Chapter 4 - The Second Locket
Alina stared at the second silver locket resting in Dante's broad, calloused palm. The hand-carved filigree pattern was an exact match to her own, catching the soft amber light of the nursery lamps.
"My mother had the twin?" Alina whispered, her fingers instinctively touching the pendant against her chest.
"My father held one, and your mother held the other," Dante explained, his gravelly voice quiet and absolute. "When my father died six months ago, the syndicate council demanded access to the secondary foundation accounts. But without both lockets, the vault in Zurich remains permanently sealed."
Alina looked up into Dante's dark, rugged face. "So you brought me here to get my necklace."
"I brought you here to keep you alive, Alina," Dante corrected, his tone dropping an octave into pure steel. "Marco Vance—the Don of the Chicago North syndicate—knows about the twin lockets. He has been searching for Clara’s daughter for ten years. If his men had reached that restaurant before I did, you would be in a concrete cell downtown."
Before Alina could process his words, a quiet knock sounded at the nursery door.
Frank stepped inside, holding an encrypted satellite tablet. "Boss. Marco Vance just called an emergency meeting of the Chicago Commission for tomorrow night at the St. Regis. He claims he has proof that the Rosselli family is hiding unregistered assets."
Dante didn't show a flicker of surprise. He adjusted his luxury wristwatch, his jaw setting like iron. "Tell the Commission I will attend."
"Boss, it's a trap," Frank warned softly. "Vance has thirty mercenaries stationed around the hotel."
"Then he will need thirty more," Dante replied coldly.
He turned back to Alina, his dark eyes softening slightly as he looked at her pale, determined face. "You and Leo stay in the east wing tomorrow night. My private guard will secure the floor."
Alina looked down at baby Leo, who stirred softly in his crib, reaching out his tiny hand in his sleep. She reached into the crib, gently stroking the baby's soft brown hair until he settled back into deep slumber.
"I'm not staying in the bedroom while you walk into an ambush, Mr. Rosselli," Alina said, her quiet determination flaring bright. "My mother taught me that when a storm comes, you don't hide under the bed. You watch the doors."
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Dante stared at her for three long seconds. A rare, genuine trace of respect touched his sharp features, a faint smile softening his rugged jaw.
"You carry your mother's fire, Alina," Dante murmured softly. "Very well. Tomorrow, you sit at my table."
