Chapter 5 - A Traitor Inside the Bianco Family
I had approximately four seconds to decide whether to run.
The farmhouse had a back door.
Dante knew that.
There was a cellar.
He probably knew that too.
Marco had left a pistol in the kitchen drawer.
I had fired a gun exactly twice in my life, both times at a supervised range with Lorenzo standing behind me.
Neither experience qualified me for what came next.
“Amelia,” Lorenzo said through the phone.
“I’m here.”
“Get away from the door.”
I moved toward the kitchen.
“How far is Marco?”
“Six minutes.”
The lock clicked.
Dante had a key.
Of course he did.
Marco’s aunt.
Family.
Blood.
Secrets always had cracks.
The door opened.
Dante stepped inside brushing snow from his shoulders.
He wore a navy coat, gray gloves, and the same easy expression he had worn at dozens of family dinners.
“Close the door,” I said.
He looked almost amused.
“Still polite.”
“I don’t want the house freezing.”
He closed it.
Good.
One barrier between us and whoever might be outside.
His eyes dropped to the phone in my hand.
“Lorenzo?”
I did not answer.
He smiled.
“Put him on speaker.”
“No.”
“I’d like him to hear this.”
“Dante,” Lorenzo’s voice came through the phone, cold as ice, “if you touch her, there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”
Dante laughed.
“There he is.”
My stomach turned.
For years, these men had shared holidays.
Childhood stories.
Family funerals.
Lorenzo had trusted him with everything.
Dante walked toward the living room.
“You know what your problem is, cousin?”
“Several people have offered theories.”
“You became sentimental.”
His eyes moved to me.
“She did that.”
“Then I should thank her.”
Dante’s smile disappeared.
“You should have married strategically.”
“This is not the nineteenth century.”
“Our fathers understood power.”
“Our fathers also understood loyalty.”
Something flashed in Dante’s eyes.
“Your father took what belonged to mine.”
There it was.
Not money.
Not entirely.
Inheritance.
Pride.
A wound carried from one generation into another.
Dante removed his gloves.
“My father built half the organization. Then yours became boss.”
“Because your father voted for him.”
“My father was weak.”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “Your father knew you shouldn’t inherit power simply because you wanted it.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
I moved slowly toward the kitchen.
His eyes tracked me.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
“Where’s Marco?”
“Not here.”
“I know.”
That answer told me he had surveillance.
Or someone helping him.
“Were you behind the Colorado attack?”
Dante tilted his head.
“You survived.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I authorized pressure.”
“Pressure?”
“Valenti men can be dramatic.”
I felt sick.
Lorenzo’s voice became quieter.
“You burned her.”
Dante shrugged.
“I wasn’t in the room.”
“You arranged it.”
“I arranged a message.”
I watched his face.
No remorse.
None.
Something inside me stopped being afraid.
Not because he became less dangerous.
Because I finally saw him clearly.
Dante had built his entire plan around everyone else’s emotions.
Lorenzo’s anger.
My fear.
Valenti’s greed.
His father’s resentment.
He believed feelings made people predictable.
So I did the one thing he did not expect.
I smiled.
Dante frowned.
“What?”
“You lost.”
His expression hardened.
“I’m standing in your safe house.”
“And Lorenzo knows what you did.”
“You think that matters?”
“Yes.”
“He has an audio recording.”
That was a gamble.
Lorenzo went silent.
Dante’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“What recording?”
“Paul Reynolds.”
For the first time, Dante looked genuinely surprised.
I kept going.
“He recorded you.”
Dante stared.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?”
Lorenzo joined in.
“You really should have chosen your threats more carefully.”
Dante’s hand moved inside his coat.
I did not wait.
I lunged for the kitchen drawer.
Dante caught my arm before I reached it.
The phone flew from my hand.
I screamed.
Lorenzo’s voice shouted faintly from the floor.
Dante pulled me against him.
Cold metal pressed to my side.
A gun.
“You stupid girl.”
The front door suddenly burst open.
Dante spun.
Marco stood there, weapon raised.
