Chapter 94: WHAT I CAN FIX.

DANTE.

The messages had been coming in since the fourteenth. Each time, it ruined my mood and drained my energy. Always the same line, arriving with the same encrypted number that vanished every time I tried to trace it back to something real. "Transfer five million dollars worth of Bitcoin to the below wallet or the world will know what you and your mother did."

When I saw it, my mind tried to take me back to what we had promised to forget, but I pushed those thoughts away. I had buried that part of my memory.

There were no more details or evidence attached just that sentence, lodged in my phone like a splinter I couldn't reach, burrowing deeper every time I tried to dismiss it.

I spent two days convincing myself it was just a bluff. Empty extortion. Someone had picked a wealthy name and cast a line into the water to see if anything bit. This kind of thing happened to people like me more often than the news reported. You learned to spot the pattern of vague threats, the untraceable numbers, demands meant to intimidate before they informed. I almost managed to convince myself.

But why us? Why say my mother and I, not just me? Could it be...?

No.

My mother had called, sobbing so hard that I could barely understand her words, and suddenly, the threat felt real.

I left the house rushing to mom's. Cinnamon's eyes had followed me to the door, and I felt her gaze on my back all the way out. She had been patient and silent, which felt worse than if she had asked more questions each time I dismissed her. She was perceptive and composed and it left me unsure whether to feel grateful or scared.

I kissed her head, promising myself I would explain everything once I understood what everything meant. I hated keeping secrets from her.

I got into the car.

I barely remembered the drive. The speedometer climbed well past the limit, red lights blurred, and every few seconds I glanced at the rearview mirror, half expecting flashing police lights to appear behind me.

"Don't get pulled over. Don't get pulled over," I kept telling myself. If I got stopped, I'd have to wait on the side of the road while an officer ran my plates, and every second spent doing that meant my mother was alone with whatever had shattered her voice during that call.

She refused to explain over the phone; it was just "please come, Dante, please come," she'd repeated over and over.

Hearing my mother, who had held herself together through challenges that would have crushed most people, say 'please' in that tone pushed me to press harder on the accelerator, with my mind racing through every dark possibility it could conjure. I eased off the speed by ten and prayed for the rest of the drive.

Thankfully, I made it to her in a short time.

I burst through the front door, the house lit but silent. I hurried down the hallway and nearly collided with Dove. She stumbled back a step, grabbed onto the wall, then laughed.

"You're here," she said with so much brightness and carefreeness. Her breath reeked of alcohol too.

I steadied her by the elbow and studied her face. She was definitely drunk.

"Where's Mom?"

She gestured vaguely down the corridor. "Study. She's—yeah. Study." She waved her hand dismissively. "She's fine."

"She didn't sound fine."

"She worries too much." Dove shrugged and reached past me to steady herself against the wall again before straightening up. "We all do."

I glanced at her and she looked back at me. There was something behind her eyes that alcohol hadn't completely hidden. Then she flashed another smile.

"Dove—"

"Dante." She caught my arm. "Can you transfer two hundred thousand dollars to my account?"

I paused. Of all the things I expected in this hallway, that wasn't one of them.

"You’re asking me for money."

"Is that a crime?"

"You've never asked me for money in your life."

She lifted her chin. "Well, now I am."

I watched, trying to see beyond the alcohol and the act. Dove earned six million dollars a month from her shares alone, plus the additional two we had reinstated after reclaiming the company. She had never once come to me with a financial request. Not once.

"Can I ask what it's for?"

"Upkeep. Things." She released my arm. "I shouldn't have to explain myself."

"I'm not asking you to explain. I'm asking because this isn't like you."

Her face creased, anger taking over as she stared at me with a flat expression that suggested she had decided the conversation was over.

"You know what, forget it." She stepped back. "I have a cab coming."

"Dove—"

"I'm fine, Dante." Not fine. Not even close. "Get to Mom."

She turned and walked toward the front door, carefully watching her steps. I stood in the hallway watching her leave, feeling uneasy.

I'd send the money. I'd figure out the rest later.

I raked a hand through my hair and headed for the study.

