Chapter 4 - The House Behind Iron Gates
Dante’s home stood north of the city behind stone walls and iron gates.
It wasn’t what I expected.
No gold statues.
No armed men posing dramatically in hallways.
Just an enormous old house built from gray limestone, surrounded by oak trees and discreet cameras.
A woman in her sixties met us inside.
“Teresa.”
Dante removed his coat.
“She’ll need a room.”
Teresa looked at my arm.
Nolan’s fingerprints were beginning to appear beneath my skin.
Her expression softened.
“Of course.”
I hated that she understood without asking.
Dante stopped me before I followed her upstairs.
“Evelyn.”
I turned.
“Tonight you lock your door.”
I almost laughed.
“From you?”
“From everyone.”
He held out a key.
“This house is full of people loyal to me.”
He paused.
“That doesn’t automatically mean they’re safe for you.”
That answer surprised me more than any reassurance could have.
At two in the morning, I couldn’t sleep.
I walked downstairs and found Dante alone in the library.
His jacket was gone.
His sleeves were rolled back.
For the first time, he looked less like the legend people whispered about and more like a tired man in his early sixties.
He held a thin file.
“My lawyers found the loan documents.”
I sat across from him.
“Did I sign them?”
“No.”
Relief lasted less than a second.
“Someone forged your signature.”
He placed the file down.
“Very well.”
My throat tightened.
“Nolan?”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandmother left you something.”
I stared at him.
“My grandmother left me her jewelry and some savings.”
Dante shook his head.
“Your mother told you that?”
“Yes.”
“She was wrong.”
He slid a photocopy across the desk.
It was an old trust document.
My grandmother’s name was at the top.
Margaret Carter.
Below it was mine.
“What is this?”
“A controlling interest in land held through a family trust.”
I read the number twice.
Eighteen parcels.
Chicago waterfront.
Industrial corridors.
Old warehouses.
My grandmother had spent forty years buying property no one wanted.
Apparently, Nolan had discovered that some of it was about to become extremely valuable.
“How much?”
I whispered.
Dante studied me.
“Potentially hundreds of millions.”
I pushed the paper away.
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter whether you believe it tonight.”
His expression hardened.
“Nolan believed it.”
I suddenly remembered how we met.
A charity fundraiser.
He had known my last name before I introduced myself.
At the time, I thought it was charming.
Now I felt cold.
Dante reached for another document.
“There’s one more problem.”
“What?”
“Nolan didn’t discover your inheritance by accident.”
He turned the page.
Someone had accessed the sealed trust file eighteen months ago.
Two weeks before Nolan first asked me on a date.
And the access authorization carried a familiar surname.
Moretti.
I stared at Dante.
“Someone from your family helped him.”
Dante’s eyes turned to stone.
“Yes.”
May you like
“And until I know who, you should assume the danger followed us home.”
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