Chương 3
“And Lakeshore Freight?”
“What about it?”
“Your husband was the night accountant.”
“He was an inventory clerk.”
“He had access to financial records.”
“He had access to shipping records. There’s a difference.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You know that quickly.”
“I was married to him.”
Marco shifted near the door.
Adrian tapped the folder. “The fire report says he returned to the building after his shift.”
“The fire report says his body was found near the records office.”
“Why would he be there?”
“I don’t know.”
It was the first lie she told him.
Mateo had called her at 11:42 that night. He had been breathing hard. In the background, an alarm chirped at regular intervals.
He had said, Elena, if anyone asks, I wasn’t copying anything.
Then the line had gone dead.
She had told the police about the call. They found no phone. No copies. No explanation for why a man who usually left work at ten had remained ninety minutes after clocking out.
Adrian watched her face.
“Do you think my family killed your husband?”
The directness knocked the air from her.
“I think the investigation ended too quickly.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No,” she said. “It wasn’t.”
He stood and moved to the window. He had changed into another black shirt, but this one was buttoned to the throat, hiding most of the tattoos on his chest. His sleeves remained rolled, exposing inked forearms and the gold watch Lily had nearly smeared with paint.
“My attorneys reviewed the fire,” he said. “Electrical fault. Improper storage. The company paid settlements.”
“The settlement required families to waive further claims.”
“That is common.”
“It was offered three days after the funerals.”
He turned.
Marco looked down.
Elena immediately regretted the sharpness in her voice, not because it was untrue but because truth could still be dangerous.
Adrian returned to the desk. “What are you looking for?”
“I told you. Work.”
He studied her long enough to make the lie feel visible.
Then he opened the folder and removed her employment contract.
“Your daughter cannot wander the house.”
“She won’t.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“I can arrange other care.”
“With what money?”
The question embarrassed her more than the threat had.
She stiffened. “That isn’t your concern.”
“It becomes my concern when she paints my face in front of two armed men.”
“She’s three.”
“Exactly.”
He took a pen from the desk.
“Mrs. Donnelly will adjust your schedule for the next two weeks. No lost wages. Use the time to secure childcare.”
Elena stared at him.
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He signed the bottom of a page and pushed it toward her.
“You are not permitted in this office without Marco or me present. You are not permitted in the west wing after six. You are not permitted to remove documents, photograph rooms, connect devices to the house network, or bring anyone onto the property.”
“I haven’t done those things.”
“I’m making sure you continue not to.”
He paused.
“And your daughter stays away from the guards’ weapons.”
“She didn’t go near them.”
“She asked Daniel if his gun shoots bears.”
Elena looked toward Marco.
He rubbed the side of his nose. “She was curious.”
Adrian’s gaze hardened. Marco immediately straightened.
Elena stood. “May I go?”
“Yes.”
She reached the door.
“Elena.”
It was the first time he had used her name.
She turned.
He touched the fading red mark near his temple as if unaware of the motion.
“If you came here for something besides a paycheck, leave before you find it.”
She said nothing.
Marco opened the door.
On the way back to the staff rooms, he walked beside her rather than behind.
“You should listen to him,” he said.
“Is that advice or a warning?”
“Those are usually the same thing here.”
She stopped near the service stairs. Marco was in his early forties, broad-shouldered and deliberate. Unlike Daniel, who wore his suit like a uniform, Marco looked vaguely uncomfortable in expensive clothes. A pale scar crossed the knuckle of his right thumb.
“Did you work at Lakeshore Freight?” she asked.
His expression closed.
“No.”
“You knew the name.”
“Everybody did.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He looked toward the corridor, making sure they were alone.
“Your daughter gave him the first real smile I’ve seen in nine years,” he said. “Don’t mistake that for safety.”
Then he walked away.
Elena found Lily asleep on a padded bench in the laundry room, one shoe missing and a smear of chocolate beneath her lower lip. Rosa sat nearby sorting towels and watching a cooking show without sound.
“She told me Mr. Romano is a sad king,” Rosa said.
Elena picked up Lily’s shoe. “She tells stories.”
“She said his castle smells like lemons and nobody plays music.”
“The furniture polish smells like lemons.”
“What about the music?”
Elena looked through the open doorway. The mansion was never silent, but it had no casual noise. No radio in the kitchen unless Adrian was away. No television above a whisper. Doors shut softly. Phones remained on vibrate. Even the staff laughed with restraint.
“She notices things,” Rosa said.
“That’s what worries me.”
At home that evening, Elena bathed the paint from Lily’s hands and put her to bed in their small apartment above a pharmacy in Bridgeport. Pipes clanged in the wall. A bus sighed at the corner every twenty minutes. Their upstairs neighbor vacuumed at inappropriate hours and apologized by leaving grocery-store muffins outside the door.
Lily wanted the rabbit story again.
Elena read until her daughter’s eyes closed, then sat at the kitchen table with Mateo’s old laptop.
May you like
The battery no longer worked. The left hinge was broken, and the fan made a grinding sound when she turned it on. She entered the password she had learned from watching Mateo type: Lily’s birthday followed by the number of their first apartment.
Most of the files had been reviewed by the police. Tax documents. Work schedules. Recipes Mateo had saved and never cooked. Photographs of Lily sleeping, eating, crying, staring suspiciously at a Halloween pumpkin.
