Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the House
By sunrise, Dante had arranged for an armored convoy to transport both Leo and Ruby to his sprawling estate overlooking Puget Sound. Ruby had protested, but when Frank Calder politely informed her that her basement apartment had already been visited by two unknown men asking questions about "the waitress who helped the Moretti boy," she realized her safety—and Leo's—depended on staying close.
The Moretti estate was less a home and more a fortress of glass, steel, and old-world stone. Armed security guards stood post at every iron gate and corridor.
Leo, pale but recovering, had refused to let go of Ruby’s hand since they left the hospital. He sat propped up in a massive mahogany bed in the east wing, wrapped in a silk quilt, staring up at her with large, solemn eyes that reminded her painfully of Dante's.
"Don't go," Leo murmured, clutching her damp sleeve.
"I'm right here, buddy," Ruby said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I'm just going to step out for some water."
As she walked down the grand staircase into the sweeping foyer, she found Dante standing by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the gray waters of the sound. He was holding a glass of amber scotch, his coat discarded, revealing the sharp lines of a tailored vest and a shoulder holster he hadn't bothered to remove.
"He hasn't spoken to anyone outside the family in six months," Dante said, not turning around. "Not since his mother passed. The fact that he trusts you after twenty minutes in an alley... interests me."
"It shouldn't," Ruby said, crossing her arms to ward off the chill of the cavernous room. "Children know when adults are lying to them. And they know when someone actually sees them."
Dante turned slowly. "You think I don't see my son?"
"I think you spend so many protecting your empire that you left the back door wide open," Ruby countered sharply, her patience finally snapping. "Leo wasn't wandering around downtown Seattle in the middle of a storm by accident, Mr. Moretti. Someone let him out. Someone on your payroll."
Dante's eyes narrowed. "Marcus."
"Who's Marcus?"
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"My chief of security," Dante said, his voice dropping into a lethal register. "He was the only one besides Frank who knew Leo’s schedule yesterday afternoon. And Marcus was the one who assigned the driver."
Before Dante could reach for his secure comms unit, a sharp crash echoed from the back wing of the estate, followed by the muffled pop of a suppressed firearm.
