Chapter 2 - THE BROTHER WHO DIED TWICE
Dante moved the interrogation upstairs, away from the dining room and the curious eyes
gathering behind frosted glass. The restaurant’s top floor contained a private office no
guest knew existed, a dark room of walnut shelves, old books, and windows overlooking
rain-polished Paris. From there, the city looked almost peaceful. Cars traced ribbons of
light along the boulevard, and the Seine in the distance reflected the gold of the bridges.
Émilie found the view obscene. Nothing outside had changed, yet everything she believed
about Gabriel had cracked open in less than ten minutes.
She kept Lina against her chest while Dante stood behind a desk, one hand resting on the
back of a leather chair. Rocco and another guard remained by the door. Neither spoke. They
had surrendered their phones with everyone else. Dante had ordered the restaurant’s internal
network isolated, security feeds copied, and every employee accounted for. The efficiency of
it all disturbed Émilie. He had gone from stained dinner guest to commander of a lockdown
without raising his voice.
“How long were you with Gabriel?” Dante asked. “Almost two years.” His brow tightened.
“That’s impossible.” “Why?” “Because for the last three years, Gabriel was supposedly living
between Milan, Zurich, and Monaco. He told the family he was overseeing investment
projects.”
Émilie gave a humorless laugh. “He lived six streets from Bastille. He bought terrible
coffee at the same bakery every morning and complained that the upstairs neighbor practiced
trumpet at two in the morning. If he was in Monaco, he had a very convincing apartment in
Paris.”
The answer hit Dante harder than she expected. He turned toward the window, jaw clenched.
For years, he had accepted Gabriel’s distance as rebellion. His younger brother had always
hated the family’s rules, the bodyguards, the expectation that blood mattered more than
freedom. Dante had believed that sending him abroad had kept him safe. Now he understood
that Gabriel had not left the family. He had hidden from it.
“Did he use his real name with you from the beginning?” Dante asked. “Yes.” “And he never
explained what that name meant?” “Not really. He said his family had money. He said they
were dangerous. He said he wanted a life that didn’t belong to them.”
Dante smiled without amusement. “At least he told you one complete truth.” Émilie shifted
Lina, who had begun chewing sleepily on the edge of the carrier. “You keep talking as though
he betrayed you.”
“He let me bury him.” “You buried a coffin?” Dante said nothing. That silence answered more
than words could. Émilie stared at him. “There was no body.”
“There were dental records. Personal effects. Witness reports from the marina. His signet
ring was recovered from the wreckage.” “But no body.” “No.” “And you believed he was dead.”
“I had reasons.” “Or someone gave you reasons.” The sentence landed between them. Rocco
looked at Dante, then immediately away. Dante’s expression hardened, but not at Émilie. He
was remembering the report, the photographs, the official calls, and one detail that had
tormented him: Gabriel hated boats. Their father had once forced them onto a yacht during a
storm when they were children. Gabriel had been seasick for hours and refused to set foot on
one afterward. Dante had dismissed that contradiction because grief makes fools of the
intelligent.
“How old is Lina?” he asked. “Five months and twelve days.” He calculated quickly. Gabriel
had vanished six months ago. He had known the child was coming. “He knew?”
Émilie looked down at her daughter. “He chose her name.” Dante’s face changed again. She
reached into the carrier and touched the empty place on Lina’s wrist where the bracelet had
been. “The last time I saw him, I was eight months pregnant. He arrived after midnight. It
was raining so hard I didn’t hear him knock at first. When I opened the door, he pushed
inside and locked it behind him.”
Dante sat for the first time. “Was he injured?” “He had a cut above his eye. His knuckles
were bruised. There was blood on his collar that I don’t think was his.”
“Did he say who attacked him?” “No. I asked. He told me knowing would put me in more
danger.” Émilie closed her eyes, and the office disappeared. She was back in the apartment,
barefoot on cold tiles, wearing one of Gabriel’s old shirts over her swollen belly. Rain
rattled the windows. Gabriel moved from room to room, pulling curtains, switching off
lights, unplugging devices. He removed the battery from his phone and smashed the SIM card
with the handle of a kitchen knife.
“He told me to pack one bag,” she continued. “Documents, cash, clothes for the baby. Nothing
else. I asked where we were going. He said he hadn’t decided.”
“What happened next?” “He sat me down at the kitchen table and gave me the bracelet. He
said, ‘When Lina is born, put this on her. Never sell it. Never give it to anyone. If I come
back, I’ll explain.’”
Dante turned the bracelet over in his palm. “And if he didn’t come back?” Émilie’s eyes
filled, but she refused to look away. “He said I should disappear.”
Dante leaned forward. “Disappear from whom?” “He wouldn’t tell me.” “Think.” “I have thought
about nothing else for six months.” The force in her voice silenced the room. Lina startled,
and Émilie immediately softened, pressing her lips to the baby’s hair. Dante watched her and
felt a pain he had not expected. Gabriel had left this woman pregnant and terrified, but he
had also trusted her with something he trusted no one in his own family to carry.
Émilie resumed more quietly. “He knelt in front of me. Put one hand on my stomach. Lina
kicked, and he laughed. Just once. It was the last normal sound I ever heard from him. Then
he looked at me and said, ‘If anything happens, don’t call my father. Don’t call my brother.
Don’t call anyone named Valenti.’”
Dante’s eyes hardened. “He specifically said me?” “He said everyone.” “Why?” “Because the
person searching for him wore the same name.” Outside, thunder rolled over the city.
Dante stood and began pacing. “Gabriel knew hundreds of people in the family network.
Cousins. uncles. employees who grew up around us. Valenti isn’t only blood; it’s a brand. A
dozen people could use it.”
“Then why fake his death?” “We don’t know that he did.” “You said there was no body.” “And I
said I had evidence.” “Evidence can be manufactured.” Dante stopped. Émilie had no idea how
many times he had forced others to accept that exact principle. Documents lied. cameras
lied. witnesses lied for money, fear, loyalty, or survival. Yet grief had made him accept
paperwork as certainty.
Rocco’s phone, sealed in a clear evidence pouch on the desk, suddenly vibrated. Then Dante’s
did the same. Then the office landline rang. No one moved.
Dante pointed to the landline. Rocco answered, listened, and his face changed. “Security
says someone accessed the service corridor camera nine minutes ago from inside the
building.”
“Who?” “They don’t know. The login belongs to an employee who called in sick.” Dante looked
toward the bracelet again. Émilie felt a chill. “Someone knows I’m here.”
Before Dante could answer, Lina reached toward the bracelet and gave a small frustrated cry.
The medal turned in his hand, exposing a narrow seam beneath the falcon.
Dante stared at it. “That wasn’t there before,” Émilie said. “Yes, it was,” he murmured. “We
just never knew where to press.” He took a thin letter opener from the desk, slid its edge
against the seam, and pressed.
The oval medal clicked open. Inside, beneath a layer of polished silver, sat a memory card
smaller than a fingernail. Émilie covered her mouth. Dante did not blink.
Six months of grief, betrayal, and unanswered questions had just been reduced to a black
May you like
square resting inside a baby’s bracelet. And somewhere in the building, someone had already
come to take it.
