Chapter 2 - THE NAME NO ONE WOULD SAY
For three years, I had believed my husband's death was a terrible accident.
Standing in that dark corridor, holding my terrified daughter while armed men searched a hidden passage, I realized someone had been lying to me from the beginning.
The emergency lights flickered on.
A dull red glow filled the servants' hallway.
Dante moved instantly.
"Lock down the west wing."
One guard pressed his radio.
"West wing lockdown, all exterior posts secure."
Dante pointed toward the second guard.
"Take Mrs. Reyes and her daughter to my mother's rooms."
"No."
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Dante turned.
I was shaking so hard I could barely hold Sophie, but I forced myself to meet his eyes.
"What did that man mean?"
"Not here."
"He knew my husband."
"Elena."
"He knew Miguel!"
My voice cracked against the stone walls.
Dante's expression hardened.
"Your daughter is frightened, and the person who frightened her is still somewhere inside my house."
I looked down.
Sophie had buried her face against my shoulder.
Her little fingers were knotted in my sweater.
Dante lowered his voice.
"Let me make sure she's safe."
I hated how much sense that made.
I hated even more that I had no one else to trust.
The guard led us toward the main staircase while Dante disappeared into the tunnel with Bruno.
I glanced back once.
The concealed walnut door remained open.
It looked like a wound in the wall.
As we climbed the servants' stairs, I heard a heavy metallic door slam somewhere beneath us.
Then came Dante's voice over the radio.
"He's heading toward the north service exit."
A pause followed.
"Seal it."
I pressed my lips against Sophie's curls.
"It's okay, baby."
She was crying silently.
I could feel each trembling breath.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
I stopped on the staircase.
"Sorry for what?"
"For borrowing Bruno."
The words almost broke me.
I knelt in front of her.
"Sophie, look at me."
Her wet brown eyes met mine.
"You did exactly the right thing."
"But you said I shouldn't bother Mr. Moretti."
"I was wrong."
Her mouth trembled.
"You were?"
"Yes."
I brushed the hair away from her forehead.
"When you're frightened, you are allowed to ask for help, and you never have to apologize for trying to keep yourself safe."
She looked toward the dark hallway.
"Even from him?"
"Especially if he's the person who can help."
She wrapped her arms around my neck.
I held her until the guard quietly reminded us that we needed to keep moving.
Teresa Moretti was waiting in her private sitting room.
She wore a cream-colored robe and held a rosary between her fingers.
Two lamps illuminated the elegant room, casting warm light over bookshelves and antique furniture.
When she saw Sophie, her face changed.
"My darling child."
She crossed the room and gathered Sophie into her arms.
I had never seen Teresa move so quickly.
"Are you hurt?"
Sophie shook her head.
"Bruno saved us."
Teresa's eyes moved toward me.
I saw something flicker across her face.
Relief.
Then dread.
"Elena, sit down."
"I don't want to sit."
She glanced toward the guard.
"Leave us."
The door closed.
I waited until his footsteps faded.
Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me for three years.
"How did you know about Miguel?"
Teresa's fingers stopped moving over the rosary beads.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
That silence was an answer.
I took one step toward her.
"You came to my apartment three days after his funeral."
"Elena—"
"You knew I needed money, you knew I had a little girl, and somehow you knew exactly what to offer me."
Her face tightened.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Sophie looked between us.
Teresa glanced at her.
"Your daughter should rest."
"No."
I surprised myself with the force of my answer.
"For three years, everyone in this house has told me where to go, what rooms to avoid, what questions not to ask."
My voice shook.
"Someone has been standing outside my child's bedroom window, and tonight that man spoke about my dead husband."
I swallowed.
"You're going to tell me what you know."
Teresa slowly lowered herself into an armchair.
For the first time since I had met her, she looked old.
"I knew Miguel before he died."
The room tilted.
"What?"
"Not well."
She clasped her hands.
"But I knew of him."
"How?"
Teresa looked toward the windows.
"Miguel worked near one of our properties in Brooklyn."
"He delivered bread."
"Yes."
"He worked six mornings a week, came home smelling of flour, and spent Sunday afternoons taking our daughter to the park."
My chest tightened.
"He wasn't involved with your family."
"No."
"Then why did you know him?"
Teresa closed her eyes.
"Because a few days before he died, he tried to warn someone about a man he had seen."
I stared at her.
"Warn who?"
She opened her eyes.
"Someone connected to this house."
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except Sophie's breathing.
"What man?"
"I didn't know his name then."
"Do you know it now?"
Teresa hesitated.
That hesitation filled me with a cold, sick certainty.
"Tell me."
She reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
"Please."
Before she could answer, the sitting room door opened.
Dante entered.
Rain darkened the shoulders of his white shirt.
There was dust along one sleeve and a fresh scrape across his knuckles.
Bruno came beside him, breathing heavily.
My daughter's entire face lit up.
"Bruno!"
The dog immediately walked toward her.
Dante watched him settle at her feet.
