Chapter 3 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Victor Hale had been the Lombardi family's attorney for thirty-two years.
He had written Dante's father's will.
He had handled the trust.
He had stood beside the family during funerals, acquisitions, lawsuits, and scandals.
Dante had trusted him because his father had trusted him.
That trust now felt like a loaded weapon.
“You have one hour,” Victor said through the phone.
“One hour for what?”
“To disappear.”
Dante leaned against the table.
“Where is my brother?”
Victor went silent.
“Victor.”
“You don't understand what you're uncovering.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because your father made me swear.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“My father is dead.”
“That doesn't release me.”
“Nothing releases you from protecting a dead man's lies.”
Victor breathed slowly.
Then he said something that changed the room.
“Luca was never supposed to survive.”
Gemma covered her mouth.
Bianca stared at the phone.
Dante's expression became frighteningly still.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“Then tell me who does.”
Victor hesitated.
“Your father's physician.”
“Dr. Elias Grant?”
“Yes.”
Dante remembered the name.
Grant had disappeared shortly after Luca's supposed death.
His practice had closed.
His family had moved.
No forwarding address.
Dante had assumed he wanted privacy.
Now he understood.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
Dante smiled without humor.
“You're going to tell me.”
Victor's voice dropped.
“Dante, if you find Luca, you may wish you hadn't.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who came back from that explosion was not the brother you remember.”
The call ended.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Gemma finally asked, “What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Bianca looked at Dante.
“My father knows.”
Dante turned toward her.
“Then we'll make him talk.”
They found Dr. Grant that afternoon.
Not because Victor gave them the address.
Because Gemma did.
She had noticed an old prescription number in the folder and traced it through a medical licensing database.
The physician was living under another name in coastal Maine.
Dante's plane left at four.
Gemma insisted on coming.
“No,” Dante said.
“Yes.”
“This isn't a business trip.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because the file was sent to me.”
He stared at her.
“Someone chose you.”
“Exactly.”
That answer unsettled him.
On the flight north, Gemma sat across from him.
She looked tired.
Dante noticed a bruise along her wrist.
“Who did that?”
She pulled her sleeve down.
“It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me.”
She looked up.
“That's the problem.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You've spent five years treating me like the one person you could trust with everything.”
“I do trust you.”
“You trust my work.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
Gemma looked away.
Dante understood too late.
She had wanted him to see her.
Not as an assistant.
Not as the woman who remembered his schedule.
As a person.
He had never allowed himself to look closely enough.
The realization hurt more than it should have.
They reached Maine after sunset.
Dr. Grant lived in a modest house overlooking the ocean.
When Dante knocked, there was no answer.
Then Gemma noticed the curtain move.
“He's inside.”
Dante stepped toward the door.
“Dr. Grant, my name is Dante Lombardi.”
The curtain closed.
“I know who you are.”
“Then open the door.”
“No.”
Dante's patience disappeared.
“My brother is alive.”
Silence.
Then the locks moved.
The door opened three inches.
Grant's face appeared.
He looked older than Dante remembered.
“Where did you get that information?”
“From the people who buried it.”
Grant stared at Gemma.
Then Bianca.
His face collapsed.
“You shouldn't have brought her.”
“Why?”
“Because the Falcone family has been looking for her.”
Bianca stepped forward.
“They've been looking for me?”
Grant nodded.
“You are the key.”
“To what?”
Grant opened the door.
“To the truth about Luca.”
Inside, the house smelled of old books and salt air.
Grant led them into his study.
He opened a locked cabinet.
Inside were medical records.
Photographs.
A cassette tape.
And one handwritten letter.
Dante picked up the photograph.
Luca lay unconscious in a hospital bed.
Alive.
A scar crossed his forehead.
His left arm was in a cast.
Dante's fingers trembled.
“When was this?”
“Two days after the explosion.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Grant looked at him.
“Because your father ordered me not to.”
“Why?”
“Because Luca had overheard something he wasn't supposed to hear.”
Dante's breathing slowed.
“What?”
Grant looked toward Bianca.
“The Falcone family had been preparing to take control of the Lombardi trust.”
Bianca shook her head.
“My father?”
“Your father was involved.”
“And Dante's father?”
Grant looked at the floor.
“Your father knew.”
Dante closed his eyes.
The pain was immediate.
“Did my father try to kill Luca?”
“No.”
Grant's answer came quickly.
“He tried to protect him.”
Dante opened his eyes.
“Then why hide him?”
“Because Luca refused to cooperate.”
“With whom?”
Grant looked at the cassette.
“Your father's enemies.”
He pushed it toward Dante.
“This is Luca's voice.”
Dante stared at it.
“Where is he now?”
Grant hesitated.
“He escaped.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
Dante stepped forward.
“Where did he go?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why did you keep this?”
“Because he left it for you.”
Grant handed him the cassette.
