Chapter 1 - The Forbidden Study
The coffee cup was trembling in my hand when my three-year-old daughter’s tiny voice floated through the open study door.
“You look mad.”
My blood went cold.
I had worked at the Castalano estate for eleven months, long enough to understand that there were rules written in the employee handbook and rules nobody was foolish enough to put on paper.
The first kind told us when to arrive, which uniforms to wear, and how the silver should be polished.
The second kind concerned Vincent Castalano.
Never enter his private study unless summoned.
Never interrupt a closed-door meeting.
Never ask about the men who arrived after midnight.
And, above all, never bring personal problems into Vincent’s house.
That morning, I had already broken enough rules to get myself fired.
At 5:54 a.m., my babysitter had called with a stomach virus.
My sister was halfway through a twelve-hour nursing shift. The emergency daycare near my apartment wanted seventy dollars for the day, which might as well have been seven hundred considering there were forty-three dollars in my checking account.
Missing work wasn’t an option.
Rent was due Monday.
So I dressed Mia in her favorite yellow sundress, tied her messy brown hair with the enormous yellow bow she insisted made her “fancy,” packed crackers and crayons into my bag, and drove to the Castalano estate with a knot in my stomach.
My plan had seemed almost reasonable at six-thirty in the morning.
Vincent was supposed to be in Manhattan until evening.
I would keep Mia in the laundry room near the staff quarters. She could color. I would bring her breakfast. Nobody would know.
Then three black SUVs rolled through the gates at 8:40.
Vincent had returned.
At 8:57, I checked on Mia.
At 9:03, she was gone.
And at 9:05, I heard her talking to the most feared man I had ever met.
I set the coffee cup down before I dropped it and hurried toward the study.
Then I stopped in the doorway.
Mia stood in the middle of the Persian rug.
Vincent Castalano towered behind his massive oak desk.
He wore a charcoal suit over a black shirt and black tie. His dark hair was swept back, his beard perfectly trimmed, his expression hard enough to make grown men forget what they intended to say.
Renzo Moretti, Vincent’s closest adviser, stood near the bookshelves holding a tablet.
Two security men stood by the wall.
Nobody spoke.
Vincent lowered his eyebrows.
His mouth tightened.
His head tilted.
I knew that expression.
I had seen delivery drivers begin apologizing before Vincent had said a word.
I had seen businessmen twice his age start sweating beneath it.
Mia studied him.
Then, to my horror, she copied him.
She lowered her little eyebrows.
Flattened her lips.
Folded her tiny arms across her yellow dress.
And tilted her chin exactly the way Vincent had.
Renzo’s eyes widened.
One guard suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
Vincent stared at my daughter.
Mia stared back.
Five seconds passed.
They felt like five years.
Then Vincent slowly raised one eyebrow.
Mia raised hers.
The corner of Vincent’s mouth twitched.
Mia made her mouth twitch too.
Renzo produced a strangled noise.
Vincent’s eyes snapped toward him.
Renzo immediately looked down at his tablet.
“You do that face a lot,” Mia announced.
“Mia!”
Everyone turned.
Mia’s entire expression changed.
“Hi, Mommy.”
I wanted the floor to swallow me.
“Mr. Castalano, I’m so sorry. My sitter canceled this morning and I couldn’t find anybody, and she was supposed to stay in the laundry room. I only looked away for a minute—”
Vincent lifted one finger.
I stopped.
He came around his desk.
Every protective instinct in me screamed to move toward Mia, but my legs refused to cooperate.
Vincent stopped directly in front of her.
Then the most intimidating man I had ever met crouched until they were eye to eye.
Mia folded her arms again.
Vincent studied her.
“Is that really what I look like?”
Mia considered the question with the seriousness of a judge reviewing evidence.
Then she recreated his expression.
“Worse.”
Silence.
Renzo coughed violently into his fist.
One guard turned completely around.
And Vincent—
Vincent Castalano smiled.
It wasn’t a full smile.
Barely even half of one.
Just a tiny movement at the corner of his mouth.
But judging by Renzo’s expression, it might have been the most shocking event to occur in that room in years.
Mia pointed at him.
“You did it.”
Vincent’s smile vanished.
“Did what?”
“The happy face.”
“I don't have a happy face.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
Mia nodded firmly. “You just hide it.”
I closed my eyes.
“Mia, sweetheart, come here.”
She ignored me.
Of course she did.
Three-year-olds apparently had no survival instincts.
