Chapter 4: The Routing Numbers
Amara was at the bottom of the stairs when Dante stepped out of the kitchen.
He had a glass of water in his hand.
He looked at the suitcase.
At her coat.
At the way she was moving — straight toward the front door without slowing.
"Amara."
She didn't stop.
"Amara." His voice dropped into the register she had heard him use with men who owed him money.
"Put the bag down."
She reached the entry hall.
Her hand found the door handle.
"I will have someone bring you back," he said.
"You understand that."
She turned around.
He was standing at the foot of the stairs, the glass still in his hand, his expression doing the thing it did when he was deciding how much force a situation required.
She had watched him make that calculation hundreds of times.
She had always been on the safe side of it.
"You'll have someone bring me back," she said.
"You're six months pregnant.
You're not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years."
"You don't have anywhere to go."
"I have exactly where I need to go."
His eyes moved to her coat pocket.
Something shifted in his face — not quite recognition, but the beginning of a question he didn't like.
"What's in your coat?"
"Nothing that was ever yours to keep."
He set the glass down on the entry table.
He took two steps toward her.
She didn't move back.
"I'm not asking again," he said.
"I know you're not." She held his gaze.
"Dante.
I have thirty-one photographs, a property deed, and a document with fourteen routing numbers connecting four shell companies to a federal investigation that was opened eight months ago.
I have had them for three weeks.
I have not used them yet."
The stillness that came over him was different from his usual stillness.
That one was controlled.
This one was the stillness of a man whose mind was moving very fast behind a face trying not to show it.
"Where did you get that."
"Your third drawer.
The false bottom.
You changed the combination on your office door two years ago.
You forgot you'd already given me the code when I was handling your insurance documents."
He said nothing.
"I'm not going to use what I have," Amara said.
"Not if you let me walk out of this house right now with my daughter and without interference.
Not if you instruct your lawyer to begin divorce proceedings on terms we agree on.
Not if you stay away from me and from her until a court tells you otherwise."
"You're threatening me."
"I'm offering you a choice.
You told me I had one.
Now you have one."
His jaw was tight enough that she could see the muscle working beneath the skin.
"You have no idea what those documents represent," he said.
"You have no idea who else is involved.
If you walk out of here with that envelope and something happens to it—"
"Nothing is going to happen to it," Amara said.
"Because I'm not the only one who knows where the copies are."
That landed.
She watched it land.
"Copies," he said.
"I've been very organized."
He looked at her for a long time.
The rain had stopped outside.
The house was completely silent.
Somewhere upstairs, a door opened and closed — Selena, listening, deciding.
"If you do this," Dante said quietly, "you will not be protected anymore.
Do you understand what that means in my world?"
"I understand exactly what it means." Amara opened the front door.
Cold air moved through the entry hall.
"It means I'm free."
She walked out.
The door closed behind her.
She was at the car — a rental, paid in cash, parked two blocks away — before her hands started shaking.
She sat in the driver's seat and pressed both palms flat against her thighs and breathed until the shaking stopped.
Her daughter kicked twice.
"I know," Amara said quietly.
"I know.
We're okay."
She started the car.
Her phone lit up before she reached the end of the block.
Not Dante's number.
A number she didn't recognize.
She let it ring.
It rang again at the next light.
And again.
On the fourth call, she answered.
A man's voice.
Calm.
Careful.
"Mrs.
Moretti.
My name is Agent Reyes.
May you like
I think you have something I've been looking for.
And I think we need to talk before your husband realizes you've left."
