Chapter 2 - THE SISTER I NEVER KNEW WAS TRYING TO DESTROY MY MARRIAGE
I should have closed the door.
Instead, I stood there while Dante stared at me.
His eyes moved once more toward my stomach.
“How far along?”
“That isn’t the conversation we’re having.”
“It’s the only conversation I can think about.”
“Then think harder.”
His jaw tightened.
Old Dante would have pushed.
Demanded.
Ordered.
This Dante looked at the door between us and said, “May I come in?”
That almost hurt more.
“No.”
He nodded.
No argument.
I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me.
“How did you find me?”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
“Your attorney contacted mine.”
I frowned.
“I don’t have an attorney.”
“You do now.”
I understood.
My mother.
She had apparently hired one after I called.
Dante continued.
“He notified me that divorce documents would arrive next week.”
My chest tightened.
“I hadn’t decided.”
“Apparently your mother decided for you.”
“That sounds like her.”
His eyes dropped again.
“The baby.”
“Babies.”
Dante froze.
I watched the word hit him.
“Babies?”
“Twins.”
He leaned against the wall.
Dante Moretti actually needed support.
I had never seen that.
“Twins.”
“Yes.”
He covered his mouth briefly.
Then looked away.
I realized his eyes were wet.
That nearly broke me.
But grief did not erase betrayal.
“They’re healthy?”
“So far.”
“Can I—”
He stopped.
“Can you what?”
His voice became quiet.
“Can I be involved?”
Not take you home.
Not I have rights.
Not my children.
Can I be involved?
“Yes.”
Relief crossed his face.
“As their father.”
The relief became pain.
He understood.
“Not as your husband.”
“I don’t know what you are to me anymore.”
He nodded.
Then I asked the question.
“What did Sofia discover about your father?”
Dante’s expression changed.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Sofia never told me.”
“She kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“She knew she was my sister.”
His face went blank.
“What?”
That reaction was real.
“Sofia is my half sister.”
Dante stared.
I explained.
Adrian Vale.
My mother.
The affair.
The genetic test.
Sofia finding my mother six months earlier.
Dante looked physically sick.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You really didn’t?”
“No.”
“Then why was she around you?”
“Work.”
“Dante.”
“And because I let boundaries become unclear.”
At least he did not hide behind excuses.
“I never slept with her.”
“That doesn’t make what I saw disappear.”
“I know.”
“Did you want her?”
He took too long.
My heart hurt.
“I liked being wanted,” he finally said.
Honest.
Cruel.
Necessary.
I looked away.
Dante continued.
“You stopped needing me.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Terrible.”
“It is terrible.”
His voice became rough.
“You built a life around me, Lena. Then over the last year, you started building things for yourself. Your foundation. Your consulting work. Friends who had nothing to do with Moretti.”
“And that bothered you?”
“No.”
He paused.
“It scared me.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized you could leave.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So you responded by giving me a reason?”
“I didn’t understand that until you were gone.”
That was the tragedy of Dante.
He understood businesses before they failed.
People afterward.
“What happened with Sofia?”
“She started staying late.”
“You allowed it.”
“Yes.”
“She flirted.”
“Yes.”
“You allowed that too.”
“Yes.”
“And on our anniversary?”
“I had just received financial documents suggesting my father may have hidden millions through Vale accounts.”
My anger paused.
“Sofia showed you?”
“Yes.”
“She was upset. I was angry. We argued.”
“And then?”
“She kissed me.”
“And you kissed her back.”
“Yes.”
He did not hide.
No excuses.
No seconds.
No mistake.
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
But it also gave me something I had not had that night.
Truth.
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because for one selfish moment, I wanted to be someone who wasn’t disappointing you.”
I stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t know me the way you did. She didn’t know every promise I had broken. Every dinner I missed. Every time I chose work. She looked at me like I was still impressive.”
“And I looked at you like your wife.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“That’s pathetic.”
“Yes.”
I expected him to defend himself.
He didn’t.
Good.
Maybe losing me had finally taught him something.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Hallway.”
“With Dante?”
“Yes.”
“Get away from him.”
Dante heard.
His expression hardened.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because Adrian wasn’t working for the Morettis.”
“What?”
“He was working against them.”
I looked at Dante.
My mother continued.
“Adrian and Dante’s father, Salvatore, were partners.”
“In what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“I swear.”
“Then what did Sofia discover?”
“She said Salvatore ordered Adrian killed.”
Dante went completely still.
“My father?”
Mom heard him.
“Dante.”
“Mrs. Hart.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dante’s face became unreadable.
“My father died twelve years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Adrian Vale died thirty-one years ago.”
“Yes.”
Dante calculated.
He was good at that.
“My father was thirty-three.”
“Yes.”
“What evidence?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante looked at me.
“Sofia does.”
We returned to Chicago separately.
That was my condition.
I rented a small furnished apartment in Lincoln Park.
Dante hated it.
He said nothing.
Another improvement.
He arranged security.
I refused.
He asked whether one person stationed outside the building would be acceptable.
I agreed.
Asking.
Not ordering.
Maybe people could change.
Maybe.
Sofia disappeared before we could question her.
Her apartment was empty.
Her office had been cleared.
Her phone disconnected.
But she left something behind.
For me.
An envelope arrived at my apartment.
Inside was a photograph.
My mother.
Adrian Vale.
Salvatore Moretti.
All three standing beside Lake Michigan.
On the back:
ASK YOUR MOTHER WHICH MORETTI SHE REALLY LOVED.
My stomach turned.
I drove to my mother’s house.
Dante followed in another car after I told him where I was going.
He did not enter until I invited him.
Mom looked twenty years older.
I placed the photograph down.
“Enough.”
She cried.
I did not comfort her.
“Tell me everything.”
So she did.
My mother had loved Salvatore Moretti first.
Before Adrian.
Before Thomas.
Before me.
Salvatore was already married.
She ended it.
Then she met Adrian Vale.
Adrian worked for Salvatore.
Financial operations.
Money moved through hotels, warehouses, political campaigns.
Adrian wanted out.
Salvatore wanted him silent.
Then my mother became pregnant.
Adrian believed the baby was his.
My mother did too.
Until years later.
“What are you saying?” I whispered.
Mom looked at Dante.
Then me.
“Adrian may not have been your biological father.”
My body went cold.
“The genetic test—”
“Proves you’re related to Sofia through the Vale line.”
“Yes.”
“But Sofia’s mother was Salvatore’s sister.”
Dante stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
“No.”
I stopped breathing.
If Salvatore was my biological father—
Dante and I—
My stomach turned.
Mom immediately shook her head.
“No. No. Lena, listen.”
“What?”
“Dante isn’t Salvatore’s biological son.”
Silence.
Dante looked like someone had shot him.
“What?”
His voice barely existed.
Mom covered her face.
“Your mother told me.”
“My mother died when I was sixteen.”
“I know.”
“Who was my father?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante stared at her.
I watched everything he believed about himself fracture.
Then my mother said the words that would change all of us.
“But Sofia knows.”
Because Sofia had not entered our marriage simply because she wanted Dante.
May you like
She had come looking for the truth about both of us.
And somewhere along the way, she had decided destroying us was easier than telling it.
