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Chapter 5 - THE HIDDEN FILES

The morning sun broke over the jagged ocean cliffs, casting long, fractured beams of gold across the hardwood floors of my suite. I hadn't slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the face in the mirror, heard Dante's low, gravelly voice, and felt the tiny, desperate grip of a baby who thought I was his dead mother.

A soft knock sounded at the door just as a maid in a crisp black-and-white uniform entered carrying a silver tray laden with fresh coffee, pastries, and fruit.

"Good morning, Miss Alina," the older woman said with a polite, deferential bow. Her name badge read Mrs. Gable. "Mr. Dante asked me to bring you breakfast. He is currently in his study, but he requested your presence as soon as you've eaten."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," I said, eyeing the tray cautiously. "Is... is the baby awake?"

A warm, affectionate smile broke across the older woman's weathered face. "Master Leo has been asking for you since 5:00 AM, miss. He threw a terrible fit until the boss walked him past your door. It seems the little master has made up his mind about you."

Ten minutes later, dressed in a simple cashmere sweater and dark jeans provided in the walk-in closet, I walked down the grand corridor toward Dante's private study. The heavy oak doors stood slightly ajar, and I could hear the deep murmur of voices inside.

"...the records from the Maine estate were scrubbed clean, sir," a gravelly voice—belonging to the man with the broken nose from the restaurant—was saying. "Whoever hacked the mainframe three years ago knew our exact security protocols. It wasn't just an accident. It was an inside job."

I pushed the door open wider, and the voices instantly died down.

Dante sat behind a massive mahogany desk littered with leather-bound ledgers, old photographs, and glowing laptop screens. Leo, dressed in a cozy knit romper, was sitting on his lap, chewing contentedly on a wooden teething ring. The moment the boy's eyes landed on me, his face lit up with a brilliant, toothy grin. He dropped his toy, threw his arms into the air, and let out an excited squeal.

"Ah-li-na!" he babbled, lunging forward so violently Dante had to catch him by the waist.

Dante looked up at me, a complex mixture of exhaustion and reluctant amusement in his eyes. He stood up, carrying the baby across the room, and practically transferred Leo into my waiting arms before I could protest.

The familiar, comforting weight of the child settled against my chest. Leo let out a happy sigh, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his tiny hand immediately finding the collar of my sweater.

"You're a menace, you know that?" I murmured to the baby, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

"He hasn't smiled like that in six months," Dante said quietly, leaning back against the edge of his desk. He gestured to a leather armchair opposite him. "Sit down, Alina. We have a lot to cover."

I sat, keeping Leo secure in my lap. Dante slid a thick, dust-covered manila folder across the desk toward me.

"What is this?" I asked, running my fingers over the faded, water-stained cardboard.

"Your aunt's true history," Dante said, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "And the truth about why she took you away from Maine the night my wife's car went into the ocean. She didn't rescue you out of the goodness of her heart, Alina. She stole you to use as insurance against my family. And according to these financial records... she was being paid a very hefty monthly allowance by someone inside my own inner circle."

My breath caught in my throat. "An inside circle? You mean... a traitor?"

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"Exactly," Dante said, his obsidian eyes flashing with a lethal promise of retribution. "Someone helped orchestrate the attempt on my wife's life three years ago. And that same person helped your aunt hide you in plain sight across the country. But now that you're here—now that you're under my roof—the traitor is going to panic."

Before Dante could elaborate, a sudden, deafening crash echoed from the front hallway, followed by the sharp, distinct crack of a silenced gunshot.

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