Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Sunlight
By the following week, Mara had settled into her new role with a quiet efficiency that left the household staff thoroughly impressed.
She quickly mastered the intricate scheduling of the estate, coordinated with the security team without stepping on their toes, and spent every afternoon reading stories to Ava in the sunroom or helping her paint watercolors. For the first time in her life, Mara felt secure. The constant, gnawing anxiety of living paycheck to paycheck had vanished, replaced by a stable routine and a profound sense of purpose.
Yet, Dante’s world was not one that permitted permanent peace without vigilance.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Dante sat in his private study on the third floor of the mansion, reviewing shipping manifests from the European ports. Mercer stood near the window, watching the rain beat against the glass panes.
“The New York council has officially restructured,” Mercer reported, his voice low. “They’ve installed a neutral elder to oversee our sector while they vet candidates for Lorenzo’s permanent replacement. No one wants another war, boss. They know what happened to Lorenzo, and they know you spared his life by sending him packing instead of putting him in the ground. They consider it a sign of strength.”
“It wasn't mercy,” Dante said coldly, not looking up from his papers. “It was efficiency. A dead traitor becomes a martyr for rival factions; an exiled traitor is a living warning to anyone else who thinks my family is a soft target.”
“Agreed,” Mercer nodded. Then his expression darkened slightly. “There is one other thing. The local police department has been sniffing around the Bellamy House incident. Higgins, the restaurant manager, tried to tell them it was an accidental food contamination case, but the lab reports we swapped out left a paper trail at the private clinic where we had Ava checked.”
Dante’s pen stopped moving across the paper. He looked up, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. “Who is leading the inquiry?”
“Detective Miller,” Mercer replied. “An old-school precinct cop out of the 19th District. Unbribable, stubborn, and convinced that the Moretti family is hiding something major about that night.”
Dante tapped his fingers rhythmically against the wooden desk. “Miller has jurisdiction over the restaurant, but he has no jurisdiction over my private residence or medical records unless a judge signs off on a warrant. Get in touch with our legal counsel—the new one—and make sure all medical records remain under strict physician-patient confidentiality.”
“Already handled,” Mercer said. “Though Miller might try to question the Bellamy House staff. Including Mara.”
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Dante’s jaw tightened. The thought of police officers cornering Mara, dredging up the trauma of that night, and trying to intimidate her stirred an unfamiliar, protective fury in his chest.
“He won't get near her,” Dante stated, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “If Miller wants to investigate, let him come through me.”
