Chapter 2 - THE MUSIC BOX THAT WAS BURIED
Dante read the message three times.
Not because it was complicated.
Because he did not believe it.
I understood.
That feeling had become familiar.
Something buried with Isabella.
Wanted by the Kowalski syndicate.
A black music box I had never heard of.
My kidnapped brother tied to a chair.
The twins still pressed against me.
Everything in my life had become impossible in less than an hour.
“What was in the box?” I asked.
Dante looked at Arthur.
The butler looked away.
I hated when powerful households communicated in eye contact.
“Use words.”
Dante’s eyes moved back to me.
“The box belonged to Isabella.”
“That part I understand.”
“She kept letters in it.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why bury it?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because after she died, Mia would not stop looking for it.”
My chest hurt.
“How old was she?”
“Two.”
“And she knew the box?”
“Yes.”
“Was it a toy?”
“No.”
“Then why did a two-year-old care?”
Dante looked toward his daughters.
“Isabella played the lullaby with it.”
I froze.
“The box played the same song.”
“Yes.”
Of course.
Memory again.
Objects carrying language adults missed.
“Did the girls see you bury it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“Family.”
That word sounded dangerous in his mouth.
“Who specifically?”
“Arthur. Rosa. My brother Luca. Isabella’s cousin Matteo. Father Santoro.”
“And the funeral staff.”
“Yes.”
“So at least seven people.”
Dante’s face hardened.
“I trust them.”
“Somebody told the Kowalskis.”
Silence.
Arthur looked offended.
Good.
Offense does not make people innocent.
I picked up my phone.
“Are you going to help Toby?”
Dante’s eyes turned cold.
“He owes Kowalski money.”
“Yes.”
“That is not the same as me owing them.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“But they are using me because I’m inside your house.”
“Yes.”
“So this became your problem.”
Something almost like amusement touched his face.
“You negotiate quickly.”
“I waited tables in Chicago.”
“Harder profession?”
“Customers complain more.”
Arthur coughed.
Maybe laughter.
Dante did not smile.
“What did your brother do with forty thousand?”
“Gambled.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out.”
“I have tried.”
“He hid it.”
“Yes.”
“From you?”
“Yes.”
“What else is he hiding?”
I wanted to defend Toby.
Then remembered the photograph.
The debt rising to fifty thousand.
My brother had dragged my name into this before I ever stepped into the penthouse.
“I don’t know.”
Dante stared.
“Good.”
“What is good?”
“You said you don’t know.”
“Should I pretend?”
“Most people do.”
He looked toward the doorway.
“Arthur, bring Luca.”
Arthur left.
I frowned.
“Your brother?”
“You wanted specific words.”
Fair.
Dante’s brother arrived ten minutes later.
Luca Moretti was thirty, lighter in face than Dante, same dark eyes, less grief.
He wore no jacket.
His sleeves were rolled.
He looked at the nursery floor, the broken dolls, then at me sitting between the twins.
His eyebrows rose.
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Twenty-six,” Arthur corrected.
Luca looked at Dante.
“She stays.”
Dante ignored him.
“Black music box.”
Luca’s humor vanished.
“What?”
“Kowalski wants it.”
Luca went still.
“Impossible.”
“That word is getting boring,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Who are you?”
“The woman your nieces stopped screaming for.”
He smiled slightly.
“I like her.”
Dante said:
“Enough.”
Luca looked at the girls.
Mia had finally fallen asleep.
Bella was tracing circles on my wrist.
“What do the Kowalskis know?”
Dante handed him the phone.
Luca read.
His face changed.
“They think it still exists.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Do we know that?”
Dante stared at him.
I leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
Luca exhaled.
“The coffin was opened before burial.”
Dante’s face went blank.
“What?”
Arthur whispered:
“Luca.”
“No.”
Dante stood.
The twins flinched.
He stopped.
Lowered his voice.
“Explain.”
Luca looked guilty.
“The funeral director called me.”
“When?”
“Morning of burial.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were sedated.”
Dante froze.
I looked at him.
Sedated?
After his wife’s murder, maybe not surprising.
Luca continued.
“One clasp was damaged. They needed approval to reopen the lid.”
“Did they?”
“Yes.”
“Who was present?”
“Me. Father Santoro. funeral director.”
“The box?”
“I didn’t check.”
Dante stared.
“You knew I put it there.”
“Yes.”
“And you did not check.”
“I was trying to bury your wife, Dante.”
Silence.
That ended the accusation.
Pain does not make people competent.
I knew that too.
“Could somebody have removed it?” I asked.
Luca looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Before you arrived?”
“Possibly.”
“After?”
“No.”
“Who had access before?”
“Funeral home staff.”
Dante already had his phone out.
Then stopped.
Looked at me.
“What?”
I asked.
“You said they want something from my house.”
“Yes.”
“If the music box was stolen before burial, why do they think it is here?”
Good question.
I read the message again.
THE BLACK MUSIC BOX FROM ISABELLA’S ROOM.
Not grave.
Room.
