Chapter 5 - The Red Shoes Arrived With a WarningDominic moved us to a townhouse on the Upper East Side.
I expected cold marble floors, locked doors, and men carrying weapons in every hallway.
Instead, the guest bedroom had white curtains, a small Christmas tree, and a bed covered in soft blankets.
Rosie immediately climbed onto it.
“Mommy! Look! It's bigger than our whole living room!”
I almost smiled.
Then I remembered the price of our rent, the hole in my boots, and the apartment we had left behind.
A beautiful room didn't erase the fact that my daughter had been threatened because of a man she'd never met.
Dominic appeared in the doorway.
“There are two guards downstairs and one outside your bedroom. They'll remain outside unless you request otherwise.”
“Do they have to carry guns?”
“Yes.”
Rosie's face fell.
Dominic noticed.
“They won't point them at you.”
“That isn't what I'm worried about,” she whispered.
He knelt.
“What are you worried about?”
“Will somebody get hurt because we're here?”
For the first time that evening, Dominic seemed unable to find an answer.
Finally, he said, “I'll do everything I can to prevent that.”
Rosie nodded.
“Okay.”
She reached beneath her coat and retrieved the sketch from her pocket.
“Here. You can keep it.”
Dominic accepted the drawing with unusual care.
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because you looked sad in the store.”
His gaze dropped to the paper.
“And I thought you might need something nice, too.”
Something shifted in his expression.
He had received paintings worth millions, watches crafted for royalty, and gifts from men who wanted favors.
None had ever been given to him because a six-year-old child thought he looked sad.
“Thank you, Rosie.”
She smiled and returned to her coloring.
When Dominic stepped into the hallway, Bruno was waiting.
“Boss, we found something.”
He handed Dominic a photograph taken from the apartment.
It showed the bedroom box, the missing watch, and a small wooden music box.
The photograph had been taken before the intruder left.
Bruno pointed at the music box.
“That was the only item the intruder deliberately opened. Everything else was scattered.”
“Did he take anything?”
“We're checking.”
Dominic stared at the image.
Michael had purchased that music box shortly before his disappearance. Dominic remembered because Michael had once joked that his daughter possessed a better sense of rhythm than every accountant in the building.
“Find out who entered the apartment.”
Bruno hesitated.
“There is one more problem.”
“Go on.”
“Our surveillance cameras captured a man leaving the building. He was wearing a maintenance uniform, but the building manager doesn't recognize him.”
“Can you identify him?”
“Not yet.”
Dominic took the photograph and looked again at the wooden music box.
“Whatever he wanted, he believed it was in that apartment.”
Bruno nodded.
“Perhaps the ledger.”
“Perhaps.”
Dominic suddenly turned.
“Find the original music box. If it's still there, bring it here intact.”
Meanwhile, I sat beside Rosie as she carefully unwrapped a sandwich one of the guards had brought us.
“Mommy, can I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Why don't you like Mr. Dominic?”
I stared at her.
“I don't know him well enough to like him.”
“But he helped us.”
“Yes.”
“And he gave us a safe place.”
“Yes.”
Rosie frowned thoughtfully.
“Then maybe you can like him a little.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Maybe.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Bruno stood outside holding a familiar cardboard box.
“We recovered the items from your apartment.”
He set it on the table and left.
I carefully gathered the photographs and the broken watch.
Then I noticed the music box.
Its wooden lid was crooked.
I opened it.
The little ballerina inside began to turn, accompanied by a familiar melody.
Rosie gasped.
“Daddy's song!”
She leaned closer.
Then the music stopped abruptly.
Something small rolled across the bottom of the box.
A brass key.
Attached to it was a folded piece of paper.
I opened the paper with trembling hands.
There were only three lines, written in Michael's unmistakable handwriting.
Claire, if you're reading this, I failed to come home.
Never trust the man who calls himself family.
The truth is in Locker 317.
My legs nearly gave out.
Because Michael hadn't written the note four years ago.
He had written it recently.
May you like
The ink was fresh.
And beneath the final sentence was a date from just eleven days earlier.
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