Chapter 5 Five

The Garden and the Ghost

Alessia couldn't sleep, The message kept replaying in her head, "Find the garden. Find the rose." The voice haunted her, smooth and dispassionate, like the whisper of a blade before it sank into flesh.

Dante had been silent since they watched the rooftop footage, showing her father walking across the scene minutes before the hit. Neither of them had said what they were both thinking that her father might have known what was coming, Or worse, orchestrated it.

She sat at the edge of the bed, clutching the burner phone, Dawn was still hours away, but she knew she wouldn't rest until she had answers.

The door creaked open.

Dante stood in the doorway, barefoot, shirtless, with only black drawstring pants clinging to his hips, His tattoos were a collection of shadows on his skin, the inked vines and blades as ominous as the expression on his face.

"You couldn't sleep either," she said quietly.

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him. "You said you recognized the voice."

"I didn't say I recognized it," she replied, "I said it sounded familiar."

Dante folded his arms, "You think your father is behind this."

"I don't want to think that," she said. "But he was on that rooftop, And he didn't warn me, Or Luca."

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Dante sat beside her, "You're not a pawn anymore, Alessia. You're a threat. And threats get eliminated in our world."

"I didn't ask for this war."

"Doesn't matter, You're in it."

She turned to him, voice low and trembling, "Then tell me something, if it comes down to choosing between me and your revenge, which will you pick?"

Dante's gaze met hers, sharp and unreadable, "That's not a fair question."

"But it's the truth," she whispered, "You and Luca were brothers, I get that, But if my father had a hand in this..."

His jaw flexed, "Then I'll kill him."

The words fell like lead.

Alessia turned away, chest tight, Her world was crumbling, each revelation tearing another piece from her.

Dante placed a hand on her back, his touch surprisingly gentle, "We don't know enough yet. Let's start with the garden."

She turned to him, "You think it's a place?"

"There's a private estate your father owns upstate, He used to call it 'The Winter Garden,' Kept it off the books. If there are answers, they might be there."

Alessia nodded, swallowing hard, "Then we go at dawn."

The drive to the Winter Garden estate took three hours, The road curved through thick forest and fog-cloaked hills, the sun barely piercing the morning mist. Alessia sat quietly in the passenger seat, dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket, her father's necklace hidden beneath her collar.

Dante drove like a man with ghosts behind him, focused, tense, and silent.

As they pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the estate, the house came into view. It was a sprawling Georgian mansion, elegant but cold. The surrounding gardens were wild now, vines climbing cracked statues, roses overgrown with thorns.

"I haven't been here since I was a kid," Alessia said as they parked, "My mother hated this place."

Dante stepped out first, scanning the grounds with a predator's focus. "That usually means it hid something."

The front doors were unlocked.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and disuse, The rooms smelled of old wood and forgotten perfume. Alessia led them down a corridor toward her father's old study, the room etched into her memory like a scar.

The desk was still there, oak, enormous, and carved with vines.

Dante moved swiftly, checking drawers, shelves, and vents.

Alessia crossed to the fireplace. Above it, an old oil painting of her mother and father hung in gold filigree, She remembered hating the portrait as a child, how stiff her mother looked, how cold her father's eyes were.

She tilted the frame, It swung open on hidden hinges, revealing a small safe set into the wall.

"I forgot about this," she murmured.

Dante joined her, "Let me."

He knelt, pulling tools from his coat pocket. Within seconds, the safe popped open.

Inside, there were two objects; a silver rose-shaped pendant and a stack of old Polaroids bound in string.

Dante picked up the pendant first, "This is customised I've seen the design before years ago, with a woman named Violetta Marquez."

"Who's that?" Alessia asked.

"She ran with the Spanish syndicate, She disappeared ten years ago, some said she had dirt on half the families in New York."

Alessia examined the pendant, The petals had names etched into them in Latin, Her father's name was there, so was Luca's, and Dante's.

She turned to the Polaroids.

One by one, she flipped through them.

They were surveillance photos, Taken in secret, Some showed meetings between her father and Elena, Others showed Luca exchanging briefcases with unknown men, One photo stopped her cold.

It was a picture of her taken just a few weeks ago, walking into her favorite café near Columbia University.

"This was taken recently," she whispered.

Dante's eyes narrowed, "Your father was having you followed."

Alessia felt something inside her twist, "Why?"

"To keep you under control," he muttered, "Or maybe because he knew this day would come."

She shook her head, "No, No, my father was overprotective, yes, but not like this."

Dante handed her another photo, one of her and Luca, taken from a distance. "He didn't trust Luca either."

Alessia sank into the nearest chair, Her hands trembled as she held the stack.

"I don't understand," she said, "Why keep all this hidden? Why not destroy it?"

Dante looked toward the window, "Because it was leverage. And leverage is power, Whoever left this wanted you to find it."

"Do you think it was the shooter?"

"Maybe," Dante said, "Or maybe someone who wants you to uncover the truth on your own."

Alessia stood slowly, the pendant still clutched in her hand, "Then we need to find out who else is on this list."

Before Dante could answer, there was a sudden noise, glass shattering in the hallway.

He drew his gun instantly, stepping in front of her, "Stay here."

Alessia ducked behind the desk, heart pounding. Footsteps echoed outside the room, heavy, and deliberate. Not a random intruder, but trained.

The door burst open.

A man stepped inside, tall, broad-shouldered, a scar running down the left side of his face.

He grinned at Dante.

"Well, if it isn't the Avellino bastard," he sneered.

Dante raised his weapon, "Marco Bellini."

Marco nodded, "Missed me?"

"I should've killed you in Palermo."

"And yet here we are."

Alessia peeked over the desk, She recognized Marco from old photos. He used to work with her father until he went rogue. Rumors said he ran guns through Mexico now, answering to no one.

Marco's eyes shifted to her.

"Alessia Moretti," he said with mock politeness, "You've grown."

"Get out," Dante growled.

Marco smiled, pulling something from his coat, another burner phone.

"Message from your father," he said, "He wants his daughter back Alive."

He tossed the phone onto the floor, "And he's willing to kill both of you to make that happen."

Before Dante could react, Marco threw a flash grenade.

Light and sound exploded across the room. Alessia screamed, clutching her ears. Dante fired blindly, but Marco was gone.

When the smoke cleared, the front door banged shut in the distance.

Alessia stood, shaking, "What the hell was that?!"

Dante picked up the burner phone, "Your father just declared war."

She stared at him, eyes wide.

And in that moment, everything broke.

Her father was not the man she thought, And Dante, Dante was the only one left she could trust, Maybe.