Chapter 6: The Truth About Sophia's Father
Dante Russo didn't shout when he realized his daughter was missing.
He didn't throw the radio against the wall or threaten to kill the man who had taken her.
He simply stood motionless in the middle of Penn Station, listening to the silence.
Then he turned to me.
“Who knew we were coming here?””
“Mrs. Price. Your men. Elena.””
“And Michael.””
I stared at him.
“You think your brother took her?””
“I think everyone who has ever stood beside me has a reason to lie.””
His voice was so quiet that I barely recognized it.
He picked up the recorder, slipped it into his coat, and started toward the station exit.
I followed.
“Dante, wait. The message said something about Sophia's father.””
He stopped.
For a moment, I thought he would refuse to discuss it.
Then he turned.
“Sophia is my daughter.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
The question struck harder than it should have.
I stepped closer.
“Your daughter loves you. Whatever that man said, he wanted to hurt you.””
Dante looked away.
For the first time, I noticed how tired he appeared beneath the expensive suit and carefully controlled expression.
“I raised her from the moment she was born,” he said.
“I held her when she had nightmares. I learned how to braid her hair because Isabella laughed at my first attempts. I sat beside her hospital bed when she had pneumonia.””
His voice broke.
“Does any of that matter if I don't know the truth?””
I didn't know how to answer.
So I did the only thing I could.
I took his hand.
He stared at our joined fingers as if he'd forgotten that anyone could touch him without wanting something in return.
Then his phone rang.
An unknown number.
Dante answered immediately.
“Where is my daughter?””
A man's voice replied, “Safe. For now.””
“Put her on the phone.””
“Not yet.””
“If you touch her—”
“You'll what? Burn another warehouse? Bury another brother? Order another woman silenced?””
Dante's face hardened.
“What do you want?””
“The truth.””
“I'll give you anything.””
“No,” the man said.
“You'll give me the original records, the recorder, and the woman standing beside you.””
My stomach dropped.
Dante looked at me.
“Grace is not involved.””
“Isn't she?””
The caller laughed.
“Ask her what Isabella gave her three nights ago.””
Dante's eyes narrowed.
I felt my blood run cold.
The man continued.
“Ask her what was written on the back of that photograph. Ask her why Isabella chose a waitress instead of her own husband.””
The call ended.
Dante lowered the phone.
I could feel his suspicion returning, brick by brick.
“Grace,” he said, “what else did Isabella tell you?””
I swallowed.
“Nothing that I haven't already explained.””
“Then why does he think you have something?””
“Because Isabella left me a note.””
“What note?””
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded paper.
Dante took it.
His eyes moved across the sentence.
If Dante finds you, ask him what happened to his brother.
He read it again.
“Why didn't you show me this earlier?””
“Because I didn't know what it meant. And because she looked terrified when she told me not to trust anyone in your family.””
“You could have told me.””
“You were the most feared man in Manhattan, and everyone around you was armed. Forgive me for not immediately handing you a note that might get me killed.””
For a moment, we simply stared at each other.
Then, unexpectedly, Dante nodded.
“You're right.””
The admission surprised me.
He slipped the note into his pocket.
“I'm sorry.””
I blinked.
“Did you just apologize?””
“Don't make me regret it.””
Despite everything, a small, disbelieving laugh escaped me.
Dante almost smiled.
Then his phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
It contained a photograph of Sophia sitting in a room with pale blue walls. She looked frightened but unharmed. Behind her, a tall figure stood with one hand resting on the back of her chair.
The caption read:
*Bring the woman to the old Russo estate. Alone.*
Beneath it was an address.
Dante's face turned white.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He showed me the photograph.
“That's my childhood home.””
“Who owns it now?””
“No one. The property was abandoned after my father died.””
“Then why take Sophia there?””
Dante stared at the image.
“Because that's where Michael disappeared.””
We drove north without speaking.
The old Russo estate stood beyond a rusted iron gate, hidden behind overgrown trees and a long gravel driveway. The mansion's windows were dark, its stone walls stained by years of rain.
I could barely imagine a child growing up there.
