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Chapter 4

Author: Bryn
At dawn, my father called.

“Viola, can you come to the hospital?”

I sat bolt upright.

“What happened to Mom?”

His breathing was heavy.

“Someone delivered something to the house. When she saw it, she had a heart attack. They’ve stabilized her.”

When I reached the hospital, my father was sitting at the far end of the corridor.

He clutched a brown envelope.

At the sight of the bandage on my forehead, he shot to his feet.

“They really did hurt you?”

I did not answer.

He handed me the envelope.

Inside was a photograph.

My car was parked outside a jewelry store. I was bending down, about to get into the back seat.

A single sentence was written on the back.

Tell Vitale we’ll collect what he owes from his family.

My fingertips went cold.

The photograph had been taken at least two days before last night’s attack.

They had been watching me long before I knew.

My father looked at me, his eyes slowly reddening.

“When you married him, you said he would protect you.”

I turned the photograph over.

“Let’s see Mom first.”

My mother lay in the hospital bed, pale and exhausted.

But when she saw me, the first thing she asked about was my wound.

I told her it was only a scratch.

She reached out and gently touched my cheek.

“Does it hurt?”

The tears I had held back all night nearly spilled.

Dante arrived that afternoon.

Family men lined both sides of the corridor, and a hospital administrator followed behind him.

After he saw the photograph, his expression turned frighteningly dark.

“Arrange a new place for the Morettis to stay. Put more men here. Verify the identity of every visitor.”

He spoke quickly.

The room, the doctors, the guards—everything was settled within minutes.

My father stood beside the window without thanking him.

Only after everyone else had left did Dante approach me.

“Your parents will be safe.”

“The way you promised I would be?”

He stopped.

I placed the photograph on the table.

“If I had been the one who died in that car last night, would you be making arrangements like this today?”

“Viola, don’t say that.”

“Compensation. A funeral. Find the killer. Then have someone tell everyone how much you’ve done for me.”

His face went cold.

“I’m handling it.”

“I know.”

I looked at him.

“You always handle things after they happen.”

He was silent for a moment, then reached for my wrist.

“Come outside. We need to talk.”

His sleeve shifted with the movement.

A pink woven bracelet circled his wrist.

A few crooked letter beads spelled out DADDY.

I had seen the photograph Selena posted the night before.

Lucia had been sitting on Dante’s lap, her head bent as she tied that bracelet around his wrist.

My gaze stayed on it.

Dante noticed. His fingers moved slightly, but he did not take it off.

“A child made it.”

I nodded.

“It’s nice.”

Nausea rose in my stomach again.

I pulled my hand free and went into the restroom.

Through the door, I heard my mother’s lowered voice.

“Was she a burden to you last night?”

No one answered.

I lifted my head and looked at my pale reflection.

No.

I was not the one burdening him.

I was simply no longer willing to bear the consequences of his choices.

I took out my phone and sent a message to someone I had not contacted in a long time.

Mr. Benedetto, are you still accepting private clients?

He was the lawyer my grandfather had trusted when he was alive.

A few minutes later, his reply came.

For you, always.

#
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