Page 2 of The Capo & the Curator

Just as I reach my car, two shadowy figures emerge from the darkness. My heart stutters as they step into the dim glow of the parking lot lights—two men, one tall and broad-shouldered, the other short and scrawny. The glint of metal in their hands sends a spike of ice through my veins.

Guns.

"What... what do you want?" The quiver in my voice is unmistakable.

The taller one sneers, his grip tightening on the weapon. "We're looking for Evelyn Hughes."

My mind races as I try to make sense of their words. Why would anyone be after me? I'm just a curator, for god's sake.

Squaring my shoulders in a bid for bravado I don't feel, I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong person."

They share a look, clearly unconvinced by my lie. The shorter man's lips twist into an unsettling grin. "Don't play dumb with us, sweetheart. We know it's you. That mousy brain hair and fat ass are a little too recognizable."

As he takes a menacing step forward, instinct takes over. Whipping my oversized tote off my shoulder, I swing it at him with every ounce of force I can muster. The solid thunk of books against flesh is immensely satisfying, and he grunts in surprise, stumbling back.

Seizing my chance, I turn on my heel and run.

Or try to. Only a few strides in, a crushing weight barrels into me from behind. My knees give way as I'm driven to the ground, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs. White-hot agony explodes across my skull as it strikes the unforgiving asphalt.

Dazed, I can only watch helplessly as they loom over me, my vision swimming. Rough hands haul me upright, the world tilting dangerously. I blink, trying to force it back into focus as one gruff voice growls, "Boss won't be happy if she's bleeding."

The words seem to come from a thousand miles away, distorted and muffled. My last coherent thought is wondering who this "boss" is and what they want from me.

Then everything goes black.

Chapter 2

Dante

With each passing second, the grandfather clock's incessant ticking seems to mock me. My fingers drum an impatient staccato against the polished mahogany desktop, betraying a rare show of restlessness. Patience has always been one of my strongest suits, but tonight it wears thin.

I lean back in the plush leather chair, letting my gaze roam the lavish confines of my private office. Every detail, from the ornate crown moldings to the richly patterned rug underfoot, has been meticulously curated to project an unmistakable aura of power. To the untrained eye, it's the picture of opulent luxury.

To me, it's armor.

This room has witnessed some of my family's most pivotal dealings—negotiations brokered, allegiances forged, fates decided with a mere flick of a wrist. The weight of that legacy hangs thick in the air, an ever-present reminder of the burden I now shoulder alone.

With a weary sigh, my gaze falls upon the innocuous leather-bound tome resting on the desk's surface. My grandfather's journal, its pages yellowed and worn with age, embodies that burden. For weeks, I've pored over those cryptic scrawls, the tantalizing promise of a revelation that could secure my family's future dangling just out of reach.

I'm no stranger to codes, having spent years mastering the intricacies of covert communications. But this is an entirely different breed of puzzle that has confounded my every attempt at decryption. The old man certainly had a flair for the dramatic, leaving behind a final test even in death.

Gritting my teeth, I snatch up the journal, its worn leather covers now achingly familiar in my grasp. A series of indecipherable symbols and ciphers greet me, as maddening and inscrutable as ever. I can almost hear my grandfather's rasping chuckle, an echo of pride at having created such an impenetrable riddle.

"Soon," I murmur, more to reassure myself than anything. "Soon, I'll have you figured out."

A soft rap at the door breaks the weighted silence. I glance up sharply as Aldo enters, his expression schooled into its usual mask of detached indifference. My most trusted soldier, the man has been by my side since we were little more than boys.

"Is she here?" I ask.

His answering nod is curt. "Upstairs, as requested. Took a little... persuasion, but they followed orders." A muscle twitches in his jaw, and I can't help but wonder just how much persuasion was required. I'll deal with any fallout later, if need be. For now, there are more pressing matters at hand.

Leaning back again, I regard the journal with a newfound resolve. "Good. Send her in."

Aldo's brows rise a fraction. "You want her brought down here? Directly?"

I level him with a look that brooks no argument. "That's what I said, isn't it?”

There's a beat of tense silence before he inclines his head in a deferential nod and turns on his heel, the door closing with a decisive thud in his wake.

---