Chapter 2 - The Man Who Knew Her NameDante's pistol never wavered.
“Hands where I can see them, Dominic.”
Rourke slowly raised both hands. His expression was almost amused, as though we were discussing a minor disagreement rather than standing in a room where an armed mafia boss had just threatened to kill his own head of security.
“You're making a mistake,” Rourke said.
“Possibly. But I'm comfortable making it with a gun in my hand.”
“Think about what happens if you shoot me. Half your security team reports to me. Your guests arrive tomorrow, and your books are already compromised.”
“Then you should have considered those facts before entering my house and frightening a five-year-old girl.”
Rourke's eyes moved toward Sophie.
She buried her face in my shoulder.
It was a tiny movement. Barely noticeable.
Dante noticed.
His finger tightened against the trigger.
“Look at me again,” he warned, “and I'll remove the privilege.”
Rourke obeyed.
I pressed my cheek against Sophie's hair. Her little body was trembling so badly that I could barely hold her still.
“Dominic,” Dante said, “why did you tell me we were too late?”
The security chief sighed.
“Because whatever your husband left behind has already been found.”
Miguel.
The name didn't leave his mouth, but it filled the room anyway.
“My husband is dead,” I said.
Rourke looked at me.
“Is he?”
The question struck harder than a slap.
I rose so quickly that Sophie slipped from my arms onto the sofa.
“Take that back.”
“I don't think I will.”
Dante moved between us.
“Careful.”
“Your housekeeper deserves to know the truth,” Rourke replied. “After all, she's the one who brought the little girl here.”
I stared at him.
“I didn't bring her here. I took a job.”
“An offer arranged by Teresa Moretti three days after your husband's funeral. Free housing, medical benefits, a generous salary. Remarkably charitable for a woman who barely knew you.”
“How did you know about my husband's funeral?”
Rourke's expression changed.
It was the first genuine reaction I'd seen from him.
Then the lights went out.
Sophie screamed.
A gunshot cracked through the darkness.
I dropped to the floor, dragging my daughter down with me. Glass shattered somewhere near the desk. Dante shouted an order, and a heavy body struck the furniture.
Emergency lights flickered on seconds later.
Dante stood beside the desk, gun raised.
Rourke was gone.
The window behind him remained closed.
The study door was still locked.
But one section of the walnut bookcase had swung open, revealing a narrow black passage.
Another secret entrance.
I stared at it, unable to comprehend how many hidden spaces existed inside this mansion.
Dante crossed the room and examined the opening. A thin line of blood marked the edge of the panel.
“He's injured,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Then why isn't he outside?”
“Because he knows this house better than almost anyone alive.”
Dante turned toward me.
“Sophie. The man who visited your window. Did he look like Mr. Rourke?”
She shook her head.
“Did he have the silver thing on his shoes?”
Another shake.
“What did he look like?”
She thought for a long moment.
“His hands were dirty.”
“Dirty how?”
“Like when Daddy fixed the sink. Black underneath his nails.”
My breath caught.
Miguel had been a mechanic.
He'd spent his life fixing engines, repairing broken appliances, and taking whatever work he could find. I could still picture the dark crescent of grease beneath his fingernails when he'd kissed my forehead after a long shift.
Dante watched my face.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Isabel.”
“I said nothing!”
The force in my voice startled even me.
I had spent three years making myself small. Quiet. Invisible.
But someone had entered my daughter's bedroom six times, and the man in charge of protecting this estate apparently knew more about my dead husband than I did.
I was finished being invisible.
“Get everyone in this mansion into one room,” I said. “Question them. Search the tunnels. Find Rourke.”
Dante studied me.
“And if you discover something you don't want to hear?”
“Then I'll hear it.”
Sophie tugged my sleeve.
“Mama?”
I knelt.
She reached beneath the collar of her pajamas and pulled out a tiny folded piece of paper.
“I forgot to tell you.”
My fingers shook as I took it.
The paper had been folded into a square no larger than a postage stamp.
Inside was a line written in handwriting I recognized instantly.
Miguel's handwriting.
IF SHE'S WEARING THE STAR, DON'T TRUST THE MAN WHO PROTECTS THE HOUSE.
Beneath the message was a date.
October 14.
Three years earlier.
Tomorrow was October 14.
Dante read the message over my shoulder.
Then he looked toward the open bookcase.
“God help us,” he whispered.
“Why?”
His face had gone pale.
“Because October 14 was the night Miguel Reyes was supposed to meet me.”
May you like
He paused.
“And the night somebody told me he'd betrayed my family.”
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