Chapter 3 - She Tried to Escape the Ruthless Mafia King—Until a Phone Call From the Hospital Revealed Who Was Really Hunting Her Brother
I had never seen a man change so quickly.
One moment, Dante Vancel stood beside his desk, holding a photograph of my mother.
The next, he became someone entirely different.
His shoulders squared.
His expression hardened.
The warmth vanished from his gray eyes.
"Lock down the estate."
His bodyguard nodded.
"Already done, boss."
"Double the security at the hospital."
"Yes, sir."
"And find out who accessed Greg Mercer's car."
The guard hesitated.
"Boss, the message—"
"I heard the message."
Dante's voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Now find the person who left it."
The guard disappeared.
I stood beside the desk, trembling.
Greg was dead.
My abusive manager.
The man who had threatened to fire me.
The man who had grabbed my arm only hours earlier.
Dead.
And someone had left a message threatening my little brother.
I looked at Dante.
"What have you done?"
He turned.
"Elena—"
"What did you do to Greg?"
His face tightened.
"Nothing."
"He's dead!"
"I know."
"You threatened him!"
"Because he hurt you."
"And now he's dead!"
Dante stepped toward me.
I backed away.
He stopped immediately.
"Elena, listen carefully. I didn't order Greg Mercer killed."
I shook my head.
"How am I supposed to believe you?"
"Because whoever killed him is trying to make you afraid of me."
I laughed bitterly.
"Congratulations. It's working."
Pain flashed across his face.
Then disappeared.
He looked toward the photograph still clutched in my hand.
"There's more you need to know."
"No."
"Elena—"
"No more secrets."
I threw the photograph onto his desk.
"My mother is dead. My father is dead. My brother is dying. And somehow, every time I ask you a question, another person ends up dead!"
Dante said nothing.
I moved toward the door.
"I'm leaving."
"It's not safe."
"I don't care."
"Someone is threatening Toby."
"Then I'll go to him!"
Dante took one step forward.
"Please."
I froze.
Not because he sounded angry.
Because he didn't.
The most feared mafia boss in New York had just said please.
Quietly.
Almost desperately.
"Let me explain."
I turned.
"Then explain."
He looked toward the fireplace.
For a long moment, he seemed to be fighting with himself.
Finally, he spoke.
"Your mother came to me ten years ago."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
"She was frightened."
"Of whom?"
"Victor Sloane."
I crossed my arms.
"Who is he?"
Dante's expression darkened.
"A man who helped my father build his empire. He controlled financial operations, offshore accounts, and several businesses that appeared legitimate."
"And?"
"Then he started stealing."
I stared.
"From your father?"
"From everyone."
Dante walked toward the desk.
"He diverted money from charitable foundations. He falsified medical insurance claims. He used shell companies to move funds through hospitals and private clinics."
I felt sick.
"Children's hospitals?"
"Some organizations that were supposed to support children's treatment."
I thought of Toby.
The countless bills.
The rejected assistance applications.
The families I'd seen crying in hospital waiting rooms.
"How much?"
Dante looked at me.
"More than forty million dollars."
I stared.
"Forty million?"
"Possibly more."
I shook my head.
"Why didn't anyone stop him?"
"Because he had people protecting him."
"Your father?"
Dante's jaw tightened.
"At first, my father believed Sloane was loyal. By the time he discovered the fraud, the damage was extensive."
"And my mother?"
"She found the records."
I swallowed.
"What happened next?"
"She copied them."
"Where are they?"
"That's the question."
I stared.
"You're telling me everyone is hunting me because my mother copied some documents?"
"Not just documents."
"What else?"
Dante hesitated.
"Names."
My skin prickled.
"Whose names?"
"Judges. Politicians. Bankers. People who accepted money to keep quiet."
I stared at him.
"And you think my mother gave them to me?"
"I think she hid them somewhere only you could find."
I shook my head.
"She never told me anything."
"She may have been trying to protect you."
"By leaving me completely unprepared?"
Dante's expression softened.
"Fear makes people choose imperfect ways to protect the ones they love."
I looked away.
Because I understood that too well.
Every time I smiled at Toby while hiding another overdue bill, I was doing the same thing.
