Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN THEREThe restaurant surveillance answered part of it.
Elena.
Someone had adjusted her section assignment twenty minutes before the chandelier fell.
She was supposed to serve the patio.
Instead, manager Celso moved her to table twelve.
His explanation:
Staff shortage.
Except payroll showed no absence.
A waitress named Gina had been sent home early.
By text.
From a number belonging to Vance Maritime security.
Elena stared at the report.
“So someone placed me under the chandelier.”
Dante nodded.
“Why?”
“We don't know.”
“I was the target?”
“Possibly.”
“That makes no sense.”
Dante handed her another page.
Michael Grant.
Her ex-fiancé.
Recent employment:
Vance Maritime Logistics.
Elena's stomach dropped.
“No.”
“Three months.”
“He told me he moved to Florida.”
“He did.”
“Then?”
“Returned.”
She sat.
Michael had stolen her savings.
Left debt.
Then vanished.
Now employed by Isabella’s family.
“What does he do?”
“Accounts.”
“That man could barely manage a checking account.”
Dante almost smiled.
Then another detail.
Michael had recently accessed archived employee information from a boutique chain.
The chain Elena once worked for.
“Why?”
Dante looked at her.
“That is what I need you to tell me.”
Elena thought.
The boutique closed three years ago.
Before it did, Elena worked in visual merchandising.
She handled vendor invoices.
Artwork.
Display shipments.
Then she remembered.
One shipment.
Imported sculptures.
Declared value strangely low.
She had mentioned it to her manager.
The manager told her to forget it.
Two weeks later the boutique collapsed.
“You think it was laundering?”
Dante nodded.
“Vance shell companies owned the supplier.”
Elena’s blood went cold.
“I saw something.”
“Maybe.”
“Michael knew?”
“He may have found your old notes.”
“I kept notebooks.”
“Where?”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Old apartment.”
Dante’s people had moved everything.
They searched boxes.
Sketchbooks.
Receipts.
Finally a red notebook.
Inside:
Invoice numbers.
Container IDs.
Vendor initials.
Elena had recorded them because the shipments interfered with her art display schedule.
Meaningless at the time.
Now?
Evidence.
Dante stared at the pages.
“This connects Vance Maritime to Sofia’s investigation.”
Elena’s heart stopped.
“So Isabella didn't try to kill Matteo.”
“Maybe she tried to kill you.”
“Because I unknowingly kept notes.”
“Yes.”
“And the chandelier?”
“Designed to look accidental.”
Elena stood.
“I’m leaving Boston.”
“No.”
She snapped.
“Do not.”
Dante stopped.
“Do not tell me no.”
“You are safest here.”
“I am a target because of your world.”
“You became a target before you met me.”
“Then I still choose what happens next.”
He breathed.
Hard.
Then:
“What do you want?”
The question surprised both of them.
Elena thought.
“I want my own room.”
“You have one.”
“My own money.”
“Fine.”
“My own job eventually.”
His jaw tightened.
“Fine.”
“No tracking device.”
Silence.
“Dante.”
“Fine.”
“And if I want to walk away?”
He looked genuinely pained.
“You can.”
“Say it.”
“You can leave.”
That mattered.
The cage changed the moment the door became real.
Then the bedroom door opened.
Matteo ran in.
“Papa!”
Behind him, security.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Michael Grant is at the front gate.”
Elena froze.
Dante became cold.
“Why?”
The guard looked toward Elena.
“He says he has something she needs to see.”
Michael had returned.
May you like
And judging by the blood across his shirt—
someone had already tried to stop him.
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