Vittorio Romano didn't live in hiding the way I'd imagined.
There was no bunker.
No crumbling villa guarded by men with rifles.
He lived outside Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
That was Dante's second surprise.
“You said Italy.”
“I lied about that too.”
“I noticed.”
Vittorio's “retirement house” was a private estate surrounded by woods and enough surveillance equipment to monitor a small country.
We arrived before sunset.
Mama and Isabella remained at Dante's Chicago estate under heavy security.
I had wanted Mama with me.
She refused.
“If Vittorio has something to confess,” she'd said, “I don't want to hear it before you do.”
Vittorio waited in a study.
He was seventy-two.
Silver hair.
Straight back.
Dark eyes exactly like Dante's.
When he saw me, all color left his face.
“Michael's daughter.”
I held up Dad's letter.
“You knew him.”
Vittorio looked at Dante.
“You shouldn't have brought her here.”
Dante closed the door.
“She found the ledger.”
Vittorio's expression hardened.
“And the drive.”
He sat slowly.
“So Michael really kept it.”
“You knew?”
“I hoped.”
Anger rushed through me.
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“You got to grow old.”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
“You got to disappear while my mother raised me alone and spent eleven years afraid someone would find us.”
“Yes.”
“Stop saying yes!”
My voice cracked.
Dante moved closer, but I lifted my hand.
I didn't need rescuing from this.
I needed answers.
“Did you kill my father?”
Vittorio looked directly at me.
“No.”
“Did you order it?”
“No.”
“Did you know Carlo would?”
His silence answered.
I felt as if the floor had vanished.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“And you did nothing.”
“I did something too late.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That's a beautiful phrase for cowardice.”
Dante inhaled sharply.
Vittorio merely nodded.
“You sound like Michael.”
“Good.”
For the first time, pain crossed the older man's face.
He opened a drawer.
Dante immediately tensed.
Vittorio noticed.
“Your son thinks I'm going to shoot you.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then we're making progress.”
He removed an old file.
Inside were photographs, reports, and copies of bank records.
“Carlo Vescari had been undermining our organization for years,” Vittorio said. “He stole money and arranged attacks against my men, then blamed our rivals. Michael discovered it.”
“So Dad came to you.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I didn't believe him.”
The admission was quiet.
“I had known Carlo since childhood. Michael had worked for me less than six years. Carlo convinced me Michael was stealing.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did you do?”
“I confronted your father.”
“And?”
“He told me I was a fool.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
That sounded like Dad.
Vittorio continued.
“He said he had proof but wouldn't bring it anywhere Carlo could reach. He told me he'd contact me when his family was safe.”
“He never got the chance.”
“No.”
“Because Carlo killed him.”
Vittorio's eyes filled with something that looked like shame.
“Yes.”
Dante stood rigid.
“You told me Michael died in an accident.”
“I told everyone.”
“Why?”
“Because by the time I understood, Carlo had people everywhere. Police. Unions. Our businesses. Even inside my home.”
I thought of the message Dante intercepted.
The enemies were already under the roof.
History repeating itself.
“What happened that night?” I asked.
Vittorio looked at me.
“Michael called me from his car. He said Carlo had found him. I sent men.”
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
“Was Dad alive after the crash?”
Vittorio hesitated.
My heart stopped.
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the table.
“He survived?”
“For twelve minutes, according to the paramedic Carlo had bribed.”
My knees weakened.
Dante caught my arm.
I didn't pull away.
“What happened?”
“The paramedic later confessed before he disappeared. Carlo's man reached Michael before mine did.”
I couldn't speak.
“He asked Michael where the evidence was.”
“And Dad?”
“He wouldn't tell him.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“So they left him there.”
Vittorio nodded.
My father had died protecting evidence.
Protecting us.
Dante's hand closed around mine.
I let him hold it.
“What does the drive contain?” he asked.
Vittorio looked toward the steel box.
“If Michael kept everything, enough to dismantle Carlo's network.”
“Then why did his man say it could destroy Dante?”
Vittorio's face changed.
That was the answer we'd really come for.
He sat back.
“Because some of the companies Carlo used were later transferred into Dante's organization.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Which companies?”
“Bellmore Shipping. North Star Waste. Halpern Construction.”
Dante swore.
“I acquired those after you left.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they were compromised?”
“Not at first.”
“But later?”
“Yes.”
Dante stepped away.
“You let me build on poisoned ground.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I almost laughed.
Apparently powerful fathers and ordinary fathers had something in common.
They both used that sentence when they'd made terrible decisions.
Dante's voice became ice.
“You protected me by letting Carlo's crimes become attached to my companies?”
“I believed I could quietly separate them.”
“You believed wrong.”
Vittorio looked older suddenly.
“I know.”
Dante turned toward the window.
I saw the betrayal hit him.
Not as a crime boss.
As a son.
I understood that pain.
I hated that I did.
“What happens if we give this to law enforcement?” I asked.
Vittorio looked at me.
“Carlo goes to prison if the evidence can be authenticated. Several officials go with him.”
“And Dante?”
“He could face investigation.”
Dante turned.
“Could?”
“Some transactions occurred under your ownership. Whether prosecutors believe you knew about them is another question.”
I looked at Dante.
“Did you?”
“No.”
I believed him immediately.
That scared me.
Because somewhere between Chicago and Wisconsin, I'd begun trusting Dante Romano.
Maybe not his world.
Maybe not his methods.
But him.
“Then we release it,” I said.
Vittorio stared.
“You don't understand what you're suggesting.”
“I understand perfectly.”
Dante looked at me.
“Bella.”
“My father died because people kept secrets to protect themselves. I'm not doing that.”
“If the drive becomes public—”
“Then whatever happens, happens.”
Dante studied me.
Then nodded.
“My attorneys will arrange an independent copy and contact federal prosecutors.”
Vittorio stood.
“Dante.”
“No.”
“You could lose everything.”
Dante looked at his father.
“Then I lose it.”
I hadn't expected that.
Neither had Vittorio.
Dante continued.
“I'm done inheriting your secrets.”
Something warm and painful moved through my chest.
That was when gunfire sounded outside.
One sharp crack.
Then another.
Dante shoved me behind the desk.
“Down.”
Security alarms erupted.
Vittorio opened a concealed panel and pulled out a handgun.
I stared.
“Of course you have a gun in the wall.”
“Bella,” Dante snapped.
“Right. Bad timing.”
A guard's voice came through Dante's phone.
“North perimeter breach. Multiple vehicles.”
Carlo.
He'd found us.
Dante looked at his father.
“How?”
Vittorio's face went pale.
“Only six people know this location.”
Dante understood immediately.
“So one of them betrayed you.”
Glass shattered somewhere downstairs.
Dante pulled me toward a hidden passage.
“Go.”
“What about you?”
“Bella.”
“No.”
He grabbed my face with both hands.
His eyes locked on mine.
“This is one order you follow.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“I don't want you dying because of me.”
His expression softened for one impossible second.
“Then give me a reason to come back.”
And before I could answer, he kissed me.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
One fierce, desperate kiss.
Then he pushed open the hidden door.
“Go.”
Vittorio pulled me into the passage.
The door closed between us.
And I heard gunfire on the other side.