Chapter 6
Dawn broke over Manhattan like a bruised plum. Antonio sat behind his massive oak desk in the study, the ledger open before him. Damen stood across the room, watching his cousin’s face darken into a mask of pure fury.
“Who had the combination to the family vault five years ago, Damen?” Antonio asked, his voice deathly low.
Damen shifted uneasily. “Only you, your father, and… Uncle Franco.”
Franco. The man who had taken over the western territories after Antonio’s son died. The man who had supposedly comforted Antonio in his darkest hour.
“Bring Franco’s chief accountant to the warehouse by noon,” Antonio ordered, standing up so fast his chair slammed against the wall. “And bring our new housekeeper up here. We need to have a family conversation.”
When Elena entered the study, she looked terrified. But Antonio wasn't looking at her with cold detachment anymore; he was looking at her canvas bag, which sat by the door, and the striking resemblance she bore to a faded photograph locked deep within his memory.
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“Tell me your maiden name, Elena,” Antonio demanded, stepping closer.
“Rossi,” she answered, her chin trembling. “My father was Daniel Rossi. He… he worked construction for the city before he fell.”
