The Little Girl at My Gates

PART 3 — THE MAN WHO WOULD BURN CHICAGO

I ordered my men to bring the surveillance footage to my study.

Within minutes, I was watching a black sedan parked across the street from my gates. Its windows were tinted, and its license plate was concealed.

At 7:31 a.m., the driver raised a camera toward my property.

At 7:42, Sophie entered my gates.

At 7:45, the car drove away.

Someone had been watching my daughter before I even knew she existed.

“Find that car,” I ordered. “Quietly. I want the driver identified before sunset.”

Angelo nodded and left.

I turned toward Isabella, who stood near the fireplace, twisting her fingers together.

“From this moment on, you’re staying here.”

She shook her head immediately.

“You can’t decide that for me.”

“I can when someone is watching my five-year-old daughter.”

“Dante, you don’t understand. Your enemies—”

“Then explain them to me!”

My voice echoed through the study.

Isabella flinched.

I immediately regretted shouting, but the damage was done.

She lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I won’t hurt you. But I need to know everything.”

After a long silence, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a small envelope.

“I kept this because I never knew whether I would have the courage to give it to you.”

Inside was a letter written in my father’s unmistakable handwriting.

I recognized the signature before I finished the first paragraph.

Isabella, you will leave Chicago and never contact my son again. If you disobey, neither you nor the child will be safe. Dante must never learn that the baby exists.

My fingers tightened around the paper.

Beneath the letter was a photograph of Isabella standing outside a hospital, holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pink blanket.

Sophie.

On the back, my father had written three words.

She is your weakness.

Something inside me went cold.

My father had died two years earlier, taking his secrets to the grave. But the threats had been real, and someone might still be carrying out his orders.

“Who gave you this?” I asked.

“A man who worked for your father. He came to my apartment shortly after Sophie was born. He told me your father had people watching me and that I should never return to Chicago.”

“Do you remember his name?”

She hesitated.

“Victor Hale.”

I knew that name.

Victor had been my father’s most trusted security adviser. After my father’s death, he disappeared with several confidential family records and a substantial amount of money.

I had assumed he had fled the country.

Apparently, I had been wrong.

Before I could ask another question, a cheerful voice came from the doorway.

“Dante! Mommy says I can stay for lunch!”

Sophie rushed into the room, carrying a plate of chocolate cake.

She stopped when she noticed my expression.

“Are you angry?”

I knelt in front of her.

“No, sweetheart.”

The word escaped before I could think about it.

Sweetheart.

Her face brightened.

“Mommy calls me that!”

“I know.”

She studied me carefully, then leaned closer.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Are you my daddy?”

Behind her, Isabella covered her mouth.

The room became painfully quiet.

I looked into Sophie’s bright eyes and saw pieces of myself I had never expected to find in another person.

I could have avoided the question. I could have waited until I understood every danger surrounding us.

But she deserved the truth.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m your daddy.”

Sophie stared at me for several seconds.

Then she dropped her plate onto the desk, threw her little arms around my neck, and hugged me with all her strength.

“I knew it!” she cried. “You have the same eyes as my picture!”

I held her carefully, afraid that if I moved too quickly, the moment might disappear.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” I murmured into her hair.

She pulled back and frowned.

“That’s okay. But you have to come to my school on Friday. All the other daddies come.”

My throat tightened.

“I’ll be there.”

“And you have to meet my teacher.”

“I will.”

“And Bruno has to come, too.”

I glanced at the enormous German Shepherd lying beside the door.

“We’ll discuss that.”

Sophie giggled.

For one brief moment, my mansion felt like a home rather than a fortress.

Then my phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

A message appeared on the screen.

Enjoy your reunion, Moretti. You should have left the girl in the past. You have twenty-four hours to send Isabella away, or you’ll learn what happened to your father’s secrets.

Attached was a photograph taken only minutes earlier.

It showed Sophie hugging me in my study.

Someone had taken it from outside the window.

My blood turned to ice.

I lifted my head and looked toward the darkened glass.

They weren’t merely watching the gates.

They were inside my security perimeter—or close enough to see everything happening within my home.

I handed Sophie to Isabella and pressed the emergency alarm.

“Angelo! Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves, and nobody enters without my authorization!”

My guards rushed into position.

Isabella held Sophie tightly, her face drained of color.

“They’ve found us,” she whispered.

I took the photograph from my phone and stared at the little girl in my arms.

For six years, I had built my empire around the belief that fear made me untouchable.

Now I understood how wrong I had been.

Fear had kept a mother and daughter away from me for half a decade.

It had stolen every birthday, every bedtime story, every ordinary moment I should have shared with my child.

I would never allow it to steal another.

I kissed Sophie’s forehead and looked at Isabella.

“Take her upstairs. Stay with her, and don’t open the door for anyone but me.”

“Dante, what are you going to do?”

I slipped the phone into my pocket.

“Find out who thinks he can threaten my family.”

As they left, Sophie looked over Isabella’s shoulder and called to me.

“Daddy?”

I turned.

“Will you still come to my school on Friday?”

I forced a smile.

“Nothing in this world will stop me.”

She smiled back before disappearing up the staircase.

Then my expression hardened.

Because the man who had sent that message had made one terrible mistake.

He had assumed that threatening my daughter would make me surrender.

He had no idea what Dante Moretti was willing to do to protect the people he loved.

And by sunrise, Chicago would begin to understand.

To be continued…