This was a different Dante than I remembered. The man I’d fallen for couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes. This man was methodical and patient.
When had that happened?
The hours blurred together as we dug deeper. We found campaign donation records, showing my father had political aspirations beyond his role as a prosecutor. Most donations seemed legitimate, but Federico had flagged a few companies for us to investigate—shell corporations that might lead back to organized crime.
Dante’s phone rang around midnight. He answered, stepping away slightly, but I could still hear his side of the conversation.
“What did you find?… No, absolutely not… Because it could lead back to us, or worse, to her… Just keep digging, but don’t make contact with anyone he’s prosecuted… Yeah, I know, but it’s too risky… Thanks, Fed.”
“What happened?” I asked the minute he ended the call.
Dante turned to me. “Federico wants to reach out to some people your father put away. I told him it’s too dangerous.”
“He’s right, though,” I argued. “Those people might know something.”
Dante shook his head. “It’s dangerous. One of them might tell your father someone’s asking questions, and he could trace it back to not just Federico, but us. You and me. You.”
“Why would they?” I protested. “These are people my father put in jail, right?”
“Sometimes, getting two years’ jail time is a favor, since it could have been worse. Chances are, some of the people he’s convicted owe him for an under-the-table deal.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted with a sigh.
“I know,” he sighed and plonked back down on his chair.
I sat back and watched him. The decision he just took to keep us off my father’s radar was an attempt at protection and made something warm unfurl in my chest. After what felt like a lifetime of fending for myself, having someone care about my safety was… nice.
***
The next evening, much to my surprise, Dante insisted on helping out again. We’d combed through dozens of cases, plenty of financial records, hundreds of articles, and still hadn’t found the smoking gun we were looking for.
We did find some breadcrumbs in the form of some dismissals that looked suspicious, but it wasn’t enough. With an illustrious career spanning decades, my father, like any other person in his position, was bound to have made a few bad calls.
So that’s what we were left with—nothing suspicious enough to be concrete.
I was getting tired, weary, worn out.
It had been five days of being holed up in here, and I found myself reading the same sentence over and over again, without it registering in my mind.
After another hour of being hunched up over the desk, Dante stood and stretched. His shirt rode up slightly, and I couldn’t help but catch sight of the strip of tanned skin and muscle. I quickly looked away.
“We need a break,” Dante yawned.
“But it’s only eight,” I protested, glancing at the wall clock.
“I know,” Dante shrugged. “But we can’t keep burning the midnight oil, Alisa. Sometimes, a break helps us see things a tired brain misses.”
“But—”
“Come on!” he grinned. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I am, but we could just eat something here.” I waved helplessly at the papers around us.
Dante grinned and jumped over the desk. I shrieked in shock as he landed right before me and grabbed both sides of my chair, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Alisaaaa,” he sang and leaned closer and closer until my heart began to race. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
I gulped. “Then what does it make Jill?”
