Chapter 2 - The Man With the Silver Ring“What did he look like?”
Lily lowered her voice.
“He has white in his hair.”
Half the men who worked for me had gray hair.
“What else?”
“He smells funny.”
“Funny how?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Like Grandpa’s medicine.”
That narrowed nothing.
Then Lily pointed at my right hand.
“He has a ring like yours. But his has a bird.”
Everything inside me went still.
Only one man in my family wore that ring.
My uncle.
Salvatore Moretti.
My father’s younger brother had worn the Moretti eagle signet since his twenty-first birthday. Heavy silver. Black stone. An eagle carved across its face.
I kept my expression neutral.
“When did you see him?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“In my bedroom?”
She nodded.
My pulse changed.
“Was I here?”
“Yes.”
“What was I doing?”
“Your eyes were closed.”
I stared at her.
Three nights earlier, I had taken a new medication prescribed by Dr. Harrison Vale. I remembered sitting on the edge of my bed around two in the morning.
Then I remembered waking at 4:17 in the chair by the window.
I had assumed I had finally slept.
Two hours.
The first meaningful sleep I had gotten in weeks.
Now Lily was telling me Salvatore had been standing beside me.
“What did he do?”
She shrugged.
“Touched your cup.”
My eyes moved toward the bedside table.
There was a glass of water there.
“Anything else?”
“He talked to another man.”
“What man?”
“I didn’t see.”
“What did they say?”
Lily frowned, trying to remember.
Then she whispered, “He said you were getting harder.”
My blood chilled.
“Harder to what?”
“I don’t know.”
She turned another page in the book.
“He said something about Christmas.”
Christmas.
That was nine weeks away.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
“Lily, listen carefully. You cannot tell anyone we talked about this.”
Her eyes widened.
“Not even Mama?”
Especially not her mother.
Then I saw fear entering her face and immediately regretted my tone.
I softened my voice.
“This is just a grown-up problem. I don’t want your mother worrying.”
Lily considered that.
“Okay.”
The bedroom door opened.
I reached beneath my pillow.
My hand closed around the pistol hidden there before I recognized the woman standing in the doorway.
Emily Carter.
Lily’s mother.
She wore a pale robe over her housekeeper’s uniform. Her long brown hair was tied loosely behind her head, and panic filled her eyes.
“Lily!”
The child brightened.
“Hi, Mama.”
Emily hurried across the room.
“I have been looking everywhere for you.”
She lifted Lily from the bed.
Then she noticed me.
More specifically, she noticed my hand beneath the pillow.
Her face lost color.
I slowly withdrew my empty hand.
“She was reading.”
Emily stared at the book.
Then at me.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Moretti.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. She knows she isn’t supposed to come into this wing.”
“Mama, he almost slept.”
Emily blinked.
I gave Lily a warning look.
Lily smiled innocently.
Emily looked at me again.
Something changed in her expression.
“You slept?”
“Almost.”
For some reason, she seemed genuinely happy about it.
Not relieved because her employer might become easier to work for.
Happy.
For me.
I wasn’t accustomed to that.
Emily shifted Lily against her hip.
“We’ll leave you alone.”
“Emily.”
She stopped.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Eleven months.”
“Has anyone ever instructed you to prepare drinks for me at night?”
“No.”
“Tea?”
Her expression changed.
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“Mrs. Ricci prepares your nighttime tea sometimes.”
I stared at her.
“I don't drink nighttime tea.”
Now Emily looked worried.
“I’ve seen the tray.”
“When?”
“A few times.”
“Who takes it upstairs?”
She swallowed.
“Mr. Salvatore’s assistant.”
There it was.
The second coincidence.
Coincidences were useful things.
One coincidence deserved attention.
Two deserved investigation.
Three usually meant someone was lying.
“Take Lily downstairs.”
Emily hugged her daughter tighter.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
She knew I was lying.
But she nodded.
At the doorway, Lily twisted around in her mother’s arms.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“What?”
“You should finish the story tomorrow.”
For the first time that night, something almost resembling amusement touched me.
“Go to bed.”
She grinned.
When the door closed, I reached for my phone.
I called the only man I trusted enough to wake at 12:46 a.m.
Marco Bellini answered on the first ring.
“Boss?”
“Where’s Salvatore?”
A pause.
“Your uncle?”
“How many Salvatores do we employ?”
“Fair point.”
Keys clicked.
“He left the estate at eleven thirty-eight.”
“Where did he go?”
“I can find out.”
“No.”
Silence.
Marco understood immediately.
If Salvatore was watching me, checking his movements through ordinary security channels could alert him.
“What do you need?”
“Pull the internal camera archives for my floor.”
Another pause.
“Those cameras were disabled three years ago.”
“I know.”
That was the night my insomnia began.
I looked toward the dark hallway.
“Check them anyway.”
Twenty-three minutes later, Marco entered through my private office.
He was carrying a laptop.
His face told me everything.
“You found something.”
He placed the computer on my desk.
“You're not going to like it.”
“Play it.”
A grainy black-and-white recording appeared.
Timestamp:
2:41 A.M. — THREE NIGHTS AGO
My bedroom hallway.
Empty.
Then a figure entered frame.
Salvatore.
My uncle looked both directions before approaching my bedroom.
But he wasn’t alone.
A second man followed.
White medical coat beneath a dark overcoat.
My physician.
Dr. Harrison Vale.
My stomach turned cold.
Marco glanced at me.
Neither of us spoke.
On-screen, Salvatore entered my room.
Four minutes later, Vale followed.
They remained inside for eleven minutes.
Then Vale emerged carrying something.
A syringe.
Marco froze the image.
“What the hell?”
I stared at the screen.
Three years.
Three years of specialists.
Three years of shaking hands at dawn.
Three years of believing my own mind had turned against me.
I remembered Salvatore telling me to rest.
Telling me grief had damaged me.
Telling the board that my insomnia was “manageable.”
Always defending me publicly.
Always reminding everyone privately that he could take responsibility if I needed time away.
My eyes moved to the bedside water.
“Get that tested.”
Marco picked up the glass with a cloth.
“And Vale?”
“Watch him.”
“What about Salvatore?”
I looked toward the hallway where Lily had disappeared.
“No one touches him.”
Marco frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if he’s been doing this for three years, I want to know why.”
I shut the laptop.
“And Marco?”
“Yeah?”
“Move Emily and Lily into the east guest wing tomorrow.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“That’s inside your private security perimeter.”
“I know.”
“Should I ask why?”
“No.”
Marco smiled faintly.
“Didn't think so.”
He reached the door.
“One more thing.”
He turned.
“Find every medical record from the night my father died.”
His expression hardened.
My father had died four years earlier.
Officially, a heart attack.
But three years ago—almost exactly one year after his death—my insomnia had begun.
Marco understood where my thoughts were going.
“You think they're connected?”
“I don’t know.”
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT THE CAMERAS OFF.
Marco read it over my shoulder.
Neither of us moved.
Then another message appeared.
ASK EMILY WHAT HER HUSBAND REALLY DID FOR YOUR FATHER.
I slowly raised my eyes toward the ceiling.
Toward the floor where Emily Carter and her daughter were sleeping.
Suddenly Salvatore wasn’t my only problem.
Because Lily had accidentally exposed someone in my family.
May you like
But whoever was watching me had just exposed something else.
My housekeeper had a secret too.
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