Chapter 5 - The Rotting Palace
Las Vegas. Three years after Claire’s disappearance.
The penthouse at the Bellissimo smelled of stale scotch and burnt ash.
Dante Moretti sat behind his desk in the dark, staring out at the neon skyline. On the desk sat an empty bottle of Macallan 25 and an open leather case containing five hundred surveillance photographs—all of them dead ends.
London. Paris. Tokyo. Sydney.
Every time his men flagged a woman who resembled Claire, Dante would charter a jet, fly across an ocean with his heart hammering against his ribs like a sledgehammer, only to find a stranger.
She had wiped herself from the face of the earth.
A sharp knock sounded at the study door before it swung open.
Lily walked in, wearing an expensive satin robe that clung loosely to her hips. At twenty-six, she was still undeniably pretty, but the youthful, bright-eyed innocence she had once possessed had curdled into a perpetual, nervous exhaustion.
"Dante?" she said, her voice tight with exasperation. "It’s two in the morning. Isabella has a fever again, and the night nurse quit because of how you talked to her yesterday. Aren't you coming to bed?"
Dante didn't turn around. "Hire another nurse. Offer double the rate."
Lily clenched her fists, stepping into the room. "I don't want another nurse, Dante! I want my partner! You haven't slept in our bedroom in six months. You sit in here staring at the dark like a lunatic!"
Dante slowly turned his leather chair toward her. His eyes were cold, dead pools of coal. The dark circles under them made him look hollowed out, dangerous, and utterly unapproachable.
"Our bedroom?" Dante said softly, the words dripping with ice. "That bedroom belongs to my wife."
Lily flinched as if struck across the face. Her jaw tightened, tears of bitter humiliation stinging her eyes.
"She left you, Dante! Three years ago! She signed the papers, took her money, and discarded you! She didn't even fight for you! I gave you a child! I gave you Isabella! I stayed with you through the federal raids, through the car bombings—"
"You stayed because you wanted the penthouse," Dante cut her off, his voice flat, devoid of feeling. "You stayed because your mother sold you to me for three million in casino debt forgiveness. Don't play the martyr, Lily. It doesn't suit you."
"Why do you hate me so much?" Lily sobbed, breaking down into ragged, ugly tears. "You loved me once! You told me I was the only one who understood you!"
"I was a fool," Dante said, rising from his chair. He towered over her, his presence suffocating. "I mistook your weakness for devotion. I thought because you looked at me like I was a king, you made me powerful. But Claire... Claire never looked at me like a king. She looked at me like a man. And she held this entire family together with two hands while I was busy poisoning the foundation."
He walked past her toward the door.
"Dante, wait!" Lily turned, desperately grabbing his sleeve. "The annual Nevada Gaming Commission Gala is on Friday. The Governor will be there. The board said you have to bring a partner to project stability. If you don't bring me... people are going to start asking questions about Isabella’s legitimacy. They’re already whispering that the Moretti syndicate is losing control of the Strip."
Dante looked down at her hand on his arm with open distaste until she slowly, reluctantly pulled her fingers back.
"The board is right about one thing," Dante said coldly. "We are losing the Strip. Some international consortium out of Europe just bought up eighty acres on the north corridor. They paid cash. No debt, no syndicate leverage, completely untouchable. They’re calling the development The Sovereign."
Lily frowned, sniffing. "Who owns it?"
"A British magnate named Julian Vance," Dante muttered, his jaw clenching. "He’s arriving in town tomorrow. He’s attending the gala as the guest of honor."
May you like
Dante walked out into the corridor, leaving Lily alone in the cavernous, freezing room that Claire had once filled with warmth, light, and grace.
***
