Chapter 3 - The Locked Room
Dominic did not tell Fay immediately.
That decision would haunt him.
He told himself he needed proof.
He told himself that frightening her with speculation would serve no purpose.
He told himself the Corso estate was the safest place in the city.
All of those things were partially true.
The deeper truth was far less noble.
Dominic had begun to care whether Fay stayed.
And he knew that if he told her a powerful criminal might have deliberately guided her into his home because of something her father had hidden, she would probably run.
Fay noticed the increased security before breakfast.
Two additional guards appeared near the servants’ entrance.
Another stood outside the third-floor corridor.
Carmine checked her car personally.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Routine.”
“You looked underneath my car with a mirror.”
“Very thorough routine.”
“Carmine.”
He smiled.
“Ask the boss.”
So she did.
Dominic was attempting to button his cuff when she entered.
His fingers slipped.
He swore.
Fay placed the breakfast tray down.
“Need help?”
“No.”
She waited.
He tried again.
Failed.
Fay waited another five seconds.
Dominic glared.
“You enjoying this?”
“A little.”
He held out his wrist.
Fay stepped closer.
Her fingertips brushed his skin as she fastened the cuff.
The contact was brief.
Yet Dominic became strangely still.
Fay noticed.
She stepped back.
“What’s happening downstairs?”
“Nothing.”
“Bad answer.”
“There’s additional security.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because I want to know why.”
Dominic reached for his coffee.
“Because I said so.”
Fay folded her arms.
“That answer probably works on men named Carmine.”
“It works on everyone.”
“Apparently not.”
Dominic sighed.
“Fay.”
“Dominic.”
It was the first time she had used his first name.
Both noticed.
Neither acknowledged it.
“What are you hiding?”
Dominic looked at her.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
Fay’s eyes narrowed.
“That usually means something I absolutely need to worry about.”
Before Dominic could respond, Mrs. Gable appeared.
“Mr. Corso, your attorney has arrived.”
“I’ll be downstairs.”
Mrs. Gable hesitated.
“The meeting is in the west library.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
Fay noticed that too.
The west library was rarely used.
Dominic turned toward her.
“Take the morning off.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I need the hours.”
“You’ll be paid.”
That was even stranger.
“Why?”
His tone hardened.
“Because I’m your employer.”
Fay stared at him.
There was fear beneath his irritation.
Not fear for himself.
For her.
She realized it an instant before he looked away.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You are terrible at lying.”
“Leave it alone.”
“No.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Fay.”
She stepped closer.
“My father is connected to this somehow, isn’t he?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
Fay’s face changed.
“What did you find?”
Dominic glanced toward Mrs. Gable.
“Give us the room.”
The estate manager left.
Dominic turned back to Fay.
“There was a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“My father with yours.”
Fay lowered herself into the chair.
“And?”
“And Salvatore DeLuca.”
“Who is that?”
“A former business associate.”
“The kind with security guards?”
“The kind you should never meet.”
Fay swallowed.
“What does he have to do with me?”
Dominic hated what came next.
“He accessed your background file before you applied here.”
Her lips parted.
“What?”
“We believe someone may have deliberately placed the Corso job in front of you.”
“Why?”
“Your father may have possessed financial records belonging to DeLuca.”
Fay stared at him.
“You think my dad was involved with organized crime?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I think he discovered something.”
Dominic took out the photograph.
Fay studied it.
Her father looked younger.
Healthier.
Alive.
She touched the edge of the picture.
“I’ve never seen this.”
“There’s writing on the back.”
Fay turned it over.
She read the sentence.
Michael has the ledger. If anything happens, protect his daughter.
Her hands began trembling.
“Ledger?”
“We don’t know.”
“No.”
She stood quickly.
“No, my father wasn’t hiding some mafia ledger.”
“Fay.”
“He fixed industrial machinery. He watched baseball. He complained about property taxes. He bought socks in packs of twelve because he thought individual pairs were a scam.”
Dominic said nothing.
“He was normal.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you think he was involved.”
“I think he saw something people wanted hidden.”
Fay paced toward the window.
“My father was sick.”
“I know.”
“He was barely leaving the house during his final year.”
“When did the illness begin?”
“Four and a half years ago.”
Dominic thought.
The photograph was four years old.
“Did he ever give you anything?”
“What?”
“A box. Papers. A key.”
“No.”
“Think.”
Fay turned sharply.
“Don’t interrogate me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The words escaped before he could soften them.
Fay stopped.
The room changed.
“Alive?”
Dominic cursed silently.
“How dangerous is this?”
“We don’t know.”
“You just said—”
“I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Fay laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You investigated me without permission, hid information from me, increased security, and now you’re telling me I’m in danger but apparently I’m supposed to trust you?”
Dominic gripped the wheelchair rim.
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.”
Fay grabbed her bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“No.”
She stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re staying here.”
“That wasn’t a request?”
“No.”
Now anger replaced fear.
“You do not get to trap me in this house because your family has secrets.”
“I’m not trapping you.”
“You just told me I can’t leave.”
“Because someone may be watching your apartment.”
Fay froze.
