Chapter 3 - WHAT DANIEL FOUND ABOUT THE MORETTIS
Alexander read Derek's message once.
Then again.
His face changed on the second reading.
Not fear.
Recognition.
I knew that expression.
It was the one Derek wore when I accidentally mentioned something he thought I'd forgotten.
A locked drawer.
A canceled dinner.
A woman's name in a text message.
Recognition meant history.
“What did Daniel know about your father?”
Alexander handed my phone to Rachel.
“My father has been dead eight years.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No.”
We stood in the ruined living room of the house where I had learned to make myself smaller.
Police moved around us.
Rachel photographed damage.
Luca spoke quietly with Alexander's security team.
But all I could see was Alexander.
“What did Daniel find?”
He looked toward the officers.
“Not here.”
Anger flared.
“No.”
His eyes returned to me.
“If this involves Daniel, you don't move me into another room so the men can talk.”
Luca looked down.
Rachel smiled faintly.
Alexander did not.
“I wasn't going to.”
“Then answer.”
He took a slow breath.
“My father built the legitimate side of our family business.”
“And the other side?”
“Older.”
I waited.
“Dominic Moretti believed control mattered more than law.”
“That is a very elegant way to say criminal.”
“Yes.”
“Did he know Sloane?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“How well?”
“Victor handled private investigations for him.”
There it was.
“Daniel found something connecting them.”
“Possibly.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“When?”
“After your brother died.”
I laughed once.
“You keep learning important things after people die.”
His jaw tightened.
Fair hit.
Rachel stepped closer.
“Emily, we need to decide what happens with the drive.”
I looked at her.
“The police have it.”
“Temporarily. Because it was found in your marital residence, Derek may later claim ownership or planted evidence.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Legal arguments often don't.”
Alexander said, “Copy it before anyone else gets access.”
Rachel glared.
“That would be improper.”
“It would also prevent it disappearing.”
“You do not control evidence.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“She does.”
Again.
Choice.
Sometimes I hated how much those moments affected me.
Rachel said, “We can petition for forensic imaging through counsel.”
“Do it,” I said.
She nodded.
Alexander's phone rang.
Marcus Moretti.
His cousin, apparently.
Alexander listened.
“Midway hangar is empty.”
My heart dropped.
“What about Derek?”
Alexander ended the call.
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Daniel's cardboard box sat on a metal table.
His watch.
Dad's knife.
Wrigley baseball.
My throat closed.
Derek had touched everything.
Behind the box stood Victor Sloane.
Silver hair.
Black coat.
Then a video arrived.
Derek appeared.
Clean suit.
Calm.
No sign he had chased me barefoot through a restaurant hours earlier.
“Emily.”
My stomach turned at the sound of my name in his voice.
“You've made this more difficult than it needed to be.”
Alexander shifted beside me.
Derek continued.
“Mr. Moretti is not protecting you. He's protecting the drive.”
I looked at Alexander.
He did not react.
“Daniel learned who ordered the payments that got him killed.”
A pause.
“And it wasn't Victor.”
Alexander's face stayed still.
“It was Dominic Moretti.”
Silence.
Derek smiled.
“Alexander's father.”
The video ended.
I stared at Alexander.
He looked at the floor.
That frightened me more than denial.
“You think it's possible.”
His eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
The word hit like cold water.
Rachel quietly asked police for privacy.
They moved into the kitchen.
Luca stayed.
Alexander sat on the edge of the couch.
I had never seen him look tired before.
“My father and I did not agree on how business should be run.”
“That is vague.”
“Yes.”
“Stop protecting me from facts.”
He nodded once.
“Dominic used blackmail. Bribery. Violence.”
“And murder?”
Alexander looked at me.
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
I hugged my arms around myself.
“Could he have killed Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“If Daniel found proof Dominic was using Lakefront money to pay Sloane, he could have threatened several people.”
“But your father died eight years ago. Daniel died four years ago.”
Alexander went still.
I saw it.
The flaw.
“What?”
“My father was officially dead eight years ago.”
My skin prickled.
“Officially?”
“He died in Italy.”
“Officially.”
“Yes.”
I stared.
“Was there a body?”
Luca said quietly, “Closed casket.”
Alexander looked at him.
Luca held his gaze.
Something passed between them.
“You think he's alive.”
“I think Derek wants me to think that.”
“That is not an answer.”
Alexander stood.
“My father had pancreatic cancer.”
“So?”
“He deteriorated quickly. He refused visitors the final month.”
“Who saw the body?”
“His physician. My uncle Matteo.”
“Anyone else?”
Silence.
No.
I laughed without humor.
“Apparently nobody in Chicago actually dies.”
Alexander almost smiled.
It vanished quickly.
“My father was cremated.”
“By whom?”
“A funeral service he owned.”
