“I don’t know. He never said.” Angelo led me back to the kitchen. “But I think he wanted to give you a chance. To see if something could grow between you.”
I stared at the folder in Angelo’s hands, my throat tight. Dante had kept this from his father. Had protected me even when I’d hated him, even when I’d made it clear I wanted nothing to do with this marriage.
“He could have filed this at any point,” I said quietly. “Could have held this over my head forever.”
“But he didn’t.” Angelo met my eyes. “That’s who Dante is, Nick. He’s not the monster Caruso wants everyone to think he is.”
I wanted to believe that. God, I wanted to believe it so badly it hurt. But doubt crept in at the edges, whispering questions I didn’t want to ask.
“Angelo,” I started, then stopped, not sure I wanted to hear the answer. “Has Dante ever killed anyone?”
Angelo’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. He was quiet for a long moment, weighing his words carefully.
“I’m not gonna lie to you,” he said finally. “Dante’s done things. Things he’s not proud of. Things that were necessary in our world.” He paused. “But murdering an entire family? Kids? That’s not him. That’s never been him. He’s not a killer.”
It wasn’t exactly the reassurance I’d been hoping for, but it was honest. And right now, I needed honesty more than I needed comfort.
“Okay,” I said. “What do we do next?”
Angelo pulled out his phone. “I call Mr. Valenti. You go talk to your family. Make sure they understand what’s at stake here.”
My stomach twisted. “My parents will back him up. But Heather...”
“Like I said, leave Heather to me.” There was something in Angelo’s voice that made me look at him sharply. “I’ll handle her.”
“How?”
“Does it matter?” He was already dialing, the phone pressed to his ear. “Just trust me, Nick. I’ve got this.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to demand he tell me exactly what he planned to do. But the phone was ringing, and I could see the tension in Angelo’s shoulders as he waited for someone to pick up.
“Mr. Valenti,” he said, his voice taking on a formal tone I’d never heard from him before. “We’ve got a problem.”
I left him to it, heading out of the tiny house and back toward the main house. My legs felt unsteady, like the ground beneath me had turned to quicksand. Everything had been so perfect just an hour ago. Dante and I checking fences, planning our future, talking about expanding the cattle operation.
Now he was in the back of a police car, heading to God knows where, facing charges that could put him away for life.
The main house loomed ahead, and I could see my mother through the kitchen window. She was washing dishes, her movements automatic and practiced. My father would be in his office, going over the books like he did every afternoon.
And Heather... Heather was probably in her room, completely unaware that the man she hated was being arrested for murder.
I took the porch steps two at a time and pushed through the front door. My mother looked up from the sink, her expression immediately concerned.
“Nick? What’s wrong? You look?—”
“Where’s Dad?” I interrupted. “I need both of you. And Heather.”
Mom dried her hands on a dish towel, her worry deepening. “Your father’s in the office. Heather went out riding about twenty minutes ago. Nick, what happened?”
“Just get Dad,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “Please, Mom. It’s important.”
She didn’t ask any more questions, just headed for the hallway. I heard her knock on the office door, heard the low murmur of voices. A moment later, both my parents emerged, my father’s face creased with concern as they stepped into the kitchen.
“What’s going on, son?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to explain, but the words stuck in my throat. How did I even begin to tell them this? That Dante had been arrested for murder. That everything we’d built over the past few months could come crashing down.
“Dante was arrested,” I finally managed. “A detective from New Jersey showed up. Said they have evidence connecting him to the murders of a family called the Bensons.”