Dante held it like it weighed a hundred pounds.
They played it.
Static filled the room.
Then a familiar voice.
“Dante, if you're hearing this, I'm probably already gone.”
Dante stopped breathing.
Luca continued.
“Don't trust the person who tells you our father betrayed us.”
A pause.
“Because the truth is worse.”
The recording ended.
Dante looked at Grant.
“What truth?”
Grant's face had gone pale.
“Your father wasn't the one who betrayed your family.”
“Who was?”
Grant whispered the name.
“Victor Hale.”
Gemma's eyes widened.
Dante said nothing.
Then his phone rang.
Enzo.
Dante answered.
“Talk.”
“Boss, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Victor Hale is dead.”
Dante looked at the cassette.
“Where?”
“In his office.”
“How?”
“A single gunshot.”
Dante's eyes hardened.
“Who killed him?”
“We don't know.”
Then Enzo added, “But there's a message on the wall.”
“What message?”
Enzo hesitated.
“WELCOME HOME, LUCA.”
After the attack on Dr. Grant's house, Dante and Gemma stayed in a roadside motel under borrowed names.
The room was small.
The bed was too soft.
The heater rattled.
For a man accustomed to penthouses, it should have felt miserable.
Instead, Dante found himself strangely calm.
Gemma sat near the window with a cup of tea.
“You're staring again.”
“I’m making sure you’re real.”
She smiled.
“I'm real.”
“Good.”
She looked at the burned photograph on the table.
“Your brother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Your father was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother might be alive.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“This family is exhausting.”
Dante laughed.
For a few seconds, the tension disappeared.
Then Gemma asked, “What will you do when you find them?”
“Bring them home.”
“And after?”
He looked at her.
“I don't know.”
“That's okay.”
He reached across the table.
“You shouldn't have been dragged into this.”
“I wasn't dragged.”
She placed her hand over his.
“I chose to stay.”
Dante looked down at their hands.
The simple contact felt more dangerous than any weapon.
“Gemma.”
“Yes?”
“I don't want to lose you.”
“You haven't.”
He nodded.
Outside, snow began falling.
The world looked quiet.
But Dante knew better.
Someone was still hunting them.
His phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
YOU HAVE UNTIL DAWN.
Then another photograph.
Gemma's apartment.
A man standing outside.
The face was blurred.
But the coat was familiar.
Dante stared.
“That's Thomas Reed.”
Gemma looked at him.
“The man from Luca's photograph?”
“Yes.”
“But you said he was dead.”
“I thought he was.”
Dante stood.
“Then someone wants us to believe he is dead.”
Gemma rose.
“Where are we going?”
“To find him.”
“And if it's a trap?”
Dante looked at her.
“Then we'll walk into it together.”
She smiled.
“That's becoming your favorite sentence.”
“Maybe.”
They left before dawn.
And for the first time, Dante realized the mystery was no longer only about his family.
It was about the people who had spent years making strangers of them.
After the attack on Dr. Grant's house, Dante and Gemma stayed in a roadside motel under borrowed names.
The room was small.
The bed was too soft.
The heater rattled.
For a man accustomed to penthouses, it should have felt miserable.
Instead, Dante found himself strangely calm.
Gemma sat near the window with a cup of tea.
“You're staring again.”
“I’m making sure you’re real.”
She smiled.
“I'm real.”
“Good.”
She looked at the burned photograph on the table.
“Your brother was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Your father was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother might be alive.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“This family is exhausting.”
Dante laughed.
For a few seconds, the tension disappeared.
Then Gemma asked, “What will you do when you find them?”
“Bring them home.”
“And after?”
He looked at her.
“I don't know.”
“That's okay.”
He reached across the table.
“You shouldn't have been dragged into this.”
“I wasn't dragged.”
She placed her hand over his.
“I chose to stay.”
Dante looked down at their hands.
The simple contact felt more dangerous than any weapon.
“Gemma.”
“Yes?”
“I don't want to lose you.”
“You haven't.”
He nodded.
Outside, snow began falling.
The world looked quiet.
But Dante knew better.
Someone was still hunting them.
His phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
YOU HAVE UNTIL DAWN.
Then another photograph.
Gemma's apartment.
A man standing outside.
The face was blurred.
But the coat was familiar.
Dante stared.
“That's Thomas Reed.”
Gemma looked at him.
“The man from Luca's photograph?”
“Yes.”
“But you said he was dead.”
“I thought he was.”
Dante stood.
“Then someone wants us to believe he is dead.”
Gemma rose.
“Where are we going?”
“To find him.”
“And if it's a trap?”
Dante looked at her.
“Then we'll walk into it together.”
She smiled.
“That's becoming your favorite sentence.”
“Maybe.”
They left before dawn.
May you like
And for the first time, Dante realized the mystery was no longer only about his family.
It was about the people who had spent years making strangers of them.
