Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR
Vincent moved before the guard finished speaking.
He ordered two men to secure the eastern corridor, another to check every entrance, and a fourth to take Emma and me to a protected room.
I refused.
"My daughter isn't going anywhere without me."
Vincent turned toward me, his expression hard enough to frighten anyone else.
"Claire, someone has entered a room that has been sealed for eighteen months. Until I know why, nobody in this house is safe."
"Then tell me what's happening."
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, I saw the man everyone feared: a man accustomed to issuing orders and receiving obedience. Then Emma slipped her hand into his.
"You don't have to be mean when you're scared," she told him.
The guards looked away.
Vincent stared down at her small fingers wrapped around his hand.
"I'm not scared."
Emma tilted her head.
"Then why is your hand shaking?"
He said nothing.
Finally, he knelt beside her.
"Will you stay with Mrs. Alvarez for a little while? She's going to bring you cookies."
"Will Mommy come too?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
Vincent looked at me before answering.
"I promise."
Mrs. Alvarez, the longtime housekeeper, took Emma to a secure suite while Vincent and I followed the guards toward Elena's sitting room.
The corridor seemed colder than usual.
A brass key still hung from the chain around Vincent's neck. He used it to open the outer lock, then pushed the door inward.
The room smelled faintly of lavender.
Everything remained exactly as Elena had left it. Her books stood on the shelves. A half-finished embroidery project rested beside an armchair. Her favorite blue scarf lay folded across the piano.
But the writing desk had been disturbed.
Drawers hung open. Papers littered the carpet. A framed photograph had been smashed.
On the wall behind the desk, someone had written in black marker:
YOU BURIED THE WRONG WOMAN.
Vincent stared at the words.
I covered my mouth.
"Is it true?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
One of his men approached with a small velvet box.
"We found this beneath the desk, boss."
Inside lay a second silver crescent moon.
It was identical to Emma's necklace, except for the engraved letter.
L.
Vincent closed his fist around it.
"Who knew this room was still locked?" he demanded.
"Only you, the senior household staff, and the family."
"Then start with the family."
He ordered the security team to review every camera recording from the previous seventy-two hours.
I stayed behind, unable to ignore the scattered papers. One had slid beneath the desk. When I picked it up, I saw a name written across the top.
Daniel Parker.
My breath caught.
Beneath it was a date from four years earlier, followed by a handwritten note:
Confirm birth. Secure the child before the Moretti family discovers the truth.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Daniel had been Emma's father.
But what did the Moretti family have to do with him?
I heard footsteps behind me and turned sharply.
Vincent stood in the doorway.
"You recognize that name."
I clutched the paper.
"My daughter's father."
He didn't appear surprised.
That frightened me more than anything else.
"You knew about him?"
"No. But someone has been asking questions about your daughter since before you came to work here."
"Why?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
I backed away.
"You hired me because of Emma?"
"I hired you because your references were excellent."
"That's not what I asked."
Vincent looked at the paper in my hand.
"I didn't know Daniel was connected to you until today."
"Connected how?"
He hesitated.
Then he told me something that changed everything.
"Daniel Parker worked for my family's legal department. He disappeared shortly before Elena died."
My throat tightened.
"You're telling me my daughter's father worked for the mafia?"
"He worked for my family's legitimate businesses. What he did beyond that, I don't know."
"Did Elena know him?"
Vincent looked toward the shattered photograph.
"She was the one who hired him."
The room seemed to tilt.
Before I could ask another question, a guard rushed inside carrying a tablet.
"We found the intruder on the cameras."
He turned the screen toward Vincent.
The footage showed a figure entering the east corridor at 3:47 p.m. The person wore a dark coat and moved with a pronounced limp.
At 3:52, the figure emerged.
The face remained hidden.
But the right hand was visible.
A gold ring flashed beneath the hallway light.
Vincent went pale.
I recognized the ring from the formal portraits.
It belonged to his older brother, Anthony Moretti.
Anthony had died in the same attack that killed Elena.
At least, that was what everyone had told me.
Vincent stared at the screen.
Then the guard spoke again.
"There's something else, boss. The system recorded a call from inside the sitting room."
"Play it."
A woman's voice filled the room.
Weak. Breathless. Unmistakably alive.
"Vincent, if you're hearing this, don't trust Anthony."
The recording crackled.
Then came the final sentence.
"Your daughter is still out there."
May you like
Vincent staggered backward.
And for the first time since I'd known him, the most feared man in New York looked as though he might collapse.