She stepped closer to Vincent and touched his cheek with one tiny finger.
His entire body went still.
The room changed.
Not dramatically.
Not visibly.
But something happened behind Vincent’s eyes.
The humor disappeared.
For one brief second, I saw something else.
Pain.
Old pain.
The kind that had been buried so deeply that even the man carrying it probably believed it was gone.
Mia whispered, “You’re sad.”
Vincent stood abruptly.
The walls returned around him.
His face became unreadable.
“Renzo.”
“Yes?”
“Move the ten o’clock meeting.”
Renzo blinked. “Move it?”
Vincent looked at him.
Renzo immediately nodded. “Moving it.”
Vincent turned toward me.
I prepared myself.
This was it.
I was unemployed.
“I apologize,” I said quickly. “It won't happen again.”
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
Vincent walked behind his desk.
“You won't keep her in the laundry room again.”
I stared at him.
“I—”
“There’s an unused sitting room beside the kitchen. Have Mrs. Bell open it.”
I wasn't sure I had heard correctly.
Vincent opened a folder.
“Put her there.”
I remained frozen.
He glanced up.
“Was there something else, Elena?”
My name sounded strange coming from him.
He had never used it before.
I was usually Miss Hayes.
“No, sir.”
I took Mia’s hand.
As we turned toward the door, she twisted around.
“Bye, angry man.”
Renzo made another choking sound.
Vincent slowly looked up.
“Mia.”
She stopped.
“If you're going to insult me in my own house, at least learn my name.”
She smiled.
“Okay, Mr. Vincent.”
Then we left.
I didn't breathe normally again until we reached the kitchen.
Mrs. Bell stared at me when I explained what Vincent had ordered.
“The blue sitting room?”
“Yes.”
“For the child?”
“Yes.”
She crossed herself.
Apparently Vincent allowing a toddler into the blue sitting room qualified as divine intervention.
By lunchtime, everyone knew.
By two o’clock, Mia had acquired apple slices from the chef, colored pencils from Mrs. Bell, and a stuffed rabbit from one of the gardeners.
At three, I carried fresh linens upstairs.
When I returned, Mia was missing again.
“Mia?”
Nothing.
My heart started pounding.
Then I heard laughter.
Not Mia’s.
A man's.
Coming from the library.
I hurried down the corridor and stopped.
Vincent sat in a leather chair.
Mia sat opposite him.
Between them was a chessboard.
“You cheated,” Mia accused.
Vincent looked offended.
“I don't cheat.”
“You moved the horsie.”
“It’s called a knight.”
“Horsie.”
“Knight.”
“Horsie.”
Vincent sighed.
“Horsie.”
Mia grinned triumphantly.
I must have made a sound because Vincent looked up.
“She escaped.”
“I can see that.”
“She claims she was looking for cookies.”
Mia pointed at him. “He doesn't have any.”
Vincent looked toward me.
“Apparently this is a serious deficiency in the household.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
His eyes remained on me for half a second longer than necessary.
Something uncomfortable moved through my chest.
I immediately looked away.
“Come on, Mia.”
She climbed down.
As she passed Vincent’s chair, something slipped from the table.
A photograph.
It landed faceup on the rug.
Mia reached it before anyone else.
She picked it up.
And frowned.
“Mommy?”
I walked over.
Then I saw the picture.
My breath stopped.
A young woman stood beside a much younger Vincent.
She had dark hair.
A soft smile.
And around her neck was a silver pendant shaped like a tiny crescent moon.
My hand instinctively moved beneath the collar of my uniform.
Because hidden beneath the fabric was an almost identical pendant.
The only thing my mother had left me before she disappeared from my life twenty-four years ago.
Vincent noticed my movement.
His face changed.
“Elena.”
I stepped backward.
“Where did you get that necklace?”
I couldn't answer.
Vincent stood.
The warmth disappeared from his expression.
Renzo, who had just entered the library, froze when he saw the photograph in Mia’s hand.
His face went pale.
That frightened me more than Vincent’s anger ever had.
Vincent crossed the room.
“Elena,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Show me the necklace.”
My fingers shook as I pulled the chain from beneath my collar.
The silver crescent caught the afternoon light.
Vincent stared at it.
Then he whispered a name I had never heard before.
“Isabella.”
Renzo closed the library door.
And suddenly I understood something terrifying.
Mia wandering into Vincent Castalano’s forbidden study had not been the dangerous secret in that house.
May you like
I was.
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