Chapter 2 - THE LOCKED MUSIC BOX
The first thing I did inside Dante Moretti's safehouse was refuse the bedroom he offered me.
It was ridiculous.
The place occupied the top two floors of a private building overlooking the river.
There were guards at both elevators, cameras in every hallway, and windows thick enough to make the city look like a painting.
I should have felt protected.
Instead, every locked door reminded me of Nolan.
"I'll sleep on the couch."
Dante stood near the entrance with his jacket over one arm.
"There are six bedrooms."
"I only need one couch."
"The bedroom doors don't lock from the outside."
I looked at him.
He had noticed exactly what I was afraid of.
That annoyed me because I did not want him understanding me that quickly.
"The couch is fine."
He nodded once.
"Then the couch is yours."
No argument.
No wounded pride.
No punishment disguised as silence.
My body did not know what to do with that.
A woman in a charcoal suit entered from the adjoining room carrying a laptop and a folder.
She looked about thirty-five, with dark hair cut to her shoulders and the exhausted eyes of someone who billed by the hour and trusted nobody.
"Claire Sullivan, this is my attorney, Sofia Moretti."
I looked from her to Dante.
"Your wife?"
Sofia snorted.
"God, no."
For the first time all night, Dante almost smiled.
"My sister."
Sofia set the folder on the table.
"And before you ask, I am not your attorney unless you want me to be."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because he's my brother."
She pointed at Dante without looking at him.
"If your interests ever conflict with his, you should know who I will choose."
I liked her immediately.
That probably should have worried me.
"For tonight, though, I can explain how badly Nolan Mercer has tried to bury you."
She opened the folder.
Copies of bank records covered the first page.
My name was everywhere.
My signature was everywhere.
My address.
My Social Security number.
My old work email.
Every detail looked real because most of it was.
"Northline Strategic Holdings was incorporated eight months ago."
Sofia tapped one page.
"You are listed as the sole managing member."
"I never created a company."
"We know."
"How can you know?"
"Because the filing IP address came from a hotel in Atlantic City where Nolan stayed for a Bellini meeting."
Dante stayed silent near the window.
Sofia continued.
"The problem is that someone used your identity well enough to pass ordinary scrutiny."
"Nolan had copies of everything."
The admission tasted bitter.
"My passport."
"My tax returns."
"My old pay stubs."
"He said he was helping us apply for a mortgage."
Sofia's face tightened.
"Did you ever actually apply?"
I shook my head.
"Every time I asked, he said rates were bad."
Dante turned from the window.
"When did he start hitting you?"
The question made me stiffen.
Sofia glanced at him sharply.
"Dante."
"It matters."
I hated that he was right.
"About a year ago."
"Before or after he started collecting your documents?"
I thought back.
The answer hit me like ice water.
"After."
Dante's mouth flattened.
"He needed you afraid before he needed your signature."
I looked down at the papers.
Every apology Nolan had given me suddenly had another edge.
The flowers.
The weekend trips.
The promises that he was stressed.
Maybe none of them had been about love.
Maybe they had been maintenance.
"The police outside my apartment."
Sofia closed one file and opened another.
"Financial Crimes is interested in you, but there's a larger problem."
"Of course there is."
"One of the detectives assigned to the Bellini investigation is Lieutenant Warren Pike."
Dante finally moved away from the window.
"Pike is bought."
Sofia looked at me.
"We can't prove it yet."
"But you're sure."
"Yes."
"So if I walk into a police station, what happens?"
"Best case, you're questioned for twelve hours and your devices are seized."
She paused.
"Worst case, the evidence Nolan planted becomes the only story anyone hears."
I rubbed my forehead.
"I sound guilty just sitting here."
"You sound framed."
"There's a difference only if somebody proves it."
Sofia gave me a long look.
"Good."
"Good?"
"Victims who still understand the problem are easier to keep alive."
I almost asked whether she was joking.
Her face told me she was not.
Dante poured a glass of water and set it on the table within my reach.
He did not hand it to me.
He did not tell me to drink.
Again, the smallest things kept feeling enormous.
"The music box," he said.
My throat tightened.
