Chapter 3 - The House That Still Belonged to a Ghost
The Moretti mansion had forty-three rooms.
Elise quickly learned that grief lived in all of them.
It was in the formal dining room where Isabella’s chair remained empty even when twelve guests were present.
It was in the music room where a grand piano had not been touched in almost a year.
It was in the library where three unfinished novels still waited beside Isabella’s favorite armchair.
And it was most powerful in the master bedroom.
Elise had never entered that room.
She never intended to.
Until Rosie disappeared.
It happened at 2:14 on a Thursday afternoon.
For exactly ninety seconds.
That was all.
Ninety seconds was enough to turn the mansion upside down.
Elise had been helping Maisie paint paper flowers at the nursery table while Rosie played with a stuffed rabbit near the door.
The phone rang.
Rosa asked a question about dinner.
Elise turned away.
When she looked back, Rosie was gone.
“Rosie?”
No answer.
Elise checked the bathroom.
Empty.
Hallway.
Empty.
Her heart began pounding.
“Rosie!”
Maisie looked up.
“Where Rosie go?”
Elise activated the security button Vincent had made her carry.
Within thirty seconds, men flooded the second floor.
Vincent arrived from his office downstairs with a face that made every guard move faster.
“What happened?”
“She was right here.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a minute.”
Vincent turned toward Marco.
“Seal everything.”
“Already done.”
Vincent checked rooms personally.
Elise followed.
“Rosie!”
Nothing.
Then Maisie appeared in the hallway.
“She went Mama room.”
Everyone stopped.
Vincent turned.
“What?”
Maisie pointed toward the master suite.
“Mama room.”
Vincent went still.
He had kept the door locked.
Always.
He walked toward it.
The door was open.
Vincent’s face drained of color.
He entered.
Elise followed more slowly.
Isabella’s presence was everywhere.
Her perfume bottles.
A silk robe draped over a chair.
Photographs.
A jewelry box.
Books.
Shoes lined carefully against one wall.
Time had stopped in this room.
Nothing had been moved.
Nothing had been allowed to change.
Then a small sound came from the closet.
Vincent crossed the room.
Rosie sat on the floor inside, clutching a pale blue scarf.
“Mama smell.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Rosie pressed the scarf to her face.
“Mama.”
Elise covered her mouth.
Vincent crouched.
For a terrifying second, he looked like he might break completely.
Instead, he held out his arms.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Rosie shook her head.
“No.”
Vincent blinked.
“Mama.”
“Yes.”
“Where Mama?”
The question had been asked before.
Dozens of times.
But not like this.
Not while Rosie held her mother’s scarf.
Vincent looked at Elise helplessly.
For all his power, he did not know how to answer a three-year-old.
Elise sat on the closet floor.
She did not take the scarf.
“Your mama died,” she said gently.
Vincent flinched at the directness.
Rosie stared at her.
“Come back?”
“No.”
Rosie’s lower lip trembled.
Elise’s voice remained soft.
“I wish she could.”
Rosie looked at Vincent.
“Daddy make Mama come?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“No, baby.”
“Daddy makes things.”
The sentence broke something in him.
Vincent sat down heavily.
“I can’t make this.”
Rosie began crying.
Vincent reached for her.
This time she came.
He held her against his chest.
Maisie appeared beside Elise.
“Did Daddy not save Mama?”
Vincent froze.
Elise closed her eyes briefly.
There it was.
The question beneath everything.
Children did not understand crime.
They did not understand revenge.
They understood only that Daddy protected everyone.
And Mama had died.
Vincent looked at Maisie.
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“I didn’t save Mama.”
Maisie stared at him.
“Why?”
Vincent had no answer.
Elise did.
“Because sometimes bad things happen that even people who love us cannot stop.”
Maisie looked skeptical.
“Daddy stops bad things.”
Elise touched her shoulder.
“Daddy tries.”
Vincent looked at Elise.
She had given him something he had never allowed himself.
The right to be human.
That evening, Vincent finally entered Isabella’s room alone.
The twins were asleep.
Elise found him sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You should knock.”
She stood in the doorway.
“The door was open.”
“It hasn’t been open in eleven months.”
“I know.”
Vincent looked around.
“I locked this room because I thought if I preserved everything, the girls would still have her.”
Elise leaned against the doorframe.
“Maybe they need memories they’re allowed to touch.”
He looked at the scarf.
Rosie had cried when Vincent tried to put it back.
Eventually he let her sleep with it.
“Elise.”
“Yes?”
“How did you know what to say?”
She was silent for a moment.
“My father died when I was eight.”
Vincent waited.
“My mother told me he had gone somewhere beautiful.”
Elise looked down.
“So I waited by the front window every afternoon because I thought beautiful places still had return trips.”
Vincent’s expression softened.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
She smiled sadly.
“Children deserve truth. Gentle truth. But truth.”
Vincent looked at Isabella’s photograph.
“She would have liked you.”
Elise’s breath caught.
He realized what he had said.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Vincent stood.
“I want to change the room.”
Elise blinked.
“Change it?”
“Not erase her.”
He touched the edge of the dresser.
“But stop turning her into a museum.”
The next Saturday, Vincent brought the twins inside.