Dominic continued.
“Carmine found signs someone entered your building two nights ago.”
Her face drained.
“What signs?”
“Your landlord reported the basement security door damaged.”
“That building has been broken into before.”
“Your apartment?”
Silence.
Fay remembered something.
The kitchen drawer she had found slightly open.
Her father’s old toolbox moved from the closet.
She had assumed exhaustion.
“Oh God.”
Dominic’s expression softened.
“Stay here tonight.”
Fay looked at him.
“One night.”
“As long as necessary.”
“One.”
He knew better than to argue.
“Fine.”
Mrs. Gable prepared a guest bedroom.
Fay hated everything about it.
The silk sheets.
The antique furniture.
The security man stationed outside.
She felt like an intruder inside someone else’s life.
At midnight, unable to sleep, she wandered downstairs.
The estate was quiet.
A soft light came from the library.
Dominic sat there alone.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he said.
“So are you.”
“I own the house.”
“Congratulations.”
Fay entered.
There were files everywhere.
“Research?”
“Trying to find your father’s ledger.”
She looked at a photograph.
“My father kept almost everything.”
“Where?”
“Storage.”
Dominic’s head lifted.
“A storage unit?”
“No. My apartment. Boxes.”
“Carmine searched?”
“No.”
“He should.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fay.”
“My father’s things are mine.”
“If the ledger is there—”
“It’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
She looked at him.
Then remembered.
A locked metal box.
Her father’s.
Buried inside a larger container.
He had once told her never to throw it away.
Fay’s face changed.
Dominic noticed instantly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Fay.”
“There’s a box.”
Dominic’s eyes sharpened.
“What box?”
“My father kept it under his bed. After he died, I put it in storage with his tools.”
“Locked?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the key?”
“No.”
“Where is it now?”
“At my apartment.”
Dominic reached for his phone.
“We’ll go tomorrow.”
“We?”
“You’re not going alone.”
“You can barely tolerate leaving this room.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Then tomorrow I’ll tolerate it.”
The trip happened at ten the next morning.
Dominic hated every second of being outside the estate.
The ramp.
The vehicle lift.
The way strangers looked at the wheelchair before they looked at him.
Fay noticed his silence.
She said nothing.
That helped more than encouragement would have.
Her apartment building stood on a narrow street beside a laundromat.
Carmine went inside first.
“Clear.”
Fay led them upstairs.
The door was locked.
Inside, everything looked normal.
Almost.
Then Fay saw the bedroom.
The closet door was open.
Boxes had been moved.
“Someone was here.”
Carmine’s hand went under his jacket.
Dominic’s voice became calm and dangerous.
“Find the box.”
Fay moved quickly.
Bottom shelf.
Old clothes.
Tax files.
Her father’s toolbox.
Then—
Nothing.
She stared.
“It was here.”
“What?”
“The metal box.”
Carmine checked the room.
“Gone.”
Fay’s heart began pounding.
Dominic rolled closer.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Then Fay noticed something wedged behind the dresser.
A small envelope.
She pulled it free.
Her name was written across the front.
In her father’s handwriting.
Fay.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Dominic watched silently as she opened it.
Inside was a brass key.
And a note.
Only two sentences.
If anything ever happens to me, the box isn’t the important part.
What matters is where the key takes you.
On the back was an address.
Dominic recognized it.
His expression changed instantly.
Fay looked at him.
“What?”
He took the note.
The address belonged to an abandoned Corso manufacturing warehouse near the old river docks.
A property closed five years ago.
The same building where Dominic’s father had supposedly suffered a fatal heart attack.
Dominic looked at Fay.
“My father died there.”
Her face went pale.
Before either could speak, Carmine’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression darkened.
“How many?”
A pause.
“We’re leaving.”
Dominic’s voice sharpened.
“What?”
Carmine looked at him.
“Boss, we have company.”
Down on the street, two black vehicles had just parked outside the building.
Fay moved toward the window.
Dominic caught her wrist.
“Don’t.”
“What’s happening?”
Carmine moved toward the door.
“DeLuca found us.”
For the first time since Fay had entered Dominic’s life, she saw the mafia boss everyone else feared.
Dominic’s entire expression changed.
The vulnerable man disappeared.
His voice became ice.
“Get Fay out through the rear stairwell.”
“What about you?” she asked.
Dominic looked at her.
“You’re leaving.”
“So are you.”
“Fay—”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
She moved closer.
“You told me not to run.”
“That was different.”
“No. You wanted everyone to stop treating you like you were helpless.”
Dominic stared.
“So don’t ask me to do it now.”
Outside, a car door slammed.
Carmine swore.
“Decision time.”
Dominic looked at Fay.
Then at the key in her hand.
Then toward the approaching footsteps outside the apartment.
“Fine.”
He turned his wheelchair toward the rear exit.
“We all go.”
But none of them noticed the tiny device attached beneath Fay’s kitchen table.
A transmitter.
Still blinking.
Someone had not merely searched her apartment.
Someone had been listening.
And back inside a parked car three blocks away, Salvatore DeLuca heard every word.
May you like
Including the address of the warehouse.
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