Chapter 4 - THE MAN IN THE FADED PHOTOGRAPH
The photograph slipped from my fingers, fluttering onto the expensive Persian rug.
My father. The man who sold life insurance, who coached my middle school softball team, who died of a sudden heart attack when I was fourteen. He couldn't be related to Dante Romano. We were ordinary. We shopped with coupons.
"That's impossible," I said, backing away. My pregnant belly bumped against the edge of the dining table. "My father's name was Arthur Hayes. He grew up in Ohio."
Dante bent down and picked up the photograph. He brushed a speck of dust off the faded paper with surprising gentleness.
"His name was Arturo Romano," Dante corrected softly. "He was my father's younger brother. And he didn't sell life insurance, Caroline. He was the chief accountant for this family."
I shook my head, panic rising in my chest. A sharp pain twinged in my lower back, causing me to gasp and grip the table.
Dante moved instantly. The cold, calculating mafia boss vanished, replaced by a man deeply alarmed for my safety. He took my arm gently.
"You're in shock," Dante said. "Come with me. You need to sit down."
He led me out of the dining room and down the wide, softly lit hallway toward the library. Behind us, one of the guards was pushing Henry’s wheelchair, following closely.
The library was massive, smelling of old paper and leather. Dante guided me to a plush velvet sofa near the fireplace. I sank into it, wrapping my arms protectively around my stomach.
"My dad was a good man," I cried, the tears I had been holding back finally breaking. "He wasn't a criminal. He wasn't in the mafia."
Henry wheeled himself into the room. He parked beside the sofa and reached out, covering my trembling hand with his warm, frail one.
"He was a good man, sweetheart," Henry said, his voice thick with emotion. "He was the best of us. That's why he left."
I looked at the old man. "Left?"
"Twenty years ago," Henry explained, staring into the unlit fireplace as if watching the past burn. "Our family was at war with the Morettis. It was violent. It was ugly. Your father managed all the legitimate businesses, but he knew the blood money was pouring in. When your mother got pregnant with you, Arturo came to my office."
Henry looked at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "He begged me to let him out. He said he couldn't raise a daughter in a house built on graves."
"And you let him go?" I asked.
"I helped him disappear," Henry said. "I scrubbed his identity. I bought him the house in Ohio. I gave him the name Arthur Hayes. I promised him the syndicate would never find him, and he promised he would never contact us again."
Dante stood near the window, his broad shoulders tense. "But he took something with him."
I looked at Dante. "What?"
"The master ledger," Dante said. "Not the one Vivienne stole tonight. That was just the operational ledger. Your father took the Genesis ledger. The one that holds the original offshore accounts. Billions of dollars, legally untouchable, buried under shell corporations. He took it as an insurance policy, to make sure the family never came after him."
I felt dizzy. The modest life I had grown up in, the financial struggles after my father's death—it was all a cover.
"Vivienne didn't just want the operational ledger," Dante realized, pacing the floor. "She wanted the Genesis ledger. She married me to get access to the estate. She hired your husband to ruin you, knowing the agency would place you here."
"But why?" I asked, desperation clawing at my throat. "I don't have it! When my dad died, he left us nothing but debt!"
"Because she thought you knew where it was," Dante said. "And because she needed your blood."
He walked over to a massive oak desk and pressed a hidden button beneath the lip. A secret drawer popped open. Dante reached inside and pulled out a small, ornate wooden box.
He brought it over to the sofa and opened it.
Inside the box rested an old, heavy gold pocket watch. It was tarnished with age.
Henry let out a soft breath. "He gave that to me the night he left."
Dante lifted the watch. "Before your father disappeared, he told my dad that if anything ever happened to him, the Genesis ledger would belong to his child. But it could only be accessed when you were ready."
Dante handed the heavy gold watch to me.
"He said to open it when you arrived," Henry whispered.
I stared at the watch in my palm. The metal was cold. I pressed my thumb against the small latch at the top. The cover popped open with a sharp click.
But there was no clock face inside.
Instead, resting on a bed of faded red velvet, was a tiny, intricate brass key. And tucked behind it was a small piece of folded parchment.
I unfolded the paper with shaking fingers. Written in my father’s unmistakable handwriting were coordinates, and a single sentence.
The key plays the song you used to sleep to.
I stared at the words, the blood draining from my face completely.
"Caroline?" Dante asked, stepping closer. "What does it mean?"
"It's a music box," I whispered, panic rising like bile in my throat. "A wooden music box my father built for me when I was a baby."
"Where is it?" Dante demanded.
May you like
I looked up at him, terror paralyzing my lungs.
"Mark took it," I said, my voice cracking. "When he emptied the house five months ago. He took the music box."