Protecting him with a lie.
Or trying to.
At five fifteen in the morning, I demanded to go home.
Dante insisted on arranging transportation.
I refused to ride in his limousine.
He didn't argue.
Instead, he gave me a phone.
"Use this if you need help."
I stared at the black device.
"I have a phone."
"This one connects directly to me."
"I don't want anything from you."
"Then leave it here."
He placed it on the table.
I looked at him.
For the first time since meeting him, he seemed tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
As though he had spent years carrying a weight nobody else could see.
I hated that I noticed.
I hated even more that part of me wanted to ask whether he was okay.
Instead, I picked up the phone.
"For Toby," I whispered.
Dante nodded.
"For Toby."
A driver took me back to Manhattan.
Two security vehicles followed at a distance.
I noticed them immediately.
I also noticed that the driver never tried to stop me from leaving.
When we reached my apartment building, the sun was beginning to rise.
The city looked ordinary.
Delivery trucks rattled through the streets.
People walked dogs.
Coffee shops opened their doors.
Somewhere, a man argued into his phone about a delayed meeting.
And I stood on the sidewalk wondering whether my dead father was really dead.
My apartment was on the fourth floor of an old brick building.
The hallway smelled of detergent and stale cooking oil.
I unlocked my door.
Stepped inside.
And froze.
Someone had been there.
My couch cushions were scattered across the floor.
Kitchen drawers hung open.
Books lay torn beneath the table.
The bedroom door was half off its hinges.
My mother's jewelry box had been smashed.
I couldn't breathe.
I stepped backward.
Then heard a sound.
A floorboard creaked.
Someone was inside my bedroom.
I turned and ran.
A man emerged from the doorway.
Tall.
Wearing a black jacket.
His face hidden beneath a baseball cap.
"Elena!"
I screamed.
He lunged.
I grabbed the nearest object—a ceramic vase—and threw it.
It shattered against the wall.
He cursed.
I ran into the hallway.
"Help!"
A door opened downstairs.
The man grabbed my wrist.
I twisted.
Pain shot through my arm.
"Let go!"
He pulled me backward.
Then suddenly released me.
A second man had appeared.
One of Dante's security guards.
He slammed the intruder against the wall.
The attacker fought back.
A brutal struggle erupted in the narrow hallway.
I stumbled toward the stairs.
Another guard rushed upward.
"Miss Vance, get behind me!"
I pressed myself against the railing.
The intruder broke free.
He pulled a knife.
The guard raised his weapon.
"Drop it!"
For one terrifying second, nobody moved.
Then the attacker threw the knife.
It struck the wall.
He charged toward the stairwell.
The second guard tackled him.
They crashed onto the landing.
I covered my mouth.
Within seconds, the attacker was restrained.
He spat blood onto the floor.
Then looked directly at me.
And smiled.
"You look just like her."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
He laughed.
"Your mother."
I stepped closer before the guard could stop me.
"What do you know about my mother?"
The man smiled wider.
"She screamed your name too."
A cold sensation spread through my body.
"What did you say?"
He leaned forward.
"Ask Dante what happened the night she died."
The guard pulled him away.
But the man kept laughing.
"Ask him, Elena!"
I stood frozen.
"ASK HIM WHY HE WAS THERE!"
Dante arrived seventeen minutes later.
I knew because I counted every second.
He entered the apartment wearing the same charcoal suit.
His hair was slightly disheveled.
His expression was murderous.
"Where is she?"
I stood beside the kitchen counter.
"I'm here."
He crossed the room.
Stopped in front of me.
His eyes moved over my face.
My arms.
My shoulders.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Did he touch you?"
"He grabbed my wrist."
Dante's jaw clenched.
"Let me see."
I hesitated.
Then extended my arm.
Red marks circled my wrist.
His expression changed.
For one brief moment, the ruthless mafia boss looked almost devastated.
"I'm sorry."
I stared.
"What?"
"I should have anticipated this."
I pulled my hand away.
"Your bodyguards stopped him."
"They shouldn't have needed to."
I looked at the ruined apartment.
"My mother kept everything here."
Dante followed my gaze.