The room was dim except for the cold blue glow of a laptop screen that nobody was using.

Mom stood at the window with her back to me, one hand propped against the frame and a glass of whiskey hanging loosely at her side. I paused in the doorway. My mother typically drank wine, that was as far as it went for her.

Whiskey meant something was very wrong.

I quietly crossed the room and rested my hand on her shoulder. She flinched violently, causing whiskey to spill, her entire body jerking as she let out a scream. When she turned to face me, she exhaled, and the tension in her shoulders eased with relief.

"Dante, you're here," she whispered, reaching for me.

"I'm here." I pulled her close and held her while she broke down, trembling against my shoulder as I kept one hand firmly on her back. "I've got you. I'm right here."

After heart-wrenching minutes of watching my mom vulnerable, she pulled away, her eyes were swollen, red, and looking older than they should. I took the whiskey from her hand, placed it out of reach, and led her to the chair.

"Your heart," I said softly. "This isn't good for it."

She sat down, pressed her hands together in her lap, and drew a long, shaky breath.

"Someone contacted," she said. "They said they'll expose me for what I did if I didn't pay five million dollars." She looked up at me.

I had suspected this in the car, but hearing it confirmed still hit hard.

I maintained a neutral expression.

"Do you know who they are?"

"No. They used untraceable numbers." She shook her head. "I tried to call back but got nothing."

"They could be bluffing. Scammers often do this. They assume everyone has a skeleton in their cupboard especially the wealthy . It doesn’t mean they know anything specific."

"Dante." Her voice dropped low. "You know what we did. What I did." She tightened her lips together, her eyes glistening. "What if someone had already found out?"

"We don’t say that out loud." I leaned forward. "It's buried."

"But if this is about—"

"Then I'll take care of it." I moved in closer and took her hands in mine. "No one is exposing anything. No one is messing with this family. And you’re not going to sit here and let this consume you, do you understand? I refuse to lose you over a faceless coward sending encrypted messages." I squeezed her hands firmly. "I need you to breathe."

She looked at me as she had when I was twelve, scared of something, weighing how much truth I could handle. But the roles had now reversed, and we both recognized it.

"The woman who helped me," she said cautiously. "She knows who I am. I paid her, and she promised to stay quiet, but—"

"She's a liability." I stated it plainly. There was no need to sugarcoat it. "Do you have her contact information?"

"Yes."

"Give it to me. I'll reach out using someone a proper intermediary who won’t connect back to either of us." I exhaled slowly. "This is manageable, Mom. Someone getting greedy after an agreement of silence. That’s a contained issue. It’s uncomfortable, but it's manageable."

She nodded, though I could see she was holding herself together with both hands.

I eased back into my sit, releasing her hand. We sat in silence for a moment.

.

Gradually, some of the tension eased from her shoulders.

"Tell me about the company," she finally said. She was trying to distract her thoughts by checking on my wellbeing too. Such an amazing mother. "Is everything stable?"

"Better than stable." I leaned back and stretched my legs. "The reclaimed divisions are profitable. Tate has operations running smoothly. Cinnamon and Risa are back to help."

Mom's expression changed from fear to happiness. "Cinnamon is back at DreamHaven?"

"As of this morning."

"Oh thank God." She pressed her hand to her chest with the sincere relief of someone who understood the significance of that news architecturally. "You need her by your side."

I nodded in agreement.

Mom smiled, a small but genuine smile, the first real one since I'd arrived. "Your father would have adored her, even more than welcome do already."

"I know."

There was a warmth in saying that, even now, in this room filled with everything between us. I looked at her color returning to her face, her shoulders slightly lowered, the whiskey glass across the room where it belonged and felt a unique relief in witnessing someone you love pull back from the brink.

I made a dry joke about Tate's obsession with color-coded spreadsheets. She laughed then quickly covered her mouth as if she felt guilty for laughing.

"Don't," I said. "Don’t dim your happiness, mama."

This time, without composure, she laughed again. "Good," I thought. "There she is."

"Any news on Marcus?" The bitterness was evident on her face as she asked through a fading smile.