Chapter 3 - THE MAN WITH THE GOLD RINGNobody accused Julian immediately.
That surprised me.
If I had just watched a video suggesting my cousin had helped imprison my supposedly dead wife for six years, I probably would have thrown the laptop through the window.
Dante Russo did something more frightening.
He became calm.
Julian stared at the screen and shook his head.
“You cannot seriously think that’s me.”
Dante remained silent.
“There are twelve men in our family with that ring.”
“Eleven,” Marco said.
Julian looked at him.
Marco stood near the door, arms folded.
“My father lost his in 2018.”
Julian’s mouth tightened.
“Fine. Eleven.”
Dante clicked backward through the footage.
The frame was blurred.
Only the wrist was visible.
Gold ring.
Dark suit.
A small crescent-shaped scar above the thumb.
Julian immediately covered his right hand with his left.
I noticed.
So did Dante.
“Show me your hand,” Dante said.
Julian laughed.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Your hand.”
“Dante.”
“Now.”
Julian lifted both palms.
There was no scar.
Dante stared.
Julian smiled.
“Happy?”
“No.”
Dante closed the laptop.
“Relieved?”
“No.”
Vanessa moved toward him.
“Then maybe we can finally leave.”
He looked at her.
“What are you doing here?”
Her expression faltered.
“I’m your fiancée.”
“You were asked to go home.”
“I’m not abandoning you during something like this.”
I almost laughed.
She had kicked me less than two hours earlier and now wanted credit for loyalty.
Dante seemed to have the same thought.
“You didn’t stay because I needed you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You stayed because you wanted to know what was on that card.”
Vanessa’s eyes flashed.
“That’s insulting.”
“No. It’s an observation.”
Julian stepped between them.
“This is getting us nowhere. The video could be fabricated.”
Dante turned.
“The woman was Elena.”
“Deepfakes exist.”
“Elena called Samson by the nickname only she used.”
Julian paused.
“What nickname?”
Dante didn’t answer.
That was when I understood.
He had intentionally withheld something.
A test.
Julian had failed to know it.
But maybe that meant nothing.
Or maybe it meant everything.
Dr. Mercer entered.
“Samson’s awake.”
Dante was out the door before anyone else.
I followed.
Samson lay beneath a heated blanket, IV lines running into one front leg.
His eyes opened when he smelled me.
“Hi, handsome.”
His tail moved weakly.
Dante stood on the opposite side of the table.
For the first time, I saw the feared businessman look unsure what to do.
“Can I touch him?”
“He’s your dog.”
“He was Elena’s.”
Samson lifted his head toward Dante.
I smiled.
“I think he’s willing to negotiate.”
Dante scratched beneath his jaw.
The dog closed his eyes.
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Then Dante said, “You should go home.”
I looked at the clock.
It was nearly three in the morning.
“I can stay.”
“You’ve done enough.”
“Is that how rich people politely fire someone?”
His eyes flicked toward me.
“You’re not fired.”
“Good.”
“Do you always argue with employers?”
“Only the terrifying ones.”
That almost made him smile.
Almost.
Then he became serious.
“Someone brought Samson to my engagement party.”
“Yes.”
“Someone knew I would be there.”
“Yes.”
“Someone put that message on his collar.”
I nodded.
“And whoever did it may have been followed.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
Dante looked through the glass observation wall.
Marco was already checking the corridor.
“You need protection.”
“I need sleep.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Emma.”
“I live in a building with three locks and a landlord who watches everybody from his window.”
“That sentence did not reassure me.”
I folded my arms.
Dante’s gaze drifted toward my stained uniform.
“Your shoulder?”
“What?”
“Where Vanessa kicked you.”
“It hurts.”
His jaw moved.
“She shouldn’t have touched you.”
“No.”
“She won’t again.”
There was something final in his voice.
I didn’t know whether that comforted me.
“Why did Samson trust you?” he asked.
“I gave him a choice.”
Dante frowned.
“Animals in pain expect people to force them. Grab them. Restrain them. I put my hand down and waited.”
“You waited?”
“He came to me.”
Dante looked at Samson.
“Elena used to say the same thing.”
The grief in his voice changed him again.
He wasn’t a mafia boss in that room.
He was a widower discovering he might never have been one.
“What happened the night of the fire?” I asked.
He was quiet for a long time.
“I had a meeting downtown. Elena was supposed to come with me.”
“But?”
“We argued.”
“About what?”
“My family.”
He looked away.
“She wanted us to leave Chicago.”
“Why?”
“She said the business was changing me.”
“Was she right?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Yes.”
I hadn’t expected that.
“She packed a bag,” he continued. “Told me she was going to stay with her sister. I left angry.”
“And then?”
“Forty minutes later, the house burned.”
“Who called you?”
“Julian.”
That landed heavily.
“He was there?”
“He claimed he saw the smoke while driving past.”
“Was that normal?”
“No.”
“Where does he live?”
“Twenty miles away.”
I stared at him.
“And nobody thought that was strange?”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“My father was dying. Police ruled the fire accidental. Investigators found remains.”
“Elena’s?”
Dante’s expression closed.
“They said so.”
“But you never saw them.”
“No.”
“DNA?”
“The fire destroyed most biological material.”
That sounded convenient.
Too convenient.
“Who identified her?”
Dante looked toward the door.
“My uncle Vincent.”
Julian’s father.
I had no experience with criminal conspiracies.
But even I could see the shape forming.
“Where is Vincent now?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
I glanced toward Samson.
The dog’s breathing remained steady.
“Then maybe Samson is your only living witness.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Elena is.”
By dawn, Dante had assembled a private security team.
He ordered the old fire investigation reopened through his attorneys.
He also asked Marco to trace Samson’s movements using traffic cameras.
At 6:12 a.m., they found the first useful recording.
A gas station camera eleven miles west of the Belladonna.
Samson appeared at 8:43 p.m., limping beside the highway.
A woman was running behind him.
Dark hooded sweatshirt.
Jeans.
She looked directly toward the camera once.
Dante leaned closer.
“Elena.”
The footage continued.
A black SUV pulled onto the shoulder.
The woman saw it.
She shoved Samson through a gap in a fence.
Then two men grabbed her.
One covered her mouth.
The other forced her into the vehicle.
Samson ran.
The timestamp showed this had happened less than an hour before he reached the hotel.
Dante’s hands curled into fists.
“She was here.”
Marco nodded.
“Last night.”
“Eleven miles away.”
“Yes.”
“Find the SUV.”
“We’re working on it.”
The camera image sharpened.
The license plate was obscured.
But there was a decal on the rear window.
A white falcon.
Marco stopped the video.
“I know that symbol.”
Dante looked at him.
“Whose?”
Marco hesitated.
Then he answered.
“Laurent Security Group.”
The room went silent.
Vanessa’s family company.
Dante slowly turned.
Vanessa was gone.
She had disappeared from the clinic twenty minutes earlier.
And so had Julian.
Dante pulled out his phone.
“Seal my house.”
Marco nodded.
“Find Vanessa.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Julian.”
I looked down at Samson.
He had survived six years to deliver a message.
But Elena had been captured again.
And now the two people standing closest to Dante had vanished at exactly the same time.
Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
Dante stepped toward him.
Marco slowly lowered the phone.
“The SUV was found.”
“Where?”
“Burned out near the river.”
Dante’s expression darkened.
“Elena?”
“No body.”
For one second, relief.
Then Marco continued.
“But there was something inside.”
“What?”
“A woman’s wedding ring.”
Dante stopped breathing.
Marco placed a photograph on the screen.
Dante recognized it instantly.
May you like
His voice broke on one word.
“Hers.”
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