Using unsavory methods was never an option, despite what Kent may have thought. No, it’ll take time. I was never going to get what I want in a day.
And I don’t only mean the necklace.
Chapter
Five
Tatiana
* * *
On the way to work, I mull over the horrendous and tragic history Dante shared with me.
When my parents died, half of the estate went to Leander. The other half would’ve gone to me. That’s the agreement my father had made with my betrothed, Joni Stein. My endowment was part of the business deal my father negotiated. He put a price tag on me and sold me to the highest bidder, a man who could further my father’s agenda. And I was stupid enough to believe Dante would save me.
Leander squandered and mismanaged his inheritance. Why doesn’t that come as a surprise? Dante only had to be patient. Before long, Leander had to put the condo up for auction. I followed the news. My brother sold most of his company shares to cover his debt. He knew better than anyone what would’ve happened to him if he didn’t repay the bratva the money they’d loaned him.
My father appointed my brother as trustee of my shares in Teszner Agglomerate, which were supposed to transfer into my name on my twenty-first birthday. Those shares will go to Leander if I’m declared dead. That’s why he’s fought so hard to get my death certificate issued. He couldn’t even wait the full seven years that’s customary in the case of a missing person. Leander would rather see me dead than lose those shares.
Bringing me out of hiding could ruin everything for my brother, but such a move doesn’t come without risks for Dante. Of course, he’s not worried that I’ll tell the police who killed my parents. First of all, I don’t have proof. Secondly, Dante owns half the force and judges in the country.
He knows very well he doesn’t have to worry about Leander coming clean either. After the murder my brother committed, that’s not a hornet’s nest he wants to stir up.
The news report stated the rocket that hit the car in which my father and his convoy was traveling was from Eastern Europe origin, an RPG and not a Bazooka. The responsibility for the attack was pinned on the Russians. After all, with the huge amount of money Leander owed them, they had a clear motive. The logical conclusion was that they sent a message—a strong one, no less.
No arrests have been made due to a lack of evidence. The case has been closed and the dust swept under the carpet. No one wants anyone to rock the boat.
The conclusion? A lot of people would like to see me dead—my brother, the bratva who won’t mind getting their hands on me to even the score with Leander, and even the crooked cops who’d do anything to protect themselves.
No matter from which angle I look at it, I’m screwed. Ironically, if Dante insists on taking me back to New York, the safest place for me would be with him. How’s that for a Catch-22 situation?
I ponder my options all the way to my client’s home, racking my brain for a way out, only to admit there’s none when we arrive at the house.
The moment Jazz gets me alone in the lounge, she pulls me aside, well out of earshot of Dante’s men.
Her expression is pained. “I’m so sorry, Tiana.”
I steal a glance at the men scurrying up and down the hallway with boxes they carry from the basement to the dining room where I’m sorting the old invoices on the table. They insisted on helping me, no matter how much I objected.
I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”
She frowns. “I shouldn’t have spoken to Reino.” Staring at a spot on the wall behind me with glazed-over eyes, she mumbles, “That bastard.”
Noah is building a tent between the coffee table and the sofa with a tablecloth. Even though he’s lost in his survivor game, I lower my voice because my words aren’t meant for his ears. “Dante found me through the hospital records. He used face recognition software to flag my fake ID. Once he knew my false name, he tracked me through my electricity bill. I’m the one who’s sorry for getting you into this mess.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“A lot of businesses use AI-driven facial recognition systems these days. There’s no reason why criminals won’t. I should’ve thought about that before using my ID.”
“And do what? Not go to the hospital just like you didn’t when Noah was born?”
“The midwife was more than competent.” I can’t help being a tad defensive, already regretting that I told Jazz about that. I couldn’t refuse when she asked me about the birth, not after she’d flown all the way here to help me. “I made sure of that.”
“Fine. You were lucky there were no complications.” She shakes her head. “This time was different. Tiana, you fainted with a four year-old alone in your house. What if you’d knocked your head on the corner of the table or a counter? What if you’d cracked your skull open on the tiles? You could’ve died. What would’ve happened to Noah if you hadn’t regained consciousness?”
“Stop.” I raise a palm, unable to stand the grisly scenarios she’s painting of what could’ve been Noah’s fate even though the same whatifs still give me nightmares. “I know what could’ve happened.”
“When you left New York and we agreed to cut all contact, I was convinced you’d start a new life with a new identity somewhere—a life with a job, an apartment, neighbors to share potluck evenings, a kindergarten for Noah, and a boyfriend.” She adds gently, “But you weren’t living. You were barely surviving.”
