Chapter 4 - Someone Inside the Mansion Wanted Her Gone
Maisie screamed when Rosa tried to dress her.
Rosie refused breakfast.
By ten in the morning, both girls had asked for Elise seventeen times.
Vincent knew because he counted.
He hated himself because he counted.
“She’s working,” he told them.
“Where?”
“Somewhere else.”
“Why?”
Vincent could lie convincingly to businessmen, police officers, politicians and armed men.
He could not lie to his daughters.
“She and Daddy had a disagreement.”
Rosie frowned.
“You say sorry.”
Vincent almost laughed.
Maisie nodded firmly.
“Miss Elise says sorry fixes hearts.”
“Does she?”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked toward the nursery door.
“What if Daddy doesn’t know if he did something wrong?”
Both girls stared at him.
Three-year-old judgment was brutal.
Rosie crossed her arms.
“You made Miss Elise go.”
Apparently the verdict was unanimous.
Downstairs, Elise sat in a guest bedroom with two security guards outside.
She was not technically a prisoner.
That distinction became increasingly meaningless by lunchtime.
Vincent had taken her phone.
Marco had questioned her for two hours.
She answered everything.
Daniel was five years older.
Their father died when Elise was eight.
Their mother worked double shifts in a hospital laundry.
Daniel began stealing cars at seventeen.
By twenty-two, he was working for men Elise never met.
Six years ago, he disappeared after telling her he had “gotten involved with people who don’t forgive mistakes.”
She assumed he was dead.
Then three months before Elise applied for the Moretti job, she received a postcard.
No return address.
Only four words.
I’m alive. Stay clean.
She destroyed it.
Vincent stared at her across the interview table.
“You should have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I needed the job.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“My landlord did not accept moral perfection as rent.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Elise continued.
“And because my brother’s mistakes are not mine.”
“No. But they become mine when he enters my house.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it is true.”
Vincent stood.
“Daniel is connected to Matteo Rinaldi.”
Elise searched his face.
“Who?”
Vincent almost envied her ignorance.
“Someone who has wanted me dead for a very long time.”
“Why?”
“That does not matter.”
“It matters if my brother works for him.”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“Rinaldi and I were partners once.”
Elise waited.
“We stopped being partners.”
“That sounds like a polite way to describe a war.”
“It is.”
“Was he involved in Isabella’s death?”
Vincent looked at her sharply.
Elise understood.
“You think he was.”
“I know he benefited.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Vincent stared.
She had unknowingly repeated Isabella’s last argument with him.
He had once accused Rinaldi without evidence.
Isabella told him anger was not proof.
Vincent sat again.
“Daniel was captured last night.”
Elise’s breath stopped.
“Captured?”
“Found.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Safe.”
She looked at him.
“In your vocabulary, that could mean several things.”
“He is alive, uninjured and being questioned.”
“I want to see him.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“No.”
Elise stood.
“If he has information about your daughters, I can help.”
“Or warn him.”
She stared at him.
There it was again.
Distrust.
Vincent watched her expression harden.
“Leave.”
He almost called her back.
He did not.
An hour later, Marco entered.
“Daniel’s story checks.”
Vincent looked up.
“What?”
“He says he came into the mansion to warn Elise.”
“About what?”
“Rinaldi.”
Vincent stood.
Marco placed a folder down.
“Daniel started working for Rinaldi seven years ago. Driver. Courier. Nothing major at first.”
“And now?”
“He became part of Rinaldi’s security detail.”
“Why come here?”
“Because he learned Rinaldi had someone inside this house.”
Vincent went cold.
“Who?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Convenient.”
“He had a photograph.”
Marco slid it across the desk.
The image showed a woman speaking to a man beside a parked car.
The woman was Rosa.
Vincent stared.
“No.”
“Daniel says the contact uses Rosa’s vehicle.”
“That isn’t Rosa.”
“We checked.”
Marco placed another photograph beside it.
Closer.
Same car.
Different woman.
Rosa’s niece, Celia.
Celia worked in household administration.
Scheduling.
Deliveries.
Staff credentials.
Vincent’s heart sank.
“She has access.”
“To almost everything.”
“Where is she?”
Marco did not answer immediately.
Vincent looked up.
“Marco.”
“She left the property thirty minutes ago.”
“Why?”
“She said her mother was ill.”
Vincent stood so fast the chair struck the wall.
“Find her.”
“Already moving.”
Vincent’s thoughts raced.
Photograph at the park.
Camera blackout.
Daniel.
Elise.
Celia had shaped every piece.
And he had done exactly what she wanted.
Separated Elise from the twins.
Vincent ran.
He did not walk.
He reached the guest bedroom.
The guards stood outside.
“Where is she?”
They looked confused.
“Inside.”
Vincent opened the door.
Empty.
Bathroom.
Empty.
Window.
Locked.
His pulse exploded.
“Elise!”
The guard pointed toward the service door.
“There isn’t—”
Vincent saw it.
A narrow panel built into the wall.
Old servant corridor.
He had forgotten it existed.
“Lock the estate!”
Alarms activated.
Vincent ran toward the nursery.
“Maisie! Rosie!”
Rosa met him halfway.
