Chapter 6 - Calling Dante
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By 7:00 a.m., Carol had established two crucial facts. First, Elena was stable, and the doctors were cautiously optimistic about the baby. Second, Matteo had never called Bellevue Hospital. Security footage from Le Cirque confirmed he was drinking champagne two hours after his wife was beaten nearly to death.
At 8:00 a.m., Carol sat in her Midtown office and dialed a private number.
The line rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered. "Hartwell. It's been a long time."
"Dante," Carol said without preamble. "I need to talk to you about Elena Moretti."
Silence stretched across the line. Dante Bellarosa was fifty-one years old. To the general public, he was a wealthy real-estate developer and philanthropist who rebuilt parks in Brooklyn. But to those who knew the history of New York's underbelly, Dante was a former syndicate heavy who had walked away from the life after a brutal war five years ago. He was dangerous, brilliant, and owed no allegiance to Matteo’s father.
"What about her?" Dante asked, his tone shifting instantly.
"She’s in Bellevue ICU," Carol said. "Fractured skull, broken ribs. Matteo claims she fell. Her driver brought her in."
Dante’s breath caught slightly. "Is the child...?"
"The baby is holding on," Carol replied. "Furthermore, Elena missed her midnight check-in. Her dead-man switch is counting down. If she doesn't reset it in forty hours, eighteen months of Moretti financial archives go straight to the feds."
"Why are you telling me this, Carol?"
"Because Matteo’s father owns half the precinct and three judges," Carol said grimly. "I can protect her in a courtroom. I can't stop a hitman from walking into her hospital room dressed as a doctor. I need eyes on the ground."
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Dante stood up from his leather desk in Brooklyn, looking out over the East River.
"Send me what Elena authorized you to share," Dante said coldly. "And Carol... tell your team to step back. I’ll secure the perimeter."
