Chapter 4: The Brother Who Came Back from the Dead
For twelve years, Dante Russo had believed his younger brother was dead.
Now, the man standing at the end of Mrs. Price's hallway wore Michael's face.
He looked older than the photograph on Dante's office wall. His dark hair had silver at the temples, and a thin scar ran from his left eyebrow toward his cheek. But his eyes were unmistakable.
Sophia gasped.
“Uncle Michael?””
The man smiled at her.
It was a gentle smile. Almost affectionate.
“Hello, little star.””
Dante stepped in front of his daughter.
“Don't you dare call her that.””
Michael's smile faded.
“It's been a long time, brother.””
“You're supposed to be dead.””
“I was.””
Dante's right hand disappeared beneath his jacket.
Mrs. Price pulled Sophia behind her.
“Dante, please. Not here.””
He didn't look at her.
“Twelve years,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“I buried an empty coffin because you were supposedly burned beyond recognition. I watched my mother stop eating. I watched my father die believing he'd failed to protect his youngest son.””
Michael lowered his eyes.
“I know.””
“No, you don't.”” Dante took one step forward.
“You don't know what I did to the men responsible. You don't know how many nights I spent wondering whether you suffered before you died.””
Michael looked up.
“I suffered.””
The words silenced the hallway.
For the first time, I saw something behind Dante's fury that resembled pain.
Then Michael glanced at me.
“And you must be Grace Bennett.””
I stiffened.
“How do you know my name?””
“Isabella mentioned you.””
“Where is she?””
Michael's expression hardened.
“Somewhere she shouldn't have gone.””
Dante lunged forward, grabbing his brother by the collar and slamming him against the wall.
“Where is my wife?””
Michael didn't fight back.
Instead, he looked over Dante's shoulder at Sophia.
“She's alive.””
Dante's grip tightened.
“Tell me where.””
“I can't.””
“You have three seconds.””
“Dante!”” Mrs. Price cried.
“If you hurt him before he tells us everything, Isabella dies.””
Dante froze.
Michael slowly straightened his jacket.
“That's why I came.””
He reached inside his coat.
Marco, who had arrived moments earlier with two men from Dante's security team, immediately drew his weapon.
“Hands where I can see them!””
Michael stopped.
“I'm taking out a photograph.””
“Use two fingers,” Marco ordered.
“Slowly.””
Michael complied.
He produced a small, folded photograph and held it between his fingers.
Dante took it.
The image showed Isabella sitting in a wooden chair, her wrists secured behind her back. Her face was pale, and a bruise darkened one cheek. Behind her stood a man whose face had been deliberately scratched out.
On the back, someone had written a message.
*Bring the girl to the place where Michael died. Come alone, or Isabella disappears forever.*
Dante crushed the photograph in his fist.
“Where did you get this?””
“From the people holding her.””
“Who are they?””
Michael glanced at me.
“Not everyone in your brother's organization is loyal to him.””
Dante's expression turned lethal.
“Names.””
“I don't have all of them.””
“You expect me to believe you survived twelve years, found my wife, and somehow don't know who's holding her?””
“I found Isabella because she came looking for me.””
“Why would my wife look for a dead man?””
Michael looked toward Sophia.
“Because she discovered what really happened the night I disappeared.””
Dante's jaw flexed.
“Tell me.””
Michael drew a slow breath.
“Twelve years ago, I found evidence that our father was moving money through a network of shell companies. I thought he was hiding assets from the authorities. I was wrong.””
“What did you find?””
“Payments to people who were supposed to be protecting us. Names of judges, police officers, federal informants. And a list of people who had been marked for elimination.””
Dante's face went pale.
“Our father would never—”
“Our father was afraid,” Michael interrupted.
“He'd discovered someone inside the family was selling information. He thought he could control the situation by paying everyone involved.””
“And you?””
“I took the records.””
Dante stared at him.
“You stole from our father?””
“I tried to expose the people who were destroying us.””
Michael's voice cracked.
“The night I disappeared, someone arranged a meeting at the old warehouse. I thought I was meeting our father. Instead, I walked into a trap.””
He touched the scar beside his eye.
“I escaped the fire. Barely. But by then, everyone believed I was dead. The people behind it made sure I understood what would happen if I returned.””
“Who?””
Michael shook his head.
“I don't know who ordered it. I know who carried it out.””
“Who?””
Michael looked directly at Dante.
“Your closest adviser.””
Marco's expression changed.
“That's impossible.””
“Is it?”” Michael asked.
“Where were you the night I disappeared, Marco?””
Marco stiffened.
“On an assignment for the boss's father.””
“Convenient.””
Dante raised his hand.
“Enough.””
His eyes moved between the two men.
He trusted Marco with his life. Marco had stood beside him through every war, every betrayal, every funeral.
But now doubt had entered the room.
And doubt was a dangerous thing in the Russo family.
“Michael,” Dante said, “if you're telling the truth, prove it.””
Michael nodded toward Mrs. Price.
“Ask Eleanor what Isabella left with her.””
Mrs. Price's face crumpled.
“I didn't want any of this to happen.””
“Eleanor,” Dante said, “what did my wife give you?””
She hesitated before reaching into her cardigan.
From an inner pocket, she removed a tiny silver key.
“Isabella told me to give this to Grace,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“Why me?””
“Because she said you were the only person outside the family who hadn't learned to be afraid of Dante Russo.””
Dante turned toward me.
I had no idea what to say.
Mrs. Price placed the key in my palm.
“There's a locker at Penn Station. Isabella said the envelope would explain everything.””
I closed my fingers around the cold metal.
“The envelope was stolen.””
“No,” Michael said quietly.
“The envelope was a decoy.””
Everyone turned toward him.
He reached into his coat again, ignoring Marco's warning look, and produced a second, smaller envelope.
“This is the real one.””
Dante snatched it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper covered in Isabella's handwriting.
He read the first line.
Then the second.
His hands began to shake.
“What is it?”” I asked.
Dante looked at his brother.
Then he turned the page toward me.
At the bottom, beneath a list of names and bank accounts, Isabella had written one sentence.
*The man who ordered Michael's death is the same man who has been raising Sophia.*
Dante looked at his brother.
May you like
Michael looked back.
And neither of them said a word.