Maybe they did not know it was buried.
Or—
“Someone told them you kept another one.”
Dante frowned.
“Another what?”
“Box.”
Rosa crossed herself again.
I looked at her.
“What?”
She whispered:
“Isabella had two.”
Dante turned.
“What?”
Rosa looked terrified.
“One black. One blue.”
“I only knew black.”
“The blue one belonged to Maria Conti.”
Isabella’s grandmother.
My grandmother Lucia’s sister.
My pulse jumped.
“Where is the blue one?”
Rosa looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
“Who does?”
“She might have given it to Lucia.”
Silence.
I laughed because otherwise I might scream.
“So the Kowalskis ask me to steal a black music box from your dead wife’s room, while apparently my grandmother may have had a matching blue box from the same family.”
Dante stared.
“Yes.”
“That feels important.”
“Yes.”
Bella suddenly whispered:
“Blue sings.”
We all turned.
“What?” I asked.
She touched my wrist.
“Blue sings Mommy song.”
My heart hammered.
Dante crouched.
“Bella, did you see a blue box?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“Mommy hide.”
“Where?”
Bella covered her mouth.
Mia woke and said:
“No tell.”
Dante’s face changed.
I saw the temptation.
Push.
Demand.
Father desperate for answers.
I touched his sleeve.
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
“Not now,” I whispered.
He breathed.
Then sat back.
“Okay.”
That mattered.
The girls relaxed.
I looked at Bella.
“You don’t have to tell us.”
She studied me.
Then:
“Bad man wants.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“What bad man?”
I held up a finger without looking at him.
He stopped.
“Bella, did the bad man come here?”
Two tiny nods.
“Before Mommy died?”
She nodded.
“After?”
Mia whispered:
“After.”
Cold moved through me.
Someone had entered the penthouse after Isabella’s death looking for the blue music box.
“Who?” I asked.
Bella looked toward the nursery door.
Then at Arthur.
The old butler went pale.
“Me?”
Bella shook her head.
Then pointed at his coat.
Not Arthur.
Clothing.
“Black coat?”
She nodded.
Half the men in this house wore black coats.
Dante said:
“Hair?”
Bella touched her own.
“White.”
Older man.
“Glasses?”
No.
“Beard?”
No.
Mia said:
“Ring.”
“What ring?”
She pointed to Dante’s hand.
He wore a Moretti signet ring.
My stomach dropped.
“Same ring?”
Mia nodded.
A Moretti.
Family.
Luca looked at Dante.
Dante looked at Luca.
The room turned dangerous.
Luca held up both hands.
“Don’t.”
Dante’s voice became cold.
“You wore the ring.”
“So did Father.”
Silence.
Dante’s father.
Vittorio Moretti.
Seventy.
Retired publicly.
Not retired in any way that mattered.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Dante looked at me.
“Lake Forest.”
“Alive?”
He almost smiled.
“Yes.”
“Good. In this family I need confirmation.”
Luca actually laughed.
Then stopped when Dante glared.
Rosa whispered:
“Mr. Vittorio came here after the funeral.”
Dante turned.
“When?”
“Twice.”
“I know once.”
“The second time you were in New York.”
His face went cold.
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“He said he came for family papers.”
There it was again.
A powerful older man deciding what the younger one needed to know.
Dante’s phone buzzed.
Security.
He answered.
Listened.
Then looked at me.
“Your brother’s debt was not gambling.”
My chest stopped.
“What?”
Dante put the call on speaker.
A man said:
“Toby Russo received forty thousand from Kowalski Holdings three months ago. Transfer memo says consulting.”
I stared.
“Toby is not a consultant.”
“No.”
Dante’s security man continued.
“He paid twenty-five thousand to a storage facility in Cicero.”
My stomach tightened.
“What storage?”
“We’re pulling it.”
Another pause.
“Account was opened under Lucia Russo.”
My grandmother.
Dead five years.
I stood.
“No.”
Dante’s eyes sharpened.
“Toby used your grandmother’s identity.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
I thought.
Grandma’s apartment after she died.
Toby handled paperwork because Mom was already sick.
Boxes.
Documents.
Old passport.
Birth certificate.
Maybe.
My phone rang.
Kowalski number.
I answered.
A man spoke.
“Do you have the box?”
“No.”
“Then Toby loses a finger.”
My stomach turned.
Dante took the phone from me.
“No.”
The man went silent.
Dante’s voice was terrifyingly calm.
“This is Dante Moretti.”
Pause.
Then laughter.
“Finally.”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“You touch Toby, I end the conversation permanently.”
I stared.
Not because he threatened them.
Because he used my brother’s name.
The voice replied:
“We don’t want the boy. We want what Lucia stole.”
My pulse jumped.
“What did she steal?” I asked loudly.
The man heard.
“Ask Moretti.”
Dante frowned.
The caller laughed.
“Oh, he doesn’t know.”
Then:
“Ask his father.”
The line died.
Every eye turned toward Dante.
May you like
He looked at me.
“We’re going to Lake Forest.”