“Let her go.”
Dante dragged me backward.
“Put it down.”
Marco’s eyes met mine.
Calm.
Calculating.
“You won’t make it out.”
“I don’t need to.”
That frightened me.
Not escape.
Mission.
“What do you want?” I asked.
Dante’s grip tightened.
“Lorenzo steps down.”
The phone still lay on the floor.
He could hear everything.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“You die.”
Lorenzo answered immediately.
“I step down.”
My heart stopped.
Dante smiled.
“No.”
I shouted toward the phone.
“No, Lorenzo.”
“Done,” Lorenzo said.
Dante laughed.
“See? Sentimental.”
I struggled against him.
“You can’t.”
“He already did.”
“Not legally.”
Marco kept his weapon trained on Dante.
“Dante, think.”
“I have thought for fifteen years.”
“Then you know this ends badly.”
“Maybe.”
Dante began moving toward the back door, keeping me in front of him.
Outside, an engine sounded.
Another car.
His escape.
Marco followed slowly.
“Let her go and I’ll let you leave.”
Dante laughed.
“You expect me to trust you?”
“No.”
Marco’s expression hardened.
“But you should trust physics.”
Dante frowned.
Then the kitchen window exploded inward.
Everyone ducked.
Not a bullet.
A tear-gas canister.
White smoke filled the room.
Dante cursed.
His grip loosened.
I drove my heel down on his foot and threw my elbow backward.
He grunted.
Marco lunged.
A gun fired.
The sound deafened me.
I fell.
For one second I thought I had been shot.
Then Dante was gone.
The back door slammed.
Marco pulled me up.
“You hit?”
“No.”
“Stay down.”
He ran outside.
I crawled toward the phone.
“Lorenzo.”
“Amelia!”
“I’m okay.”
His breath released explosively.
“Marco?”
“Chasing him.”
“Get away from the windows.”
I did.
Minutes later, more vehicles arrived.
Not Bianco men.
Federal-looking black SUVs.
I stared.
“What is happening?”
Lorenzo’s voice came through the phone.
“Insurance.”
“What insurance?”
“I called someone.”
“You called law enforcement?”
“A friend.”
“You have law-enforcement friends?”
“I have friends everywhere.”
I almost laughed from shock.
The team outside caught Dante less than a mile away after his car slid into a ditch.
Marco returned with blood on his forehead but otherwise unharmed.
“They have him.”
I sat against the kitchen cabinet.
The adrenaline drained out of me.
My hands began shaking.
Marco crouched beside me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
He handed me water.
An hour later, Lorenzo arrived by helicopter.
I heard it before I saw it.
Rotors beating against winter sky.
He entered the farmhouse so quickly he nearly knocked a man aside.
His eyes found me.
Everything else stopped.
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
I buried my face against his chest.
“You stepped down,” I whispered.
“I lied.”
I pulled back.
“What?”
“I told Dante what he needed to hear.”
“You liar.”
“Yes.”
A laugh broke through my tears.
Then he kissed me.
Not gently.
Not elegantly.
It was fourteen days of anger, fear, grief, relief and love compressed into one desperate moment.
When we separated, Marco cleared his throat.
“I’m standing right here.”
Lorenzo did not look at him.
“Leave.”
“My house.”
“Your aunt’s.”
“Fair.”
Marco walked away.
I touched Lorenzo’s face.
“Is it over?”
His eyes changed.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“What now?”
“Dante was not Valenti.”
“I know.”
“He was the door.”
Lorenzo looked toward the snow outside.
“Valenti is still on the other side.”
The Valenti family knew Dante had failed.
They knew I was alive.
They knew Lorenzo knew the truth.
And somewhere in Chicago sat the man who had ordered a hot iron pressed into my back.
Lorenzo took my hand.
“I can put you somewhere safe.”
“No.”
“Amelia.”
“I’m done hiding.”
His thumb moved across my knuckles.
May you like
“Then we finish this together.”
And for the first time since I fled our wedding, I believed I might actually live long enough to see the end.
