shipping company. We are losing fear, and fear is our only currency.”
“So you sent men to beat my secretary half to death?” Dante roared, his composure slipping.
“Harper Reed is a loose end!” Isabella stood up, her eyes blazing. “She was sleeping with Julian. She was hiding the true heir to the family. If the other captains found out Julian had a son, they would use the boy to challenge you. I was trying to protect the throne!”
“By killing a six-year-old boy?!”
“By eliminating the threat!” Isabella shouted.
Dante stared at his cousin. The ambition had poisoned her completely.
“You wanted me to come here tonight,” Dante said, his voice lowering. “You left your name on the ticket. You knew I’d track you down. Why?”
Isabella’s cruel smile returned. She slowly reached toward the table and picked up a small, velvet box.
“Because I didn’t just want to kill the boy, Dante,” Isabella said softly. “I wanted to give you a choice.”
She tossed the velvet box onto the stone patio. It landed at Dante’s feet and popped open.
Dante looked down.
Resting on the dark velvet was a heavy, silver rosary.
It was Harper’s.
Dante’s blood ran cold.
“How do you have that?” Dante whispered.
“Marco is a very loyal man,” Isabella smiled, taking a sip of her wine. “But he’s loyal to the highest bidder. While you were driving the boy to your penthouse, Marco walked into West End General and relieved the guards of their duty.”
Dante’s encrypted phone buzzed violently in his pocket.
He didn’t answer it. He already knew what it meant.
“Marco has Harper,” Isabella said, her voice dripping with triumph. “And he has the boy. My men intercepted your ‘safe house’ ten minutes ago.”
Dante raised his gun, aiming directly between Isabella’s eyes.
“If you pull that trigger, Dante, Marco will execute Harper and the boy instantly. He’s waiting for my call.”
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Isabella stepped closer, pressing her forehead directly against the barrel of Dante’s gun.
“So,” Isabella whispered. “Are you going to be the ruthless Mafia boss I need you to be? Or are you going to surrender your empire for a secretary and a bastard child?”
