Chapter 1 - The Lockdown of the Westchester Estate
The heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate hissed shut, sealing off the sprawling Westchester property from the outside world. Inside the main salon, the glittering chandeliers still cast a warm amber glow over the shattered porcelain of Ethan’s ruined birthday cake, but the festive atmosphere had been replaced by a suffocating, lethal silence.
Dominic Moretti stood near the grand staircase, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was a low, terrifying growl that carried across the cavernous room. “Lock down every perimeter. No vehicles leave the grounds. If a bird flies over the fence without clearance, shoot it down.”
I stood a few yards away, clutching Lily tightly against my chest. Her white sneakers were still smudged with a bit of frosting from the floor, but she was calm, her thumb tucked safely in her mouth as she rested her head against my shoulder. The guests were gone, ushered out through the rear gates under the guise of a sudden, severe plumbing failure, leaving behind only the inner circle of Dominic’s most trusted capos and security detail.
Vincenzo, Dominic’s right-hand man and head of security, stepped out of the service corridor with a tablet in his hand. His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Boss,” Vincenzo said, his voice tight. “The perimeter sensors didn’t trip. The internal motion detectors in the lower east wing were offline for exactly four minutes and twelve seconds. Someone bypassed the digital matrix.”
Dominic’s dark eyes narrowed into slits. “An inside job.”
“It has to be,” Vincenzo replied, glancing nervously in my direction. “Only a handful of people have the security clearance codes to toggle those sensors. Maintenance, upper staff, and the inner security team.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I had worked as head housekeeper for six years. I knew every tile, every floorboard, and every staff member in this house. The thought that one of my own people—someone I managed, someone I trusted—had invited an assassin into the estate to kill an eight-year-old boy made my stomach churn.
Dominic turned his gaze slowly toward me. The fury that had earlier been directed at Lily was now a cold, razor-sharp focus aimed at finding the traitor.
“Clara,” Dominic said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “Where were you when Lily saw the man in the cold room?”
“I was on the second floor, Mr. Moretti,” I answered, my voice steady despite my trembling hands. “Checking the linen closets for the guest turnover. You asked me to ensure the west wing suites were prepared for the overnight stays.”
“And who was with you?”
“No one, sir. I was alone.”
Vincenzo stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “Convenient. The west wing is entirely empty during parties. That’s right above the service corridor leading to the cold room.”
“Are you suggesting I had something to do with this?” I snapped, protective adrenaline overriding my fear of the mafia boss standing in front of me. “I raised my daughter in this house! If it wasn’t for her, Ethan would be dead right now!”
Before Vincenzo could draw his weapon or bark a threat, Dominic raised a single hand. The room fell instantly silent.
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“Clara wouldn’t have had her daughter expose the poison if she were the architect,” Dominic said softly, stepping closer until I could smell the expensive scotch and cedarwood on his tailored suit. He reached out, his calloused fingers gently brushing a stray curl from Lily’s forehead. The little girl didn't flinch; she simply blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
“Find the man who walked through my house,” Dominic commanded Vincenzo, his voice dropping an octave. “And bring him to me breathing. I want to know who bought my people.”
