165.🥂 The Bruised Wrist That Shattered the Mafia Boss’s Engagement

Chapter 10 - The Sister in the Photograph

Sofia’s sister was not a sister anyone talked about.

That was the first thing Dante told me after the call.

We were in his office now, a room of dark wood, legal files, and framed photographs turned slightly away from the light. The mansion outside the door had become a machine of whispered orders.

“Her name is Nina,” Dante said. “Twenty-six. She disappeared from public life two years ago.”

“Why?”

“Officially? Rehab in Europe.”

“And unofficially?”

He opened a file on his desk.

A photograph lay inside.

A young woman with Sofia’s dark eyes sat in a garden chair, wrapped in a blanket, smiling weakly at whoever had taken the picture. The photo was dated six weeks earlier.

“She’s been in a private care facility outside the city,” Dante said.

“What happened to her?”

“Car accident. Spinal cord injury.”

The words landed between us.

Liam.

Nina.

Two families. Two bodies changed forever. Two women held in place by the people who claimed to be protecting them.

“Sofia’s father hid her,” Dante said. “He believed weakness damaged negotiations.”

I touched my bruised wrist without meaning to.

“And Carlo used her.”

“He uses whatever people love.”

That was the truest description of evil I had ever heard.

Sofia’s call had been brief. Carlo had taken Nina from the facility that afternoon, the same time Liam was moved. One hostage to control me. One hostage to control Sofia.

Cruelty, organized neatly.

Dante called Sofia back and put the phone on speaker.

“Where are you?”

She was breathing hard. “St. Brigid’s Chapel. The old one by the river.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Lie better.”

Silence.

Then Sofia whispered, “Carlo said if I brought you there with police, he would send Nina back in pieces.”

Dante’s jaw tightened.

I looked away.

Even in fiction rich people used prettier threats. Real fear was uglier, blunter, smaller.

Dante spoke carefully. “Listen to me. He wants me angry. He wants me careless. I will not give him either.”

“He knows about the tray.”

“I assumed.”

“He knows about the tape.”

“I assumed that too.”

“He said he has the original ledger. The one your father kept.”

Dante looked at Marco, who had just entered.

Marco nodded once, already moving.

Sofia’s voice broke. “Dante, I hurt Emma because I thought if I kept everything on track, Nina would be safe. I know that doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” Dante said. “It doesn’t.”

“I’m going to help you anyway.”

“Why?”

She laughed once, bitterly. “Because the woman in red finally ran out of mirrors.”

The line went dead.

Dante stood.

I stood too.

He gave me a look.

I raised my left hand. “Don’t.”

“You’re injured.”

“My wrist is bruised. My judgment is excellent.”

“That remains under review.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped me.

His eyes softened for less than a second.

Then the boss returned.

At St. Brigid’s Chapel, the river wind cut through coats and found bone. The church had been closed for years, its stained glass boarded, its bell tower empty. Sofia stood near the front steps, red gown hidden beneath a black coat, face pale in the rain.

She looked at my wrist.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

I did not answer.

Some apologies have to sit outside in the rain a while before anyone decides what they are worth.

Inside the chapel, candles burned at the altar.

Carlo sat in the front pew.

Beside him was a wheelchair.

Nina sat in it, blanket over her knees, eyes furious.

“Finally,” Carlo said. “Everyone’s conscience has arrived.”

Then he reached into his coat and placed a black ledger on the pew.

Dante stopped walking.