Chapter 8 - The harbor secret
Dante instantly pushed Maya against the curved brick wall, shielding her with his body as he drew his weapon. He swept the flashlight beam up the spiraling metal staircase that wrapped around the inside of the lighthouse.
“Clara?” Dante called out, his voice echoing loudly up the hollow tower.
Only the sound of the crashing waves outside answered him.
Keeping his weapon raised, Dante motioned for Maya to stay behind him as they slowly approached the wooden desk.
The coffee was still hot, a wisp of steam curling into the cool air. Next to the mug was a bright yellow folder, open and waiting to be read.
Dante picked up the folder. Maya peeked around his broad shoulder to read the contents.
Inside were dozens of glossy photographs and printed emails. The first photograph was a picture of Roman, the rival lieutenant who had broken the bakery window, shaking hands with an older man in a dark tailored suit.
Maya gasped. “That’s Tony. Tony Martinelli.”
Dante’s blood ran cold. He stared at the photograph of the Bellanote restaurant owner. Tony was one of Dante’s oldest and most trusted advisors. Tony had known Dante since he was a child.
“Look at the emails,” Maya pointed to the documents beneath the photos.
Dante quickly read through them. It was a complete record of communication between Tony and the rival syndicate. Tony had been feeding them information about Dante’s shipping routes, his security codes, and his schedules.
But the last email was the one that made Dante’s heart stop.
Date: Monday, three days ago.
From: T. Martinelli
To: Roman
Message: Russo is getting suspicious. We accelerate the plan. Take the wife and the child on Tuesday afternoon when they visit the park. Hold them ransom for the territory.
“Oh my god,” Maya whispered, covering her mouth with her hands.
“She found this,” Dante said, his voice trembling with a terrifying, cold rage. “Clara found this on Monday night. She knew Tony was going to kidnap her and Sophia on Tuesday.”
“So she ran,” Maya realized. “She ran on Tuesday morning before they could get her. She didn't leave because she hated you, Dante. She left to draw Tony’s men away from Sophia and the estate. She made herself the target.”
Dante closed his eyes, the heavy weight of the realization crashing down on him. Clara had sacrificed everything to protect their daughter. And Tony—the man who served them pasta just hours ago, the man who smiled at Sophia—was planning to sell them out.
Suddenly, the soft scraping sound of a shoe on metal echoed from above.
Dante snapped his gun up toward the top of the stairs. “Show yourself!”
Slowly, footsteps descended the metal spiral. A woman emerged from the shadows into the soft light of the camping lantern.
She had bright blonde hair tied back in a messy knot, and piercing blue eyes that looked exhausted. She wore simple jeans and a thick woolen sweater.
“Clara,” Dante breathed, lowering his weapon.
Clara stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She looked at Dante, her eyes filling with tears, before shifting her gaze to Maya. A small, relieved smile touched her lips.
“You solved it,” Clara said to Maya. “I knew you were smart enough.”
“You used me,” Maya said softly, though the anger was gone, replaced by understanding.
“I had to,” Clara pleaded. “Tony monitors all of Dante’s men. He monitors the house, the phones, the bank accounts. I couldn't trust anyone in our world. I needed someone outside the syndicate. I needed a pure heart. That’s why I bought you the bakery, Maya. I needed you to have the deed so that if I died, the lockbox wouldn't fall to Dante’s estate—it would belong to you.”
“Tony is going to pay for this,” Dante growled, stepping toward his wife.
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“Tony already knows I’m alive,” Clara said, shaking her head. “Roman didn't throw that rock at the bakery just to scare you, Dante. They followed you there. And they followed you here.”
Outside the heavy metal door, the distinct crunch of multiple tires on the gravel driveway echoed through the night. Bright headlights suddenly flooded through the small glass window of the lighthouse door.
