Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO CAME HOME SMILING
Vanessa Moretti didn't scream.
That would have been easier.
She simply looked up at me and smiled.
“Cara Fields.”
I had never told her my name.
Dante noticed.
His gaze sharpened.
“You know her?”
Vanessa removed her gloves slowly.
“Everyone knows the waitress who followed my husband's car off a mountain.”
“That happened less than four hours ago,” Marco said.
Vanessa looked at him.
“News travels quickly.”
“Not that quickly.”
The smile vanished.
Dante stepped between us.
“Go upstairs, Cara.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Oh, don't send her away on my account.”
“Upstairs.”
I should have listened.
Instead I said, “How did you know my name?”
Vanessa's eyes met mine.
“Your name tag.”
“I wasn't wearing one tonight.”
For the first time, her expression slipped.
Barely.
Then it returned.
“You've served me before.”
“Not personally.”
Dante glanced toward Marco.
Marco understood.
He pulled out his phone and walked away.
Vanessa's eyes followed him.
“You're interrogating your wife because a waitress made an accusation?”
Dante's face remained blank.
“She hasn't accused you of anything.”
Vanessa looked at me again.
“Then why is she here?”
“Because someone destroyed her apartment.”
That got a reaction.
Tiny.
But real.
Her pupils widened.
“What?”
“Someone wanted to frighten her.”
“How terrible.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Yes.”
Vanessa's voice hardened.
“You think I did it.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't need to.”
Their marriage seemed to transform in front of me.
Whatever affection had existed between them had been built over knives.
Vanessa walked closer to Dante.
“You nearly died tonight. Instead of calling your wife, you brought another woman into our home.”
“She saved my life.”
“And what exactly does she expect in exchange?”
I flinched.
Dante did not.
“You're done.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Don't insult her.”
The room changed.
Vanessa's face emptied.
I realized that Dante defending me was far more dangerous than Vanessa attacking me.
“I see,” she said.
Then she looked at me.
“So this is how it begins.”
“Nothing is beginning,” I said.
“Cara,” Dante warned.
“No, I'm tired of people talking around me.”
I walked down the staircase.
My knees were shaking, but I refused to let Vanessa see it.
“I heard you.”
The mansion went silent.
Dante's eyes closed for half a second.
Marco muttered something under his breath.
Vanessa tilted her head.
“Heard me doing what?”
“At Bellini's.”
“With?”
“The man in the navy suit.”
She smiled.
“I spoke to twelve men tonight.”
“The one who told you the brakes had been cut.”
Nobody moved.
Then Vanessa laughed.
Not nervous laughter.
Real amusement.
“You poor girl.”
My skin prickled.
“I know what I heard.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa looked at Dante.
“This is your witness?”
Dante's expression was unreadable.
“You deny it?”
“I absolutely deny plotting my husband's murder in a public restaurant.”
“You said I'd be dead by midnight.”
“According to her.”
Vanessa pointed at me.
“A woman you met four hours ago.”
“I saw the tattoo,” I said.
That stopped her.
“The black crown.”
Vanessa's eyes flicked toward Dante.
A mistake.
Marco saw it.
Dante saw it.
I saw it.
“Interesting,” Dante said.
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
“What?”
“You know what it means.”
“Everyone in our world knows the Rinaldi crest.”
“You just said you didn't know who she spoke to.”
“I don't.”
Dante moved closer.
“Who were you meeting?”
“A divorce attorney.”
That was not the answer anyone expected.
Even Marco looked surprised.
Dante's face hardened.
“What?”
Vanessa reached into her handbag.
Three guns immediately pointed toward her.
She froze.
“Really?”
Dante raised two fingers.
The weapons lowered.
Vanessa removed a folder and threw it onto a table.
“Open it.”
Dante did.
Legal documents.
PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
My stomach twisted.
Vanessa's voice shook now.
“I was planning to leave you.”
Dante stared at the papers.
“You never said anything.”
“Because people don't leave Dante Moretti.”
“I would have let you.”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Your men follow me everywhere. My phone is monitored. My accounts are controlled.”
“For security.”
“Everything is always for security.”
Dante looked at the date.
“These were filed yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Who's the attorney?”
“Paul Devereaux.”
Marco's head snapped up.
Dante's expression became dangerous.
“Devereaux?”
Vanessa nodded.
“What?”
Marco stepped forward.
“Paul Devereaux represented Carlo Rinaldi three years ago.”
Vanessa went still.