Of course.
Rachel returned.
“We need to leave. This house is not secure.”
I looked around.
She was right.
I hated it anyway.
“My clothes.”
“Later.”
“No.”
I walked upstairs.
Alexander followed at a distance.
I turned.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because Derek may have left something.”
Not because I was fragile.
Good.
We packed one suitcase.
I chose every item.
Not Derek's preferred dresses.
Jeans.
Sweaters.
Old college sweatshirt.
Sneakers.
Clothes that felt like mine.
In the bathroom, I removed the makeup bag Derek had bought me.
Then put it back.
My choice.
Not rejection for symbolism.
Choice.
Downstairs, Rachel handed me paperwork.
Emergency protective order request.
“Do you want to file?”
My heart pounded.
Derek would be furious.
That used to decide everything.
I signed.
My hand shook.
Still signed.
At Alexander's sister's apartment, Rachel stayed through noon.
We discussed divorce.
Financial records.
Safety planning.
Photos of injuries.
Medical documentation.
Every question made me want to disappear.
Alexander remained outside the room.
Not once did he enter without permission.
At one, Sofia brought lunch.
At two, Rachel left.
At two-fifteen, I went onto the balcony.
Alexander stood there.
I almost backed away.
Old habit.
He noticed.
“I can leave.”
“No.”
He waited.
I joined him.
Chicago wind cut through my sweater.
He handed me his coat.
I refused.
He put it over the chair instead.
Good.
“What was your father like?”
Alexander looked surprised.
“To me?”
“Yes.”
He stared over the river.
“Demanding.”
“Cruel?”
“Sometimes.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
I heard something beneath the answer.
“You don't have to explain.”
He looked at me.
“Neither do you.”
That hit.
Because everyone had always wanted explanations.
Why didn't you leave?
Why did you stay?
Why didn't you tell anyone?
As if abuse became my failure the moment I survived it imperfectly.
I leaned against the railing.
“Why did you help me last night?”
“Because you asked.”
“That simple?”
“Yes.”
“Even before you knew who I was?”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“People are afraid of you.”
“Usually.”
“Should I be?”
He considered.
“Of what I am capable of? Yes.”
Honest.
“Of me harming you because you say no?”
His expression hardened.
“No.”
The distinction mattered.
I looked away.
“Derek used to say he would never hit me.”
Alexander said nothing.
“The first time, he pushed me into a door.”
Wind moved my hair.
“He cried afterward.”
My throat tightened.
“Bought flowers. Took me to Wisconsin. Told me it would never happen again.”
Alexander's hands clenched on the railing.
“The second time he didn't cry as much.”
Silence.
“By the fifth, I apologized first.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Efficient.”
Alexander turned toward me.
“Emily.”
“I know what you're going to say.”
“No, you don't.”
I looked at him.
“You survived by predicting him.”
My breath caught.
“That skill kept you alive.”
No pity.
No blame.
Just fact.
Something inside me loosened.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Luca's voice, urgent.
Alexander's expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
A pause.
“When?”
He looked at me.
“Send it.”
“What?”
He ended the call.
“Someone accessed Daniel's personnel file from a Moretti server.”
“Today?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Who?”
“An account belonging to Dominic Moretti.”
My skin went cold.
“Your dead father.”
“Yes.”
Alexander's phone buzzed.
A security image loaded.
An older man entering a private office downtown.
White hair.
Cane.
Thinner than old photographs.
But unmistakable.
Alexander's father.
Dominic Moretti.
Alive.
The timestamp was twelve minutes old.
I looked at Alexander.
His face had gone completely blank.
Then a second message arrived.
From Dominic's old private number.
BRING EMILY CARTER.
HER BROTHER STOLE SOMETHING FROM ME.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
For three years, Derek had trained me to believe danger always began with me doing something wrong.
Wrong tone.
Wrong smile.
Wrong question.
Now a dead man wanted me brought to him because of something my brother had done before I ever married Derek.
For the first time, I saw the pattern from outside it.
None of this began because I failed to keep someone calm.
Alexander took the phone from Luca, studied the message, and handed it back.
“My father does not get to summon you.”
I looked at him.
“Neither do you.”
His eyes met mine.
“No.”
That single word settled something in my chest.
Sofia crossed her arms.
“So what now?”
I looked at Dominic’s message.
At the name Emily Carter.
At the command hidden inside it.
Bring her.
All these men kept speaking about me like a package that could be delivered.
I stood.
“No one brings me anywhere.”
Alexander waited.
I continued.
“If Dominic wants to talk to me, I’ll decide whether I walk into that room.”
His expression stayed unreadable.
Then he nodded.
“Good.”
May you like
For the first time since Derek chased me through the restaurant, the fear in my body did not disappear.
It simply stopped being the person in charge.
