Chapter 4 - Exile in the Aegean
The private island was off the coast of Greece—a rugged, isolated rock where the Moretti family kept their most guarded secrets. The villa was built directly into the cliffs, surrounded by miles of turquoise water and jagged stone.
For Mara, the transition was jarring. She went from the heart of Manhattan to a place where the nearest neighbor was a dozen miles away across the sea.
But for Lena, the change was miraculous.
Without the constant hum of the city, without the suffocating presence of bodyguards in every room, she began to bloom. She spent her days exploring the rocky shoreline with Mara. She started to collect seashells, organizing them by size and color on the veranda.
Dante spent his time in the villa’s office, constantly on satellite phones, managing the fallout of the attack in New York. The empire was in shambles, his enemies were closing in, and the walls were tightening.
One evening, Mara found Dante on the terrace, staring out at the moonlight hitting the waves. He looked tired—not just physically, but a deep, spiritual exhaustion.
“The board is turning against me,” Dante said, without looking at her. “They think I’m weak because I’m focused on my daughter. They think I should have eliminated the threat instead of retreating.”
“Do you care what they think?” Mara asked, standing beside him.
“I care about survival. I’ve spent my life building an empire, and for what? To be betrayed by the people I made wealthy? To almost lose the only thing that matters?”
He looked at her, his eyes searching. “Why are you still here, Mara? You could have left. You could have walked away the moment we hit the tarmac in Greece. You’re not a prisoner. You’re an employee. You don't have to risk your life for us.”
Mara thought about her empty apartment in Queens, her father’s funeral, the silence of her own life. She thought about the way Lena had looked at her when she finally laughed.
“Because you’re not just a monster, Dante,” she said, her voice steady. “You’re a father. And somewhere along the way, you started to look like a man who actually wanted to be one.”
Dante moved closer, his presence overwhelming. “You are the most dangerous person I’ve ever met, Mara Bell.”
“Why? Because I’m a baker?”
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“No,” he whispered. “Because you see through the glass. You don't care about the money, the power, or the fear. You just care about the dough.”
He laughed, a dry, genuine sound, and for a moment, the distance between them vanished.
