Chapter 1 - The Locked DoorThe click of the deadbolt sounded like a gunshot.
Ivy stopped breathing.
She stood at the industrial sink in the basement kitchen of Carmine DeLuca’s estate, one hand gripping a copper skillet, the other trembling beneath freezing water. Her lower lip was split. Her left eye was swelling shut. Finger-shaped bruises were already darkening around her throat, hidden poorly beneath the torn collar of her gray maid’s uniform.
Three in the morning was the hour when a person had no strength left to lie to herself.
So Ivy did what she had done her entire life.
She worked.
She scrubbed a pan that was already clean. She dragged the sponge in frantic circles until her wrist ached. She let the water run cold because numbness was easier than memory.
Rocco’s hands.
The brick wall behind the dumpsters.
His breath sour with whiskey.
His voice telling her the boss did not care about maids, but soldiers needed to be kept happy.
Ivy bit down on her bleeding lip to stop a sob.
Then the swing doors opened.
Carmine DeLuca stood in the doorway.
The boss.
The man whose name could turn loud rooms silent.
He wore black trousers and a white shirt with the collar open, his tie hanging loose. A crystal glass rested in one hand.
Ivy lowered her head.
“I apologize, sir. I’ll be out of your way.”
Carmine did not move.
He stepped inside.
He shut the door.
Turned the deadbolt.
Click.
Ivy’s stomach dropped.
Carmine placed his glass on the counter and walked toward her.
He did not touch her.
He simply turned off the water.
“Look at me.”
She stared at his collar.
“Ivy.”
He knew her name.
Slowly, she raised her eyes.
Carmine studied the damage.
The swollen eye.
The split lip.
The bruises.
The torn collar.
His expression became completely empty.
“Who did this?”
“Nobody.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I fell.”
“And the railing decided to wrap fingers around your throat?”
She began to cry.
“I need this job.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Her mother’s medical debt exploded out of her in a desperate confession.
Fifty-two thousand dollars.
Collection notices.
An apartment one missed payment away from disappearing.
Carmine listened without interrupting.
Then he asked one question.
“Where?”
“Behind the kitchen.”
“My property.”
“Yes.”
“You were assaulted on my property.”
“I can handle it.”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
Absolute.
Carmine reached for a clean towel, soaked it in warm water, and handed it to her.
“Who?”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
“He has a gun.”
“Most cowards do.”
“He’s one of your men.”
Silence.
Carmine’s cigarette burned between his fingers.
“One of mine.”
Ivy whispered the name.
“Rocco.”
For several seconds, Carmine did not react.
Then he pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
She obeyed.
“Tell me everything.”
So she did.
And when she finished, Carmine looked at his watch.
“Your debt will be gone by noon.”
Ivy stared at him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“It isn’t charity.”
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Lock this behind me.”
“Where are you going?”
His face had changed.
“I’m going to have a conversation with Rocco.”
The door opened.
Carmine stepped into the hall.
“It won’t take long.”
The door closed.
Ivy was alone.
For twelve seconds.
Then footsteps sounded outside.
Not Carmine’s.
Three sets.
Heavy.
Fast.
The lock rattled.
Ivy froze.
A man whispered through the door.
“Boss didn’t say anything about leaving her alive.”
Her blood turned cold.
May you like
Because the voice belonged to Rocco.
And Carmine had been gone for less than a minute.
