Chapter 2 - The Domino Effect
By the end of the second week, the Rossi mansion had descended into a state of chaotic misery that no amount of syndicate authority could discipline.
Victor had hired three top-tier nanny agencies in Boston, paying triple the market rate.
The first nanny, a stern British woman with thirty years of experience, quit on day two after Finn locked himself in the pantry and threw jars of organic pasta sauce at the door until the glass shattered.
The second nanny, a certified pediatric behaviorist, lasted four days before informing Victor that his son’s separation anxiety had triggered a total regression in his speech and sensory processing.
The third nanny didn't even make it through the front door; Finn threw a brass lamp through his second-story window the moment her car pulled into the driveway.
"He hasn't eaten solid food in forty-eight hours, boss," Marco reported softly, standing in Victor’s home office. The room was a mess of unread legal documents, cold coffee cups, and unfiled shipping manifests. "He only drinks milk if we leave it outside his door."
Victor rubbed his knuckles over his face. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He hadn't slept more than three hours a night since the rainy Thursday.
"What about the shipping audit?" Victor asked, his voice hoarse.
Marco hesitated. "That’s... another problem, sir. The customs clearance documents for the harbor shipment in Sector 4 were rejected by the federal inspectors this morning."
Victor’s head snapped up. "Why? We’ve cleared that dock every month for five years!"
"The forms were missing the secondary environmental compliance attachments," Marco explained, looking down at his boots. "Apparently... Ms. Bennett used to handle all the cross-referencing between your front company’s logistics team and the dock managers. She digitized the entire filing system six months ago."
"That was not her job!" Victor slammed his palm onto the desk. "She was a nanny!"
"She was also a certified executive administrator before you hired her, sir," Marco reminded him gently. "When she took the nanny position, she noticed the disorganization in your personal office and started quietly fixing the filing errors during Finn’s nap times. She’s been approving the dock manifests, managing your household payroll, coordinating your mother’s medical care in Italy, and filtering your private mail for fourteen months."
Victor stared at his chief of security in absolute disbelief.
"Why didn't anyone tell me this?" Victor growled.
"Because she never asked for extra pay or credit for it, boss," Marco said quietly. "She just saw things falling apart around you and fixed them."
Victor’s phone chimed on the desk. It was an urgent text from his estate manager: The head chef just walked out. He said he refuses to work in a house where the child screams all night and the employer hasn't smiled in a month.
Victor pulled his phone out, dialing his private investigator. "Did you find her address yet?"
"We tracked her credit card activity, Mr. Rossi," the investigator replied over the line. "She bought a ticket to Portland, Maine, two weeks ago. But after that, she stopped using her cards. She’s living entirely on cash. It’s like she vanished into thin air."
"Find her," Victor commanded, his voice shaking with a dangerous mixture of anger and desperation. "I don't care how much it costs. Bring me an address."
Suddenly, the office door clicked open.
Finn stood in the threshold. He was wearing his pajamas, his hair wild, his small face pale and thin. In his arms, he clutched the leather notebook Harper had left behind.
"Finn," Victor said softly, rising from his chair. "What is it, buddy?"
Finn walked slowly toward the desk. He didn't look at his father’s eyes. He set the open notebook down on the mahogany surface, pointing a tiny, trembling finger at a page covered in Harper’s neat handwriting.
Victor looked down.
Rule 14 for Finn: When the house gets too quiet or the storms get too loud, he needs to hear the ocean. He likes the sound of the waves near the lighthouse. If I am ever not here, take him to the water. Don't speak. Just hold his hand.
Victor felt a sharp, suffocating knot form in his throat.
He looked down at his five-year-old son, who was staring up at him with eyes that carried the exact same hollow grief Victor had felt six years ago when his wife had died.
"I miss her, Dad," Finn whispered, a single tear spilling down his cheek. "She was the only one who made the loud things go away."
May you like
Victor dropped to his knees in front of his son, pulling the small boy into his arms. Finn didn't fight him this time, but his body remained stiff, unyielding, and cold.
"I know, Finn," Victor whispered against the boy's hair, his own eyes burning with unexpressed shame. "I know."