Then he looked at his mother.
"She knows?"
Teresa's expression changed.
"Enough to ask questions."
I faced Dante.
"You knew my husband?"
"No."
"Did you know why he was killed?"
Dante did not answer immediately.
That was worse than a lie.
"Elena, I need you to listen carefully."
"No."
I shook my head.
"I have listened carefully for three years."
My voice rose.
"I listened when your house manager told me not to use certain staircases."
"I listened when security said there were places I wasn't allowed to go."
"I listened when your mother said I should feel grateful."
Tears burned my eyes.
"And tonight I found out someone has been stalking my five-year-old daughter through a secret tunnel."
Dante stood silently.
I stepped closer.
"Did Miguel die because of this family?"
Teresa made a small sound.
Dante looked at her.
Then he answered.
"Yes."
One word.
That was all it took to destroy the story I had told myself about my husband's death.
I felt my knees weaken.
Dante reached toward me.
I stepped back.
"Don't touch me."
He lowered his hand.
"I'm sorry."
I laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
"You're sorry?"
"Elena—"
"My daughter has spent three birthdays without her father."
I could barely speak.
"She asks why other children have two parents."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"She keeps his photograph beneath her pillow because she thinks he'll know she's remembering him."
My voice broke completely.
"And you knew something?"
Dante's eyes darkened.
"I knew there was a connection between his death and someone associated with my organization."
"Who?"
"We hadn't proved it."
"We?"
"Elena, listen."
"Who?"
He held my gaze.
"My head of estate security."
I stared at him.
"Victor?"
Victor Shaw had worked for Dante since before I arrived.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and always wore a dark suit with a silver watch.
He supervised the estate cameras, coordinated patrol schedules, and decided which areas of the mansion required extra guards.
For three years, Victor had been the man I called whenever the cottage alarm malfunctioned.
He had personally shown me how to secure Sophie's bedroom window.
My stomach twisted.
"Victor Shaw?"
Dante nodded once.
I remembered something.
A small detail that had meant nothing until that moment.
Two weeks earlier, Victor had come to the cottage to inspect the smoke detectors.
He had stood outside Sophie's bedroom longer than necessary.
When I asked whether something was wrong, he said the window latch looked loose.
He promised to send maintenance.
Nobody came.
Then I remembered the morning after the first knocking.
I had found the curtain pulled slightly away from the glass.
Sophie insisted someone had been looking inside.
I told her the wind had moved it.
I pressed a hand over my mouth.
"Oh, God."
Dante watched me.
"What?"
"Victor was in our cottage."
His expression changed.
"When?"
"Two weeks ago."
"Why?"
"He said he was checking the smoke detectors."
Dante swore under his breath.
Teresa rose.
"Dante."
He was already reaching for his phone.
"Pull every maintenance request involving the caretaker's cottage."
He turned toward the door.
"Nobody lets Victor leave the property."
I caught his sleeve.
"Wait."
He stopped.
"Did Victor kill my husband?"
Dante looked at me.
For the first time, his usual certainty was gone.
"I believe he knows who did."
"That's not what I asked."
"I don't know whether he pulled the trigger."
The room went silent.
Then Sophie spoke.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Dante turned.
She stood beside Bruno, holding her star-shaped pillow.
"Is Victor the man?"
Dante crouched.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because the man at my window has the same shiny watch."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Dante's face became terrifyingly calm.
"What kind of watch, sweetheart?"
Sophie touched her own wrist.
"It makes a little clicking sound when he knocks."
Dante didn't move.
"Did you see anything written on it?"
She nodded slowly.
"A little V."
Teresa whispered something in Italian.
Dante looked toward the door.
His voice was so quiet it frightened me.
"Find Victor."
A security guard appeared moments later.
Dante listened as the man spoke into his ear.
I couldn't hear every word.
But I heard enough.
The north service gate had been found unlocked.
A patrol camera had stopped recording at 10:41.
And Victor Shaw was missing.
Then the guard said something that made Dante look toward me.
"The cottage has been searched."
I froze.
"What?"
Dante turned to the guard.
"Explain."
"One of the bedroom floorboards has been lifted."
My hands went cold.
"Whose bedroom?"
The guard hesitated.
Dante's voice hardened.
"Answer her."
"The child's."
I looked at Sophie.
She was gently stroking Bruno's head, unaware that the room had changed around her.
"What's under the floorboard?" Dante asked me.
"Nothing."
"Are you certain?"
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
Because beneath Sophie's bed, under the loose board near the wall, there was something I had not touched in three years.
Miguel's old canvas work bag.
I had hidden it there after his funeral because I couldn't bear to throw it away.
Inside were his delivery receipts, a faded baseball cap, and the last shirt he had worn to work.
My stomach dropped.
Victor had not been trying to get inside my daughter's bedroom because he wanted to hurt her for no reason.
He had been looking for something.
May you like
Something Miguel had left behind.
And somehow, Victor believed I still possessed it.