I felt my pulse quicken.
Dante lifted his gaze.
“You met a lawyer connected to Rinaldi on the night my brakes were cut.”
“I didn't know.”
“Convenient.”
“I swear.”
Dante stared at her.
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears.
This time, they looked less controlled.
“Do you really think I tried to kill you?”
“I don't know what to think.”
“I loved you.”
Past tense.
Dante heard it too.
Vanessa swallowed.
“I spent seven years trying to be your wife while wondering whether every car outside our house contained someone coming to kill us.”
“Don't change the subject.”
“I'm not.”
She pointed at me.
“She walks into your life for one night and suddenly I'm the enemy.”
“I didn't walk into his life,” I said. “I pulled him out of a car.”
Vanessa's eyes turned vicious.
“You should have left him there.”
The words came before she could stop them.
Everyone froze.
Vanessa realized what she had said.
Dante's face changed.
Not anger.
Pain.
For the first time, I saw it.
She saw it too.
“Dante—”
He turned away.
“Take her phone.”
Two guards moved toward Vanessa.
She backed up.
“You can't be serious.”
“Take it.”
“I'm your wife.”
“Not according to those papers.”
She slapped him again.
This time Dante didn't react.
Her phone was removed.
Her purse searched.
Marco found two devices.
Vanessa insisted the second belonged to her attorney.
Dante ordered both examined.
Then he looked at me.
“Go upstairs.”
This time I went.
I had almost reached my room when Marco caught up.
“Congratulations.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“You've been inside the house five minutes and already accelerated a divorce.”
“I didn't ask for any of this.”
“No one ever does.”
He handed me a phone.
“For emergencies.”
“I have a phone.”
“Your phone is compromised.”
“Of course it is.”
Marco began to walk away.
“Wait.”
He turned.
“Do you think Vanessa did it?”
Marco studied me.
“I think people say stupid things when they're angry.”
“She said he should have died.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“But Mrs. Moretti is many things.”
His expression darkened.
“Stupid isn't one of them.”
I understood.
Plotting murder inside Bellini's where dozens of people could overhear was reckless.
Maybe too reckless.
“So someone wanted me to hear.”
Marco's eyes narrowed.
I continued.
“What if the conversation was staged?”
“Why?”
“To make Dante think Vanessa did it.”
Marco said nothing.
“Which would mean the real goal wasn't only killing him.”
“It was what happened if he survived.”
Dante's voice came from behind us.
I turned.
He had followed.
His face was pale.
“You should be in bed.”
He ignored me.
“Finish that thought.”
I swallowed.
“If you died, whoever planned it won.”
“And if I survived?”
“You'd blame your wife.”
Dante nodded slowly.
“And the Moretti family tears itself apart from inside.”
Marco looked troubled.
“That sounds like Rinaldi.”
Dante stared through the corridor windows.
“But Vanessa still said those words.”
“Yes.”
I hated admitting it.
“She still knew about the brakes.”
Before anyone could answer, Marco's phone rang.
He picked up.
“Talk.”
His face changed.
“Where?”
Dante stepped closer.
Marco listened.
“Keep everyone out. We're coming.”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
Marco looked at Dante.
“We found Paul Devereaux.”
Vanessa's attorney.
“Where?” Dante asked.
Marco hesitated.
“In his office.”
“And?”
“He's dead.”
My stomach dropped.
Dante's expression became stone.
“How?”
“Gunshot.”
Marco continued.
“And there's something else.”
“What?”
“He was holding a photograph.”
“Of who?”
Marco looked directly at me.
“Cara.”
My body went cold.
Dante slowly turned toward me.
“What photograph?”
Marco answered.
“A surveillance photo.”
My mouth dried.
“From where?”
“Bellini's.”
“When?”
Marco's next words changed everything.
“Three weeks ago.”
I stared at him.
“That doesn't make sense.”
Dante's eyes sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because three weeks ago, Vanessa had never spoken to me.”
Marco looked grim.
“Apparently somebody else was already interested in you.”
The hallway suddenly felt unsafe.
The mansion.
The guards.
Everything.
Dante stepped closer.
“Cara.”
I barely heard him.
Someone had photographed me before I overheard the murder plot.
Before the crash.
Before I saved Dante.
Which meant my presence at Bellini's hadn't been an accident.
Maybe none of it had.
May you like
And for the first time, I wondered whether I had saved Dante Moretti that night—
or whether someone had planned for me to.