"Was anything taken?"
"I don't know."
I walked toward the broken jewelry box.
The velvet lining had been ripped apart.
My mother's necklaces were scattered across the floor.
But one thing was missing.
A small silver key.
I frowned.
"What is it?" Dante asked.
"My mother had a key."
"What kind?"
"Small. Silver. She wore it on a chain before she died."
Dante's expression sharpened.
"Do you know what it opened?"
"No."
"Did she ever tell you?"
I shook my head.
"She said it belonged to something important."
"Anything else?"
I closed my eyes.
A memory surfaced.
I was thirteen.
My mother sat beside my bed.
She had been crying.
She held the silver key between her fingers.
"If anything happens to me, Ellie, remember what I told you."
I remembered asking what she meant.
And she had whispered something strange.
"When the music stops, look beneath the roses."
I opened my eyes.
Dante was watching me.
"Elena?"
I swallowed.
"My mother used to say something."
"What?"
"When the music stops, look beneath the roses."
Dante went completely still.
His face drained of color.
"What did you just say?"
I stared.
"Why?"
He stepped closer.
"Repeat it."
I did.
Slowly.
"When the music stops, look beneath the roses."
Dante turned toward the window.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he whispered something under his breath.
I couldn't hear it.
"What does it mean?"
He looked at me.
"Your mother was smarter than all of us."
My heart pounded.
"Dante."
He reached for his phone.
"Marco. I need the old Vancel estate searched."
I frowned.
"Old estate?"
Dante looked at me.
"The house where my father lived."
"What about it?"
His eyes darkened.
"There's a rose garden behind the ballroom."
I stared.
"And?"
He spoke quietly.
"Your mother disappeared from that ballroom ten years ago."
By noon, I was back at the hospital.
I refused to leave Toby again.
Dante arranged for a security team to remain nearby, but he stayed outside the room unless invited.
I appreciated that more than I wanted to admit.
Toby was awake.
He was coloring a picture of a dragon.
"Ellie!"
I hugged him.
"Hey, superhero."
He studied my face.
"You look sad."
"I'm just tired."
He frowned.
"You're always tired."
I smiled weakly.
"That's because you're a lot of work."
He giggled.
Then looked past me.
"Where's the giant?"
I laughed despite myself.
"The giant?"
"Dante."
"He's outside."
"Can he come in?"
I hesitated.
Then nodded toward the doorway.
Dante entered.
Toby brightened immediately.
"Hey!"
Dante approached.
"Hello, troublemaker."
Toby grinned.
"I made you something."
He held up a drawing.
A giant man wearing a black suit.
A tiny boy wearing a superhero cape.
And a woman with long brown hair standing between them.
Above their heads, Toby had written:
MY TEAM.
Dante stared at the picture.
Something changed in his expression.
He took it carefully.
"Thank you."
Toby smiled.
"You're welcome."
Then my brother asked a question that made my chest tighten.
"Are you going to marry my sister?"
I nearly choked.
"Toby!"
He looked confused.
"What?"
Dante raised one eyebrow.
"That's a serious question."
Toby nodded.
"She's nice."
"I noticed."
"She makes good pancakes."
"Excellent qualification."
"And she cries when she thinks nobody sees."
The room went silent.
I looked down.
Toby continued innocently.
"Mommy used to cry like that too."
Dante's expression softened.
He crouched beside the bed.
"Your sister loves you very much."
"I know."
"She's doing everything she can."
Toby nodded.
Then whispered, "Can you help her?"
My heart broke.
Dante looked at him.
"I'll do my best."
Toby held out his little finger.
"Promise?"
Dante stared at the tiny hand.
Then slowly hooked his pinkie around Toby's.
"Promise."
I turned away before either of them could see my tears.
That afternoon, Dr. Hart returned with an update.
The surgical team had reviewed Toby's condition.
They wanted to move forward as soon as the necessary preparations were complete.
The hospital's financial team had also confirmed that a charitable contribution would cover the remaining eligible treatment costs.
I stared at the paperwork.
For the first time in months, there was no impossible balance staring back at me.
I looked toward Dante.
He stood near the window.
Silent.
I walked over.
"You paid it?"