"It was my father's."
"Describe it."
"Dark walnut."
"About this big."
I held my hands apart.
"Brass inlay on the lid."
"A keyhole?"
"No."
"Then why do you say it's locked?"
"Because it won't open."
I had tried everything after my father's funeral.
I had taken it to a locksmith.
He had said there was no visible locking mechanism.
He had offered to pry it open.
I had refused.
It was one of the few things my father had touched every day.
I could not bear the idea of breaking it.
Dante's expression changed again.
That same flicker from the car.
"You know the box."
He did not deny it.
"I saw it once."
I stood so quickly the chair legs scraped against the floor.
"When?"
"Two weeks before your father died."
My entire body went cold.
"You were with him?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"A private office near the Board of Trade."
"Doing what?"
Dante looked at Sofia.
She shook her head once.
It was the first sign that there were things even his sister did not want him saying.
"No."
I pointed between them.
"Do not do that in front of me."
Sofia's eyebrows rose.
"Do what?"
"Decide what I can handle."
I turned to Dante.
"Nolan did that every day."
"He decided what I could know."
"What I could wear."
"Who I could talk to."
"What version of reality I was allowed to believe."
My voice trembled, but I did not stop.
"If you're going to help me, help me."
"If you're going to manage me, open the door and I'll take my chances outside."
Silence filled the room.
Dante walked to the entry panel.
He pressed a button.
The locks released with a soft click.
"The door is open."
I stared at him.
"It will stay open until you decide to close it."
He came back to the table.
"Your father found evidence that the Bellini family was laundering money through city construction contracts."
Sofia exhaled slowly.
Dante ignored her.
"He also found evidence that some of that money was being moved through companies connected to men inside my organization."
My stomach twisted.
"So he was investigating you too."
"Yes."
"Were you dirty?"
"Some of my people were."
"That's not what I asked."
Dante looked me straight in the eyes.
"Yes."
The honesty stunned me more than denial would have.
"How dirty?"
"Enough that your father hated me before he trusted me."
"And he trusted you?"
"Eventually."
"Why?"
"Because the Bellinis planned to kill him."
My knees weakened.
I sat down again.
Dante's voice lowered.
"Michael came to me because he had evidence, but no clean path to the authorities."
"Pike?"
"Pike was already compromised."
"You were supposed to protect my father."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Dante's face went still.
"Yes."
"And he died."
"Yes."
Anger exploded through the grief I had carried for six years.
"Then you failed."
He did not defend himself.
"Yes."
That made me angrier.
"Stop agreeing with me."
"Would you prefer a lie?"
"I would prefer my father alive."
The sentence broke something open inside me.
I turned away before either of them could see tears.
Sofia quietly closed the folders.
Dante's phone rang.
He answered without taking his eyes off me.
"What happened?"
The voice on the other end spoke fast.
Dante moved toward the window.
"Anyone hurt?"
My head snapped up.
More words.
His hand tightened around the phone.
"Get out."
He ended the call.
"What?"
"Someone entered your apartment through the fire escape."
I stood again.
"Nolan?"
"Probably."
"The music box."
"My people saw him leave with something wrapped in a towel."
I grabbed my bag.
"Take me there."
Dante did not move.
"No."
The word hit every nerve Nolan had trained raw.
"You said the door was open."
"It is."
"Then I'm leaving."
"You can."
His voice stayed calm.
"But I am not taking you into an apartment where Nolan may have left a gunman waiting for you."
"That box is all I have left of my father."
"Then we'll get it back."
"You don't know that."
"I know Nolan won't destroy it."
"How?"
Dante's eyes sharpened.
"Because he thinks it contains something worth four point eight million dollars."
My phone vibrated.
One message.
A photograph.
Nolan was holding my father's music box on his kitchen counter.
The lid was open.
For six years, I had never been able to move it a fraction of an inch.
Now it stood open beneath Nolan's hand.
Inside was not jewelry.
Not cash.
Not a letter.
It was an empty velvet compartment with one rectangular space cut into the lining.
Something had been removed.
May you like
Under the image, Nolan had written six words.
YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU HAD.
