Chapter 4 - The Discovery

Lucia’s POV

Dante stuck to his promise, but not without conditions. He assigned one of his men to escort me. As we approached the house I once shared with my father, a wave of anxiety washed over me. My steps faltered in front of the door, and I hesitated.

This wasn’t just a house—it was a graveyard of memories.

I glanced back briefly, my mind flashing to Dante’s warehouse. The fire, the gunshots, and the chaotic night that changed my life played in my head like a cursed film reel. The night that turned me into Dante’s captive.

I clenched my fists and forced myself to focus. Knocking seemed almost absurd—it was my home once, but now, I wasn’t sure where I belonged. Just as I raised my hand, the door opened, revealing my father.

“Lucia.”

His voice trembled, barely above a whisper. He looked at me like I was a ghost. His face was worn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and the lines on his forehead seemed deeper than I remembered.

“Dad,” I said, my voice cracking. I couldn’t stop myself. I stepped forward and pulled him into a tight embrace.

He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around me. “Are you back for good?” he asked, his voice weak and hopeful.

I froze. How could I tell him I was only here for a fleeting visit, that Dante held the strings to my freedom?

“Dad, we need to talk,” I said, the words heavy in my throat, forcing steadiness into a voice that trembled beneath the surface.

He nodded quickly. “Of course, come in.”

As he ushered me inside, Dante’s man followed, his presence like a shadow looming over us.

The living room was a disaster. Piles of clothes lay scattered across the couch. Dirty dishes, some half-eaten, cluttered the dining table, a stark contrast to the home I once knew. The once-cozy space now felt cold, as though the life had been drained from it. A sharp pang of guilt twisted in my stomach. This wasn’t the father I remembered.

“Dad, are you okay?” I asked gently, though I already knew the answer.

He nodded too quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his tired eyes. “I’m fine, Lucia. What about you? Are you eating well? Are they treating you right?” His gaze flickered to Dante’s man, full of distrust.

“I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry about me,” I lied. The truth would break him.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “We need to talk about the fire. I think if we can prove you didn’t start it, Dante might let me go.”

Dante’s man snorted, a smug grin on his face. I shot him a glare that silenced him instantly.

My father sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, Lucia. Everything happened so fast. I heard gunshots, knocked over a keg, and suddenly, there was fire everywhere. I didn’t have time to think—my only thought was getting out alive.”

His words were a dead end, but I wasn’t ready to give up. My freedom depended on this.

“Think, Dad. Is there anything else? Anyone who might have seen what happened?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “The staff. They were there that night. They might know something.”

Hope flickered in my chest. “Where can I find them?”

“They’re at the warehouse, trying to clean up what’s left of the fire damage,” he said.

I glanced at the clock. Dante’s man had warned me I had limited time, and now only fifteen minutes remained.

I hugged my father tightly, swallowing the lump in my throat. My hands shook as I planted a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll come back soon, Dad. I promise.” But my words were hollow, a lie I had to tell to keep him from worrying.

As I rushed out of the house, Dante’s man followed close behind, his heavy boots echoing against the pavement.

We drove to the warehouse. Dante’s man sat beside me in silence, occasionally glancing at me as if to remind me of my time limit.

I stared out the window, my mind racing. My father’s words played on a loop in my head. The staff might know something. It was my only lead, and I had to make it count.

When we reached the warehouse, I stepped out of the car, my shoes crunching against the gravel. I turned to Dante’s man, my voice firm. “Wait here. I need a few minutes alone.”

He rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

Ignoring his attitude, I stepped inside the warehouse. The air was thick with the acrid smell of charred wood and smoke, and the sight of the wreckage made my stomach twist.

Most of the staff were busy cleaning, their faces weary and defeated. But one man caught my attention. He stood apart from the rest, leaning against a corner with a phone pressed to his ear.

Something about him felt… off.

He stood apart from the rest, his back turned, phone pressed to his ear. His posture was stiff, his head darting around as if he didn’t want to be noticed.

I moved closer, my steps muffled by the debris beneath my feet. His voice was low, but I caught fragments of his conversation.

”…Vincenzo. No, not yet… Dante doesn’t suspect anything.”

My stomach sank. Vincenzo Calderone. I remembered him from the meeting Dante took me to yesterday. He was overly cheerful, his smile too wide, his eyes too cunning. Something about him had felt off, and I hated him the moment I saw him. Now, hearing his name again sent a chill through me.

The man ended the call abruptly, shoving his phone into his pocket. His eyes scanned the room, and for a brief second, they met mine. I ducked behind a pile of debris, my heart pounding.

I slipped out of the warehouse, my mind racing with questions. What connection did Vincenzo have to the fire? Why would that man say Dante doesn’t suspect anything? And why did that name feel like the missing piece to this entire puzzle?

Dante’s man was waiting by the car, his arms crossed and his expression bored. He glanced at his watch, then at me. “Time’s up.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my face into a mask of indifference. But inside, I was a storm. If Vincenzo Calderone was connected to the fire, or to Dante, then I needed to know the truth. And I needed to know it fast.