Chapter 17 - Shadows in the CourtyardThe autumn air had turned sharp by early November, bringing with it the crisp, electric energy that only Manhattan could produce before the first winter snow.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of winter. I didn't have to worry about broken heaters, overdue utility bills, or whether I could afford formula for the upcoming month. My salary as Private Estate Coordinator was more than generous, the foundation was running smoothly, and Mia was learning how to walk across the polished marble floors of the penthouse with an adventurous, fearless spirit.
Yet, peace in a billionaire's world is rarely absolute.
It started on a Tuesday evening while Alessandro was still locked in an international conference call with Zurich.
I was in the kitchen preparing a bottle for Mia when my phone buzzed on the counter. It wasn't a call or a text. It was a security motion-alert notification from the private ground-floor service courtyard behind the Duca Tower.
I tapped the screen, pulling up the live closed-circuit camera feed.
The service courtyard was mostly empty at this hour—just a few industrial recycling bins and the loading dock for evening catering deliveries. But near the corner shadow of the concrete pillar stood a solitary figure in a heavy black hoodie, pulling down a hood and looking directly up toward the service elevator shaft.
Even through the grainy, night-vision camera lens, I recognized the sharp, angular jawline and the cold, dead eyes.
Marcus Sterling—Arthur Sterling’s younger brother, who had worked as a mid-level compliance auditor until his brother’s sudden arrest last month.
My breath hitched in my throat. I stared at the screen as Marcus pulled a heavy metal wrench from his pocket and began banging it rhythmically against the service door, as if testing the lock.
Before panic could completely paralyze my fingers, the kitchen door swung open.
Alessandro walked in, his suit jacket off, his tie loosened, looking exhausted from his four-hour Zurich call. But the moment he saw the pale, frozen expression on my face, every trace of fatigue vanished from his eyes.
“Claire,” Alessandro said, closing the distance between us in two strides. “What’s wrong?”
I spun the phone around, pointing at the live camera feed. “It’s Marcus Sterling. He’s downstairs at the service entrance.”
Alessandro glanced down at the screen. His jaw tightened into a lethal line of pure ice. He didn't blink, didn't hesitate, and didn't panic.
“Sarah,” Alessandro spoke into the air as his smart-home system activated.
May you like
“Yes, Mr. Duca?” the house AI responded instantly.
“Lock down the service sector. Dispatch internal security to courtyard sector four. Do not let him leave the premises.”