They chose photographs for their bedrooms.
Rosie took the blue scarf.
Maisie took a silver music box.
Vincent packed Isabella’s clothes for a women’s charity she had supported.
He kept her wedding dress.
Her letters.
The perfume she wore on their first date.
And a ridiculous coffee mug that said BOSS OF THE BOSS.
Elise found that one.
She laughed.
Vincent stared at it.
“She gave it to me on our tenth anniversary.”
“She had excellent judgment.”
“She was insufferable.”
“You loved her.”
“Completely.”
Elise’s smile softened.
“I know.”
There was no jealousy in her voice.
That mattered.
Vincent had wondered, without admitting it, whether caring about Elise meant betraying Isabella.
Now he realized Elise would never ask him to love his wife less.
That made loving Elise more dangerous.
Later that afternoon, Marco entered Vincent’s office.
“We found something.”
Vincent closed the door.
“What?”
“The security blackout from last week.”
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
“Someone accessed the east gate.”
“Maintenance credentials.”
“Whose?”
“Expired employee. Dead two years.”
Vincent stood.
“So somebody copied old credentials.”
“Yes.”
“Camera?”
“Only forty-eight seconds of usable footage.”
Marco opened a tablet.
A grainy image appeared.
Man.
Baseball cap.
Maintenance uniform.
Carrying a toolbox.
“Facial recognition?”
“Nothing.”
Vincent studied the screen.
“Where did he go?”
“We traced movement to the service corridor.”
“Then?”
“He disappeared.”
Vincent stared.
“In my house?”
Marco’s expression was grim.
“We think he had help.”
Vincent’s voice dropped.
“Inside.”
“Yes.”
The word sat between them.
Vincent thought of the photograph.
Elise.
The girls.
Someone knew schedules.
Someone knew the house.
“Staff review. Quietly.”
Marco nodded.
“No one is cleared.”
“Not even me?”
Vincent looked at him.
Marco held his gaze.
Then Vincent said, “Especially you.”
Marco smiled once.
“That’s why I work for you.”
That night, Elise woke to footsteps outside her bedroom.
She checked the clock.
1:18 a.m.
The twins were asleep across the hall.
She sat up.
The footsteps stopped.
“Elise?”
Vincent.
She exhaled and opened the door.
He stood in the hallway.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She frowned.
“You patrol the nanny’s hallway at one in the morning for nothing?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“That makes two of us.”
Vincent looked tired.
Not mafia-boss tired.
Human tired.
Elise stepped into the hallway.
“Coffee?”
“At one in the morning?”
“You carry a firearm to check on sleeping children. I’m not sure either of us makes conventional nighttime choices.”
Ten minutes later they sat in the kitchen.
Elise wore a robe.
Vincent wore black.
Always black.
He stared into his coffee.
“There’s someone inside the house.”
Elise became still.
“What?”
He told her about the camera.
The credentials.
The maintenance uniform.
She listened without interrupting.
“Are the girls safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
She appreciated the answer.
Vincent rubbed one hand across his face.
“I should send you away.”
“We covered this.”
“I’m not asking.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“Because I’m trying to understand why I haven’t done it.”
Elise looked at him.
They both knew.
Neither said it.
Vincent’s phone buzzed.
Marco.
Vincent answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Elise watched the color leave his face.
“Repeat that.”
Silence.
Vincent stood.
“When?”
Another pause.
“I’m coming.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” Elise asked.
Vincent looked at her.
“We found the man who entered the house.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Daniel Serrano.”
Elise’s coffee cup slipped slightly in her fingers.
Vincent noticed.
“You know him.”
She did not answer.
“Elise.”
Her face had gone white.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Who is Daniel Serrano?”
Elise stared at the table.
Then she whispered, “My brother.”
The room became silent.
Vincent’s expression changed slowly.
Not anger yet.
Something colder.
“You have a brother.”
“Yes.”
“You never mentioned him.”
“No.”
“He entered my home under a false identity.”
“I didn’t know.”
“He was watching my children.”
“I didn’t know.”
Vincent slammed one palm against the table.
“Then what do you know?”
Elise flinched.
He saw it.
Instant regret crossed his face.
But the damage was done.
She stood.
“My brother disappeared six years ago.”
“Into what?”
“Trouble.”
“What kind?”
“The kind people like you call business.”
Vincent stared at her.
“Was he connected?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
Elise’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to believe I love those girls.”
Vincent’s jaw clenched.
“That is not enough anymore.”
Elise looked as though he had slapped her.
The words hung between them.
Vincent hated them immediately.
But fear was louder.
Fear always was.
“Until I know the truth,” he said, “you stay away from Maisie and Rosie.”
Elise went completely still.
“Vincent.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“Don’t say you’re sorry and do that.”
“I have to protect them.”
“From me?”
“I don’t know.”
Elise stepped back.
Her face closed.
Vincent had seen it before in frightened witnesses.
A door shutting.
“Fine.”
“Elise—”
“No. You made your decision.”
She walked away.
Vincent remained in the kitchen.
May you like
For the second time in a year, he had chosen fear over trust.
And by sunrise, he would learn he had made exactly the mistake the enemy inside his house had been waiting for.