Her face was terrified.
“They’re gone.”
Vincent stopped.
The world disappeared.
“What?”
“I went to get their lunch.”
“How long?”
“Five minutes.”
Vincent shoved open the nursery door.
Two empty cribs.
One yellow glove on the carpet.
His knees nearly failed.
Marco’s voice came through the radio.
“South gate breached.”
Vincent grabbed the device.
“Vehicle?”
“White delivery van.”
“Track it.”
“Working.”
Vincent picked up the yellow glove.
Something was written across the rubber in black marker.
Not handwriting.
A message.
TRADE YOUR EMPIRE FOR YOUR GIRLS.
Vincent stared.
Eleven months of rage condensed into a single terrifying calm.
He looked at Marco.
“Call Rinaldi.”
Twenty seconds later, Matteo Rinaldi answered.
His voice was smooth.
“Vincent.”
“If my daughters are hurt—”
“They’re not.”
Vincent’s grip tightened.
“And Elise?”
A small pause.
“Also alive.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
She had been taken because of him.
Again.
Another woman.
Another consequence.
“What do you want?”
“You know.”
Vincent looked toward the city.
Rinaldi wanted the ports.
The construction unions.
The transport routes.
Everything Vincent’s father had built.
Everything men had killed for.
“Done.”
Marco stared at him.
Rinaldi laughed softly.
“That easy?”
“They’re children.”
“And the nanny?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“She comes home too.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“For a man who insisted she was just an employee, you sound remarkably motivated.”
Vincent said nothing.
Rinaldi understood anyway.
“Midnight. Pier Twenty-Seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Alone.”
The call ended.
Marco stepped forward.
“You can’t give him everything.”
Vincent looked at the empty cribs.
“Watch me.”
“You know this is a trap.”
“I know.”
“Then let me build a team.”
“No.”
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
“If something happens to me tonight, you get the girls out.”
Marco’s face hardened.
“And Elise?”
Vincent looked at the yellow glove.
“All three.”
Across the city, Elise woke inside an abandoned warehouse.
Her wrists were bound to a chair.
Maisie and Rosie sat together on a mattress fifteen feet away.
Unharmed.
Terrified.
Elise forced herself to breathe normally.
“Girls.”
Rosie looked toward her.
“Miss Elise.”
“I’m here.”
“Daddy?”
“He’s coming.”
A man stepped from the shadows.
Matteo Rinaldi.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
Calm smile.
“You seem very sure.”
Elise looked at him.
“Vincent will come.”
“Of course.”
He crouched beside the twins.
Elise’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t touch them.”
Rinaldi smiled.
“They are useful only while unharmed.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Elise tested the rope.
No movement.
Rinaldi stood.
“Vincent once believed love made men strong.”
Elise said nothing.
“I taught him otherwise.”
Her heart stopped.
“Isabella.”
Rinaldi’s smile disappeared.
“I didn’t kill her.”
Elise stared.
“But you know who did.”
He walked away.
Elise watched him.
A possibility formed.
Maybe Vincent had spent eleven months hunting the wrong man.
Maybe Isabella’s death had come from inside too.
Celia entered the warehouse.
Elise recognized her immediately.
“You.”
Celia stopped.
Elise understood.
“You gave them Isabella’s route.”
Rinaldi turned.
Celia’s face changed.
That was enough.
Elise felt sick.
“You killed their mother.”
“I didn’t touch her,” Celia snapped.
“You told someone where she would be.”
“She was supposed to scare Vincent into leaving New York.”
“But she died.”
Celia looked away.
Elise stared at Rinaldi.
“You kept her afterward.”
“She became useful.”
Celia’s fear deepened.
Rinaldi did not like loose ends.
Elise looked at the twins.
Then at the door.
Then at Celia.
And suddenly she knew what she had to do.
“Celia.”
The woman looked at her.
“Do you think he’s letting you leave tonight?”
Rinaldi’s head turned slowly.
Celia went pale.
Elise continued.
“You know too much.”
“Shut up.”
“Vincent may hate you. But Vincent has rules.”
Celia’s breathing changed.
“You know what Rinaldi does to liabilities.”
“Elise,” Rinaldi warned.
She smiled despite the fear in her chest.
“You wanted to know why Vincent trusts me?”
Rinaldi’s eyes narrowed.
“He doesn’t.”
“Not yet.”
She looked at the twins.
“But they do.”
Maisie suddenly slid one hand beneath the blanket.
Elise had taught the girls a game two weeks earlier.
If they were frightened, find something yellow.
Maisie pulled out a yellow rubber glove.
Elise stared.
The other glove.
Rosie whispered, “Mr. Banana.”
Elise almost cried.
Then she saw something else.
A tiny black object inside the glove.
Vincent’s security tag.
Marco had sewn trackers into the twins’ favorite nursery toys and dress-up items after the park photograph.
Apparently one had ended up inside the glove.
Elise looked at Maisie.
Very slowly, she smiled.
“Keep Mr. Banana safe.”
Maisie nodded.
Outside, seven miles away, Marco’s tracking screen suddenly came alive.
One blinking yellow dot.
May you like
He looked at Vincent.
“We found them.”