"Through the foundation."
"All of it?"
"The uncovered expenses that the hospital approved for assistance."
My throat tightened.
"I don't know how to thank you."
"You don't have to."
"Yes, I do."
He looked at me.
"Then promise me something."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"Don't ever believe your brother's life is worth less because you couldn't afford his treatment."
I stared at him.
He continued quietly.
"You've done more for that boy than most people with unlimited money would ever understand."
My eyes filled.
Nobody had ever said that to me.
Not like that.
I looked away.
"Why are you being so kind?"
Dante was silent.
Then he said, "Because I know what it's like to lose someone while believing you should have saved them."
I looked up.
"Who did you lose?"
His expression closed.
"Someone important."
Before I could ask more, his phone rang.
He answered.
"Marco."
I watched his face change.
"What?"
Silence.
Then:
"Are you certain?"
Another pause.
"Send me the photograph."
He ended the call.
I stared.
"What happened?"
Dante looked at his phone.
His expression was unreadable.
Then he turned the screen toward me.
It showed a photograph taken inside the old Vancel estate.
A marble ballroom.
Golden chandeliers.
Tall windows.
And beneath a massive arrangement of white roses stood a stone pedestal.
The pedestal had been moved.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside lay a metal box.
I stared.
"My mother's clue."
Dante nodded.
"Marco found it."
My heart pounded.
"What's inside?"
"He hasn't opened it."
"Why?"
Dante's eyes darkened.
"Because there's a name engraved on the lid."
I swallowed.
"Whose name?"
He turned the phone toward me again.
The metal box had been photographed from above.
Across its surface, in elegant engraved letters, were two words.
ELENA VANCE.
I covered my mouth.
My mother had hidden something for me.
Something important enough to make powerful men hunt my family.
Something worth killing for.
And now it had been found.
I looked at Dante.
"We need to open it."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Tonight."
I glanced toward Toby.
My brother was sleeping peacefully.
For the first time in months, his surgery was financially secure.
But outside his hospital room, the world was becoming more dangerous by the hour.
I looked back at Dante.
"Promise me something."
"Anything I can honestly promise."
"If that box contains something terrible, you won't hide it from me."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"I promise."
I wanted to believe him.
I truly did.
But twenty minutes later, while Dante was speaking with hospital security, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a text appeared.
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO REALLY KILLED YOUR MOTHER, ANSWER THE PHONE.
My blood turned cold.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice spoke.
Low.
Rough.
Familiar in a way I couldn't explain.
"Elena."
I swallowed.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who has waited eleven years to hear your voice."
My heart pounded.
"What do you want?"
"To tell you the truth about Dante Vancel."
I looked toward the hallway.
Dante stood near the nurses' station, speaking with a guard.
"What truth?"
The man laughed softly.
"Ask him why your mother died in his arms."
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
"Ask him why he was the last person to see her alive."
My hands began trembling.
"Who are you?"
There was a long silence.
Then the man spoke again.
And the world stopped.
"Elena, sweetheart."
My knees weakened.
Only one person had ever called me that in exactly that way.
A man who used to carry me on his shoulders.
A man who taught me how to ride a bicycle.
A man whose funeral I attended eleven years ago.
The voice continued.
"It's Daddy."
I couldn't breathe.
"No."
"I'm alive, Elena."
Tears filled my eyes.
"No. My father is dead."
"That's what they wanted you to believe."
I pressed a hand against the wall.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere Dante can't reach me."
I looked toward the hallway again.
Dante turned.
Our eyes met.
His expression changed immediately.
He started walking toward me.
The voice on the phone became urgent.
"Listen carefully, sweetheart. Whatever Dante tells you, don't trust him."
My heart hammered.
"Why?"
The man whispered:
"Because Dante Vancel didn't just watch your mother die. He knows exactly who ordered her murder."
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
Dante stopped in front of me.
"Elena?"
I stared at him.
His gray eyes searched my face.
"Who was on the phone?"
I couldn't speak.
"Elena, what's wrong?"
My hands trembled.
I slowly lowered the phone.
May you like
Then asked the question that would change everything.
"Dante... why did my father just call me from the grave?"
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