Chapter 4 - THE NIGHT THE MAFIA BOSS FOLLOWED ME|
The rain was falling hard enough to turn Seattle's streets into rivers of reflected light.
Dante sat beside me in the back of his armored SUV.
His wheelchair was secured behind the front passenger seat, and the vehicle's adapted restraints had been checked twice before we left.
Marcus drove.
Two security vehicles followed at a distance.
I watched the city slide past the tinted windows, trying to decide whether I had just made the bravest decision of my life or the stupidest.
"You should have stayed home," I whispered.
Dante looked at me.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"According to whom?"
"According to every reasonable person on earth."
He smiled faintly.
"That sounds like a very crowded meeting."
I couldn't help laughing.
Then the laughter disappeared.
"What if Noah isn't there?"
"Then we look somewhere else."
"What if someone is waiting to hurt us?"
"Then Marcus earns his ridiculous salary."
From the driver's seat, Marcus muttered, "I heard that."
"Good," Dante replied.
For a few seconds, the tension eased.
But as we approached the industrial district south of downtown, my stomach tightened again.
The address led to an old storage facility surrounded by chain-link fencing.
Several units had rusted doors.
Half the exterior lights were broken.
And there wasn't another car in sight.
Marcus parked outside the security gate.
"Nobody moves until we've cleared the property."
Dante nodded.
"Agreed."
I glanced at him.
He raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"You're actually following instructions."
"Don't make it a habit of expecting that."
Marcus and two guards checked the surrounding buildings.
Ten minutes later, he returned.
"One unit is unlocked."
"Which one?" I asked.
"Thirty-seven."
My phone had shown the number thirty-seven in the corner of the photograph.
Dante looked toward the building.
"Then let's see what someone wants us to find."
The ramp descended from the SUV.
Dante maneuvered his wheelchair onto the cracked pavement.
I walked beside him.
Not pushing.
Not directing.
Just staying close.
He glanced up at me.
"You're learning."
I frowned.
"What?"
"You haven't tried to steer me once."
"Don't tempt me."
His smile returned.
Unit thirty-seven smelled of dust and damp cardboard.
A single overhead bulb illuminated a metal table.
On it sat a small cardboard box.
Beside the box was a photograph.
I recognized the person in it before I reached the table.
Noah.
My brother.
He looked thinner than I remembered.
His hair was longer.
But it was him.
I picked up the photograph with shaking fingers.
"He's alive."
Dante watched my face.
"Anna—"
"He's alive, Dante."
Tears blurred my vision.
For two years, every unanswered call had felt like a step toward something terrible.
And now I was holding proof that my brother had survived.
Then I turned the photograph over.
A message was written on the back.
"THE SAME PEOPLE WHO DESTROYED ME ARE TRYING TO DESTROY HIM."
Beneath it were two initials.
N.F.
I pressed the photograph against my chest.
"Noah left this."
Marcus examined the box.
"Don't open it yet."
He checked its exterior, then motioned for one of his men to scan it.
Nothing suspicious appeared.
Inside were three folders, an old phone, and a silver USB drive.
Dante reached for the first folder.
I noticed the logo immediately.
HARBORPOINT MEDICAL SERVICES.
My former employer's parent company.
The second folder carried the emblem of the Moretti Foundation.
The third contained financial records from a logistics subsidiary.
Dante's expression changed as he examined the pages.
"What?" I asked.
He held up a transfer authorization.
"These are foundation disbursements."
"To hospitals?"
"To companies that don't appear to provide medical services."
Marcus leaned closer.
Dante turned another page.
"Shell companies."
My heart dropped.
"Money laundering?"
"Possibly."
"Through the charity?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
He studied a signature on the bottom of a transfer.
Then his face became pale.
"That's Lorenzo's authorization."
I stared at him.
"Your brother?"
"Yes."
Marcus took the document.
"And the second signature belongs to Victoria Bellini."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
For six years, Dante had trusted Lorenzo with the public operations of his foundation.
Victoria had served on its fundraising committee.
Together, they controlled millions of dollars intended for spinal cord rehabilitation research, accessible housing, and families facing catastrophic medical expenses.
