Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the MansionBy 7:30 PM, the chaos had temporarily subsided into an uneasy truce.
Avery had managed to convince the boys to help her clean up the broken glass—mostly by turning it into a competitive game of hazard-clearance that appealed to their inner tactical masterminds.
Now, the mansion was dead silent.
Avery walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the master wing, carrying a tray of black coffee and a small plate of shortbread cookies. She had noticed earlier that Dante’s study light stayed on past midnight, and if she wanted to survive this house, she needed to understand the man running it.
She knocked twice on the heavy double doors.
“Enter.”
Dante was seated behind his massive mahogany desk, surrounded by open blueprint folders and financial manifests. He looked up, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her appearance. Her hair was slightly frayed from a pillow fight with Enzo, and her sleeves were rolled up.
“If the boys are currently setting fire to the west wing, I don't want to know about it,” Dante said dryly.
“The west wing is entirely intact,” Avery said, setting the tray down on the edge of his desk. “Though Leo did try to negotiate a treaty involving extra dessert.”
Dante looked down at the coffee, then up at Avery. “You brought me coffee.”
“It’s a professional courtesy. Or an attempt at bribery. Take your pick.”
Dante leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. “How are they?”
“Angry,” Avery said simply.
Dante’s jaw tightened. A shadow crossed his face, cold and sharp as broken glass. “They have everything they could ever want. Wealth, security, the best tutors in New York—”
“They don't want wealth, Mr. Mancini,” Avery interrupted, her voice softening just enough to pierce his armor. “They want their mother.”
The room went entirely still. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, marking the seconds like a countdown.
“She left,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. “Nineteen months ago, she walked out of those front gates and never looked back. My sons were four years old. They remember her voice, but they don't remember why she vanished.”
Avery held his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Children don't care about the reasons, Mr. Mancini. They only care about the empty seat at the table. And throwing vases is a lot easier than crying.”
Dante stood up so abruptly his chair scraped backward against the hardwood floor. He walked over to the tall window, staring out into the dark, rainy night. His broad back was tense, radiating a profound, lonely fury.
“You talk about my children like you understand them,” Dante murmured without turning around.
“I understand what it’s like to have your world ripped away overnight,” Avery whispered, her mind flashing briefly to her own empty bank account and the eviction notice folded in her purse.
May you like
Dante turned his head slowly, looking at her over his shoulder. The harsh desk light caught the sharp angles of his face, revealing a raw exhaustion he usually hid behind corporate suits and armed guards.
“You have until tomorrow morning, Ms. Parker,” Dante said quietly. “If you survive the night, maybe you really are worth the forty-two dollars.”
