Chapter 5: THE WOMAN BEHIND THE NAME
Dante took me to a quiet house near the lake.
It wasn’t a mansion.
It was an old brick home with a wide front porch, polished wooden floors, and photographs of a family who had once laughed together.
An elderly woman opened the door.
She had silver hair, kind blue eyes, and a cardigan buttoned neatly over a floral blouse.
“Dante, it’s nearly two in the morning.”
“I know, Aunt Rosa.”
Her gaze moved to me.
Then to my soaked clothes.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Two words.
That was all it took.
My eyes filled again.
Rosa didn’t ask questions.
She brought towels, hot tea, and a thick blanket.
Then she placed a bowl of homemade chicken soup in front of me.
“Eat first,” she said. “Whatever’s wrong can wait until you’ve had something warm.”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
For seven months, I had eaten cheap sandwiches, canned soup, and whatever I could afford between rent payments.
I lifted the spoon with shaking hands.
Rosa noticed.
She pretended not to.
Dante sat across from me.
“Elena, I need to know one thing.”
I looked up.
“Did you choose to leave Marcus?”
“Yes.”
“Did you agree to marry him?”
“No.”
“Did your father know?”
I nodded.
Dante’s face hardened.
“Then we start there.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“We find a lawyer. We make sure you can live under your own name without being threatened.”
I stared at him.
“Just like that?”
“Not just like that. It’ll take work.”
“Marcus won’t let me go.”
Dante leaned forward.
“He doesn’t get to decide.”
Something inside me loosened.
For the first time, someone was speaking about my future as though it belonged to me.
Rosa placed another piece of bread beside my bowl.
“Your brother taught you to fix cars?”
I nodded.
“Michael.”
“Tell me about him.”
I smiled sadly.
“He was eight years older than me. He used to say an engine was honest. If something was wrong, it made a noise. People were harder to understand.”
Rosa smiled.
“He sounds wonderful.”
“He was.”
“What happened?”
My spoon stopped.
The room became painfully quiet.
“Car accident. Three years ago.”
Dante looked up.
“Where?”
“Outside Joliet.”
“What kind of car?”
“A blue Chevrolet pickup.”
His expression changed.
“Who investigated?”
I frowned.
“State police. Why?”
Dante didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he asked another question.
“What was your brother doing before the accident?”
“He worked for my father’s trucking company.”
Dante slowly set down his coffee.
“Elena, did Michael ever mention Marcus Bellamy?”
A chill moved through me.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
I remembered Michael standing in our kitchen three nights before he died.
He had looked frightened.
More frightened than I had ever seen him.
He’d taken my hands and whispered:
“If anything happens to me, don’t trust Dad. And whatever you do, stay away from Marcus.”
I repeated those words.
Dante stood so suddenly his chair scraped across the floor.
Rosa looked alarmed.
“Dante?”
He stared at me.
“Your brother’s accident wasn’t an accident.”
The spoon slipped from my hand.
“What?”
Dante’s voice was low.
“Three years ago, a driver working for Bellamy Transport was killed after discovering evidence of stolen cargo and falsified shipping records.”
My chest tightened.
“Michael?”
Dante nodded.
“I didn’t know his name until tonight.”
I shook my head.
“No. The police said he lost control.”
“That’s what the report said.”
I could barely breathe.
“How do you know?”
Dante looked at me with something close to regret.
“Because the truck that forced him off the road belonged to a company I once investigated.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
He hesitated.
“That company was controlled by Marcus Bellamy.”