And now we were looking at evidence suggesting that money had been diverted.
"How could Noah have found this?" I asked.
Marcus opened the third folder.
"HarborPoint managed the foundation's medical reimbursement accounts."
Dante looked at me.
"Your brother worked in financial compliance, didn't he?"
I nodded.
"He was hired to investigate irregular billing."
"And someone accused him of fraud after he began asking questions."
My stomach twisted.
"Yes."
Dante slowly lowered the folder.
"Anna, I think your brother discovered the scheme before anyone else."
I looked at the photograph again.
"Then why didn't he go to the police?"
Marcus answered.
"Maybe he did."
A sudden metallic sound echoed outside.
Every head turned.
Marcus raised a hand.
His guards moved toward the entrance.
Then a voice came from the darkness.
"Don't let them take the phone."
My heart stopped.
I knew that voice.
"Noah?"
A figure stepped beneath the flickering light.
He wore a dark raincoat.
His face was thinner, older, exhausted.
But his eyes were exactly as I remembered.
"Anna."
I dropped the photograph.
Before Marcus could stop me, I ran.
Noah caught me in his arms.
For one perfect moment, I was no longer inside a dangerous warehouse surrounded by armed men.
I was a little girl again, hugging the brother who used to carry me home when I fell asleep in the car.
"Where have you been?" I cried.
"I'm sorry."
"Two years, Noah."
"I know."
"You disappeared."
"I know."
I pulled back.
"Why?"
His eyes moved toward Dante.
Then toward Marcus.
"Because every time I tried to tell the truth, someone died."
The words froze me.
Dante approached slowly.
"Who died?"
Noah stared at him.
"Your accident wasn't an accident."
The room seemed to tilt.
Dante's hands tightened on his wheelchair.
"What did you say?"
Noah swallowed.
"Six years ago, your car went off the mountain road because someone tampered with its braking system."
Marcus took a step forward.
"That investigation was closed."
"It was closed because the evidence disappeared."
Dante's face had gone completely still.
"Do you have proof?"
Noah nodded toward the phone in the box.
"There's a recording."
Marcus retrieved the device.
Noah looked at me.
"I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
"You didn't."
His expression broke.
"Anna, they hired you because of me."
I stared.
"What?"
"They wanted someone close to Dante whose history they could use."
Dante looked sharply toward Marcus.
"Who arranged Anna's employment?"
Marcus answered without hesitation.
"Lorenzo."
The realization struck like ice water.
Lorenzo had interviewed me.
Lorenzo had recommended me.
Lorenzo had insisted that my old professional difficulties wouldn't matter.
He hadn't been showing kindness.
He had been preparing a weapon.
Noah reached for my hands.
"You need to get away from the estate."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Anna, listen to me."
"I'm done running from people who hide behind lies."
Dante looked at me.
Then at Noah.
"Neither of you is running."
A distant engine roared outside.
Marcus turned.
One of his guards shouted through the doorway.
"Three vehicles approaching!"
Noah's expression changed.
"They followed me."
Marcus drew his weapon and ordered everyone away from the entrance.
Dante turned his wheelchair toward the rear exit.
"Anna, stay beside me."
A crash echoed through the facility as a vehicle struck the outer gate.
Then another.
I heard shouting.
Metal buckled.
And suddenly, the storage building filled with the shrill cry of an alarm.
Marcus directed us toward a service corridor.
But before we reached it, Noah caught my arm.
"The recording," he said.
I looked at the old phone.
"What's on it?"
His face crumpled.
"Someone ordering the sabotage."
"Who?"
Noah glanced at Dante.
Then whispered the answer.
"The person who cried beside his hospital bed."
Dante stopped moving.
For six years, Lorenzo had sat beside him, promising to take care of everything.
And now the man who had almost become Dante's legal guardian was standing at the center of a conspiracy that had stolen far more than money.
It had stolen six years of Dante's life.
Then a gunshot cracked somewhere outside.
Marcus shouted for us to move.
I grabbed the phone.
May you like
Dante caught my hand.
And we disappeared into the dark service corridor as the warehouse alarms screamed behind us.
