Cassandra Demands The Truth

Dante stared at the empty room.

The bed was made. The closet was bare. The drawers were open, their contents gone. Everything that had belonged to Vincent Moretti had vanished, as if he'd never existed at all.

Dante stood in the doorway, the note crushed in his fist. You'll never find me. His hands trembled. His jaw was tight. His eyes burned with a fury so cold it felt like ice in his veins.

"Sir." Marco appeared behind him, his voice careful. "We've searched the grounds. No sign of him. His car is still in the garage. He must have had help."

Dante didn't turn around. "Find him."

"We're trying. But Vincent knows this city better than anyone. He has connections everywhere. It could take—"

"I don't care how long it takes." Dante's voice was sharp. "Find him."

Marco nodded and retreated.

---

Cassandra found Dante in the study.

He was sitting in the dark, staring at nothing. The bottle of whiskey on the desk was untouched. The fire had burned down to embers. He looked broken—hollow, empty, lost.

She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her eyes blazing.

"No more secrets," she said quietly.

Dante looked up. His eyes were red, swollen.

"No more lies," she continued. "I want to know everything. About Vincent. About Alessandro. About what really happened."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded.

---

He told her everything.

He told her about Alessandro—Elena's lover, the man she'd planned to run away with. He told her about Vincent's discovery, his rage, his jealousy. He told her about the night Alessandro died—strangled in a warehouse, his body dumped like garbage.

He told her about the cover-up. The deal with Marcus Kane. The years of lies and secrets and blood money.

"And then what?" Cassandra asked.

"And then he made a deal with Marcus Kane. He covered up the murder in exchange for power. He's been protecting himself ever since."

Cassandra's hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Her body trembled with rage.

"He killed your mother," Dante said quietly. "He killed Alessandro. He killed Isabella. He's a monster. And I've been protecting him my whole life."

Cassandra was furious.

Not at Dante—at Vincent. At the system. At everything that had allowed this to happen. She wanted justice. She wanted Vincent to pay for what he'd done.

"We'll find him," Dante said. "I promise."

"How? He's gone. He could be anywhere."

Dante's jaw tightened. "I'll find him. Even if it takes the rest of my life."

Cassandra stepped closer. She took his hands, her grip firm.

"Together," she said.

He looked at her. Something in his eyes shifted—surprise, maybe. Or gratitude.

"Together," he agreed.

They started searching.

Marco and his men combed the city, checking safe houses, known associates, old haunts. Evan reached out to his contacts—people in the underground who owed him favors. Adrian and Daniel joined the hunt, their own networks adding to the search.

The mansion became a war room. Maps covered the walls. Phones rang constantly. Information flowed in from every direction.

But Vincent was always one step ahead.

---

That night, Cassandra received a call from an unknown number.

She answered, her heart pounding. "Hello?"

"I know where Vincent is," the voice said.

Cassandra's blood ran cold. "Who is this?"

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that you listen." The voice was distorted—male, mechanical, impossible to identify. "Vincent is hiding in a place you'd never expect. Somewhere close. Somewhere personal."

"Where?"

"Think about it. Where would a man go when he has nowhere else to turn?"

The line went dead.