Chapter 8 - THE WATCH THAT STOPPED TIME
Dante stared at the silver pocket watch inside the plastic evidence bag. The intricate engraving of a roaring lion—the Valenti family crest—gleamed under the ballroom lights.
"Where exactly did he have this?" Dante asked the detective, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"In his inner breast pocket, sir," the detective replied. "Tucked away like a keepsake."
Dante handed the bag back. "Keep it logged in evidence. Don't let anyone touch it."
The detective nodded and hurried away.
I watched Dante. The man who had just saved my life, who had protected my daughter, suddenly looked as though he had seen a ghost. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see a muscle jumping in his cheek.
"Dante," I said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Your father... Peter had his watch?"
Dante looked at me. The vulnerability in his dark eyes was jarring. "My father was betrayed by his own accountant fifteen years ago. The accountant cooked our books, sold our secrets to a rival family—the Morettis—and set my father up in an ambush. After my father was killed, the accountant vanished. We never found him."
I felt a cold dread wash over me. "Peter was an accountant."
"Not just an accountant," Dante said, his voice hardening. "He changed his name. He reinvented himself. He hid in plain sight, marrying a beautiful woman in the suburbs and working for Eleanor Vance’s legitimate firm. He wasn't just a greedy husband, Catherine. Peter was the rat who got my father killed."
Olivia gasped. "Oh my god."
The pieces fell into place. The sudden influx of money Peter had when we first met. The paranoia he sometimes exhibited when strangers came to the door. The way he meticulously controlled our finances.
"That's why he was fleeing to Switzerland tonight," Dante said, pacing the floor. "It wasn't just about stealing your mother's trust. The Moretti family is making a move on my territory this week. Peter knew the streets were going to run red. He was cashing out and running before the war started."
Marco approached, his face grim. He held a ringing cell phone. "Boss. We have a problem. The Morettis know Peter was arrested. They know the asset freeze is coming. They're making a move tonight."
Dante’s eyes darted toward the large glass windows of the ballroom.
"Catherine, Olivia," Dante said, his tone shifting from gentle protector to militant commander. "You need to come with me right now."
"Where?" I asked, my heart pounding.
"To my estate. It's heavily fortified. The Morettis know Peter is connected to you. If they want to tie up loose ends and silence anyone who might know about their finances, they'll come for you next."
"But we don't know anything!" Olivia cried out.
"The mafia doesn't care," Marco said bluntly.
Dante grabbed my hand. His grip was warm and solid. "I will not let anything happen to you. I promise."
We didn't have time to argue. Olivia hiked up her wedding dress, and I grabbed my purse. Marco led us through the back corridors of the hotel, bypassing the lobby entirely. We emerged into the cool night air in a private loading dock.
A massive, armored black SUV was waiting, engine rumbling. Four heavily armed men in suits stood guard around it.
"Get in the back. Keep your heads down," Dante ordered.
I pushed Olivia in first, sliding in beside her on the leather seats. Dante climbed in the front passenger seat, while Marco took the wheel.
The SUV peeled out of the alleyway, tires screeching against the asphalt. We hit the main street, accelerating rapidly.
I looked out the tinted window. The city lights blurred by. I had thought the nightmare ended when Peter was arrested. But I was suddenly plunged into a world I didn't understand.
"Dante," I said over the roar of the engine. "My mother's house. The real trust documents are still there."
"We'll send a team to secure the house tomorrow," Dante said without looking back.
"No," I insisted, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. "Peter said Eleanor scheduled a demolition crew for six AM. If the Morettis know Peter’s secrets, they might know about the twelve million dollars in that safe. We have to go there tonight. We have to get the original documents to clear my name entirely."
Dante turned around in his seat, looking at me with a mixture of shock and deep respect. He saw the fire in my eyes. I wasn't the broken, gaslit wife anymore. I was fighting for my family.
"Marco," Dante said. "Change of plans. Head to Maple Street."
Marco spun the steering wheel, the heavy SUV drifting around a corner.
We drove in tense silence for fifteen minutes. Finally, we pulled onto the quiet, tree-lined suburban street where I had grown up. The streetlights flickered softly.
But as we pulled up to the little white house with the green shutters, Marco slammed on the brakes.
Dante cursed loudly.
May you like
The front door of my mother's house was wide open, swinging gently in the wind.
And lying perfectly centered on the front porch steps, illuminated by the porch light, was a single black rose.
