Chapter 4 - The Traitor’s Price
The ticking of the silver pocket watch felt as loud as a drumbeat in the quiet coat room. Sophia stared at the elegant handwriting. Vanessa had slipped this into her pocket during their brief confrontation in the kitchen. Ask your boss what really happened to his father. The official story—the one splashed across the New York Post three years ago—was that Dante’s father, Carlo Moretti, had died of a sudden heart attack on his yacht. Sophia shoved the watch deep into her jeans pocket. She bypassed the subway and hailed a cab, giving the driver her father’s address in Queens. The ride felt like an eternity. Rain battered the windshield, reflecting the neon signs of the city. Sophia’s anger warred with a deep, aching betrayal. Her father had lied to her. Dante had lied to her. She marched up the crumbling stairs of her father’s apartment building and pounded on the door. “Dad! Open up!” No answer. She tried the knob. It was unlocked. Sophia pushed the door open. The apartment was trashed. Chairs were overturned. Drawers were emptied onto the cheap linoleum floor. “Dad?” she called out, panic rising in her throat. She found him in the tiny bedroom. Anthony Rossi was slumped against the foot of his bed. His face was bruised, his lip split and bleeding. “Dad!” Sophia dropped to her knees, frantically checking his pulse. He was breathing, but barely conscious. “Soph...” he mumbled, his eyes swollen shut. “You shouldn’t be here.” “Who did this to you? The Romanos? I thought Dante bought your debt!” Anthony coughed, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood. He reached into his torn shirt and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He pressed it into Sophia’s hand. It was a child’s drawing. A picture of a house, a man, a woman, and a little girl. Sophia had drawn it when she was seven years old. “They said... if I didn’t tell them where the original ledgers were... they would come for you,” Anthony wheezed. “Who, Dad? Who did this?” Anthony forced his eyes open. “Enzo. Dante’s security chief. He’s working for Vanessa.” Sophia’s blood ran cold. Enzo. The man who stood faithfully behind Dante every single day. The man who had driven her home. “Why would Enzo do this?” “Because Enzo is the one who poisoned Carlo Moretti,” Anthony whispered. “Vanessa paid him to do it. She needed Dante in charge so she could force the marriage. I saw the wire transfer, Soph. That’s why she ruined me. I knew too much.” Sophia stood up, her mind reeling. Dante was marrying the woman who ordered his father’s murder, completely unaware that his trusted right-hand man was the executioner. She had to warn him. She grabbed her phone and dialed Dante’s private number. It rang twice. Then, a click. “Hello, Sophia,” a smooth, chilling voice answered. It wasn’t Dante. It was Enzo. “Looking for the boss? I’m afraid he’s busy finalizing his prenuptial agreement.” Enzo chuckled darkly over the line. “By the way, check your father’s closet. We left something for you.” Sophia slowly lowered the phone. She walked toward the narrow closet and opened the door. Hanging exactly at eye level was a pristine, white silk waitress apron. Stabbed directly through the name tag, pinning it to the wood, was a massive hunting knife.