Dante stepped out of the SUV and stared at the building.
“My mother used to hang lanterns along the front steps every Christmas,” he said quietly.
“Michael and I would race each other to the top. Whoever lost had to help the servants decorate the tree.””
“What happened to your mother?””
“She died two years after Michael disappeared.””
“I'm sorry.””
He nodded.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he opened the trunk and removed a small flashlight.
“Stay behind me.””
We entered through the front door.
The air smelled of damp wood and dust. Our footsteps echoed through the grand foyer, where a faded family portrait still hung above the staircase.
Dante stopped beneath it.
The painting showed his parents, a teenage Dante, and a younger Michael.
Their father stood behind them with one hand resting on each son's shoulder.
Dante stared at the image.
“He told us family was the only thing that mattered.””
“Maybe he believed it.””
“He also taught us that loyalty was worth more than truth.””
He looked toward the dark corridor.
“I think that was his greatest mistake.””
A child's voice drifted from upstairs.
“Daddy?””
Dante ran.
I followed him through a narrow corridor and into a bedroom at the end of the hall.
Sophia sat on a small wooden chair.
She was alone.
Dante dropped to his knees and gathered her into his arms.
“Sweetheart!””
Sophia clung to him, crying.
“I knew you'd come!””
He pressed his face against her hair.
“I'm here. I'm here.””
I hurried toward them.
“Are you hurt?””
Sophia shook her head.
“They didn't hurt me.””
Dante pulled back slightly.
“Who brought you here?””
She pointed toward the doorway.
“Uncle Michael.””
A floorboard creaked behind us.
Michael stood in the hall.
He looked exhausted, his shirt stained with dirt, and his eyes moved immediately to Sophia.
“I told them not to frighten her,” he said.
Dante stood, keeping Sophia behind him.
“You took my daughter.””
“I brought her somewhere safe.””
“You kidnapped her.””
“I saved her from the people watching your house.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
Michael's expression tightened.
“No. I expect you to listen.””
Dante's hand moved beneath his jacket.
Michael raised both palms.
“Not until you hear the recording.””
He reached into his pocket and produced a small device.
“I found this in Father's study. It contains the conversation from the night I disappeared.””
Dante stared at it.
“Why didn't you bring it to me before?””
“Because I didn't know who I could trust.””
“You could have trusted me.””
Michael's eyes filled with something resembling grief.
“I did trust you.””
He pressed play.
A man's voice filled the room.
Their father's.
“If Michael discovers what happened to the child, none of us will survive.””
Then another voice answered.
A woman's voice.
Isabella's.
“You promised me Sophia would be safe.””
Dante went rigid.
The recording continued.
Their father spoke again.
“The girl must never learn who her biological father is.””
Sophia looked up at Dante.
“Daddy?””
He didn't answer.
The recording crackled.
Then Isabella whispered something that made Dante's knees nearly buckle.
“Michael is her father. And if Dante ever finds out, he'll kill his own brother.””
Silence swallowed the room.
Michael lowered the device.
Dante stared at him.
Then at Sophia.
Then back at his brother.
“No,” he whispered.
Michael's eyes filled with tears.
“Dante, listen to me—”
“Get out.””
“Please.””
“GET OUT!””
Sophia began to cry.
Dante immediately turned toward her, dropping to his knees.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry.””
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You're still my daddy, aren't you?””
Dante closed his eyes.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then he held her tighter.
“Always,” he whispered.
“No matter what anyone says, I'll always be your daddy.””
Behind him, Michael stood motionless.
And from somewhere downstairs, a phone began to ring.
Michael glanced toward the staircase.
His expression changed.
“Dante,” he whispered, “we have to leave.””
“Why?””
Michael looked toward the dark window.
“Because the man who ordered my death knows we're here.””
A gunshot shattered the silence.
The bedroom window exploded inward.
Dante threw himself over Sophia as glass rained across the floor.
Michael grabbed my arm and dragged me behind the bed.
Then a voice boomed through the mansion's loudspeakers.
“Dante Russo, bring me the girl.””
May you like
A pause.
“Or this time, I'll make sure your entire family stays dead.””
