Chapter 8 - The Ledger’s Price
Dante didn't wait for Marcus to draw his weapon. With a speed that caught us both off guard, he reached into the vehicle, his hand gripping the edge of the passenger seat while his other hand held a heavy, antique silver key toward me.
“Tell your husband to step out of the house right now, Claire, or the next transfer won't be to your bank account—it’ll be to a federal grand jury,” Dante hissed, his eyes wide and unhinged beneath his wet dark hair.
Marcus shifted instantly, his forearm coming down like a steel bar across the gap between the front seats, pinning Dante's wrist against the door frame with a sickening crunch of leather and bone.
“Back off, Dante,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a lethal growl as his right hand drew his sidearm with absolute, mechanical precision, pressing the barrel directly against the window glass inches from Dante’s face.
Dante winced in pain, his face twisting into a bitter sneer as he glared at Marcus, then back at me.
“You think you’re so smart, don't you?” Dante spat, blood trickling from a small cut near his collar where Marcus had pinned him. “You think Adrian brought you back because he missed you? He brought you back because he's terrified. He knows the feds are closing in on the shipping ports, and he’s using you as a human shield to hide his liquidity.”
“Get out of the car, Dante,” I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline hammering in my chest. I looked down at the notification still glowing on my phone screen—the fifteen thousand dollars sent by Elena. “And save the speech. I know about the trust.”
Dante stopped struggling against Marcus’s arm. His eyes flicked to my face, narrowing with suspicion. “What did you say?”
“I said I know about Elena’s trust,” I repeated, leaning forward so the overhead console light caught my face. “The one she funded through the pre-incorporation deeds. You thought you and my mother-in-law were the only ones playing chess, Dante? You didn't steal those divorce asset papers from Adrian's safe. Elena gave them to you, didn't she?”
Dante’s expression flickered—just for a fraction of a second—betraying the truth before he quickly masked it with a cynical laugh.
“The old woman is smarter than you think,” Dante muttered, struggling slightly against Marcus’s grip. “She knew Adrian was going soft. She knew his obsession with you was going to bring down the entire portfolio. She handed me the keys so I could clean house and keep the family intact while Adrian played domestic househusband.”
“Is that why she sent me fifteen thousand dollars ten minutes ago?” I asked, holding up my phone screen so he could see the transaction details.
Dante stared at the screen, and for the first time, genuine confusion cut through his anger.
“That’s impossible,” Dante whispered. “Elena didn't send any money. She locked her private accounts yesterday morning.”
Before I could press him further, the front doors of the Winnetka mansion flew open with a loud bang.
Adrian stepped out onto the portico. His jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hands were stained with something dark and wet that caught the amber porch light.
He didn't look like a corporate executive or a grieving ex-husband.
He looked like a man who had just found out his entire world had been built on a foundation of ash.
Marcus instantly pulled his arm back, releasing Dante, who stumbled backward onto the wet gravel, gasping for air. But Dante didn't run. He straightened his coat, wiped the blood from his collar, and looked past Marcus toward the porch where Adrian was slowly walking down the steps.
“You’re too late, cousin,” Dante called out, his voice echoing across the courtyard. “Mother didn't give me those papers because she wanted to destroy the family. She gave them to me because she knew you wouldn't have the stomach to do what needed to be done.”
Adrian stopped at the base of the steps. He didn't look at Dante.
His dark eyes were fixed entirely on the SUV, staring straight through the tinted glass at me.
May you like
“Claire,” Adrian said, his voice shaking with a raw, shattered emotion I had never heard from him before. “Get out of the car. You need to see this.”
---
