Chapter 2 - Six Months Before the Gunshot
Six months earlier, Beatrice Gallagher had arrived at the Russo estate with one suitcase, two references, and absolutely no intention of becoming important to anyone who lived there.
That plan lasted approximately eleven minutes.
“Are you fat?”
The question came from a five-year-old boy sitting halfway up an enormous marble staircase.
Beatrice stopped beneath the chandelier.
The housekeeper beside her looked horrified.
“Leo!”
“What?” the boy asked.
Beatrice looked up at him.
Dark hair.
Serious brown eyes.
Expensive little sweater.
One untied shoe.
She had spent years learning what happened after people noticed her body.
Sometimes came laughter.
Sometimes false compliments.
Sometimes advice nobody had requested.
Sometimes the particular kind of smile that made her wish she could disappear.
Beatrice folded her arms.
“Are you short?”
Leo frowned.
“I’m five.”
“Exactly. And I’m Beatrice.”
The boy considered this.
Then he smiled.
That was how it began.
The Russo estate was larger than some hotels Beatrice had seen.
Stone exterior.
Iron gates.
Security cameras.
Private gardens.
A swimming pool nobody seemed to use.
There were rooms that appeared designed purely to prove that somebody could afford them.
Yet the mansion never felt like a home.
It was too quiet.
Especially after sunset.
Beatrice quickly learned why.
Leo’s mother, Sofia, had died two years earlier.
Nobody explained the details.
Beatrice did not ask.
Dominic Russo’s name carried enough rumors already.
Businessman.
Investor.
Crime boss.
Monster.
Protector.
Depending on whom one believed, Dominic either owned half the city or merely knew the people who did.
Beatrice cared about none of that.
Her responsibility was Leo.
And Leo needed somebody.
Dominic interviewed her personally on her second day.
He sat behind an enormous desk in the library.
Black suit.
White shirt.
Dark eyes.
No smile.
“You have experience with children?”
“Yes.”
“My son dislikes strangers.”
“So do I.”
One eyebrow moved.
Beatrice immediately wondered whether she had just destroyed her chance at the best-paying job she had ever applied for.
Instead Dominic asked, “Why?”
“Most strangers ask too many questions.”
Something almost resembling amusement appeared in his eyes.
Almost.
“What questions shouldn’t I ask?”
Beatrice hesitated.
She knew a trap when she heard one.
“Probably that one.”
This time she was certain.
The corner of Dominic Russo’s mouth moved.
Then disappeared.
“You can start Monday.”
That was their longest conversation for weeks.
Dominic left early.
Returned late.
Some nights Beatrice never saw him.
When he was home, however, he always found Leo.
No matter how exhausted he looked.
No matter how many men waited in the library.
No matter how many phones rang.
He sat beside his son.
Read stories.
Checked homework.
Listened to five-year-old explanations of why sharks were better than dinosaurs.
It complicated Beatrice’s opinion of him.
She preferred people simple.
Good.
Bad.
Kind.
Cruel.
Dominic refused to fit anywhere.
He could terrify a grown man with one look and then kneel to tie Leo’s shoelace.
Beatrice decided the safest thing was distance.
So she wore long cardigans.
Loose dresses.
Practical shoes.
She kept her head down.
She loved Leo fiercely.
And she tried to remain invisible.
It was something she had become very good at.
Until the storm.
The rain started shortly after midnight.
Beatrice woke thirsty and discovered the power had flickered enough to reset the small speaker in her bedroom.
She went downstairs.
The mansion was silent.
The kitchen glowed faintly beneath the warm cabinet lights.
Beatrice opened the refrigerator.
Then she noticed her phone.
A song she loved was still paused on the screen.
She looked toward the doorway.
Empty.
She pressed play.
Quietly.
Just enough to fill the kitchen.
Her bare foot began tapping.
Then her shoulders moved.
Beatrice smiled.
Nobody was watching.
That thought changed everything.
She danced.
Not carefully.
Not elegantly.
Not apologetically.
She spun between the island and the marble counter.
Raised one arm.
Closed her eyes.
Let herself occupy every inch of space she wanted.
For three minutes, Beatrice Gallagher did not think about whether her waist was small enough.
Whether her hips were too wide.
Whether someone might judge her.
Whether she should cover herself.
She simply moved.
She never saw the man standing in the dark doorway.
Dominic had returned twenty minutes earlier.
He had heard the music.
He had come to investigate.
And now he stood motionless.
Watching.
Something about Beatrice was different.
During the day, she seemed determined to shrink herself.
Now she filled the room.
Alive.
Warm.
Unashamed.
Beautiful.
Dominic had seen beautiful women before.
Women who entered restaurants knowing every eye would follow them.
Women who understood expensive clothes and expensive attention.
This was not that.
Beatrice believed herself alone.
There was no performance.
That made looking feel almost forbidden.
Dominic should have left.
He didn’t.
Then Beatrice stopped.
A metallic click sounded somewhere beyond the service corridor.
She removed one earbud.
“Hello?”
Dominic’s attention snapped toward the hallway.
Beatrice turned.
She saw him.
Her entire face changed.
“Oh my God.”
Dominic said nothing.
“How long have you been standing there?”
A pause.
“Long enough.”
Beatrice’s cheeks burned.
She reached for her cardigan.
Then she noticed Dominic was no longer looking at her.
His gaze had fixed on the service door.
It was open.
Only an inch.
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“Did you open that?”
Beatrice followed his gaze.
“No.”
He walked past her.
The playful embarrassment vanished.
Dominic pushed the door open.
Darkness waited beyond it.
“Stay here.”
Naturally, Beatrice followed him.
Dominic looked back.
“I said stay.”
“And I heard you.”
“Then why are you walking?”
“Because telling somebody to stay in a creepy kitchen after discovering a mysteriously open door is exactly how people die in horror movies.”
Dominic stared at her.
Beatrice swallowed.
“Sorry.”
He almost smiled again.
Almost.
They searched the service hall.
Nobody was there.
The exterior door remained locked.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
Dominic eventually dismissed it as a staff mistake.
Beatrice tried to do the same.
But before going upstairs, she glanced back.
At the far end of the corridor stood the emergency-access cabinet.
Its door was not completely closed.
She walked toward it.
Before she could reach it, a staff member appeared around the corner.
Victor Hale.
Dominic’s longtime security coordinator.
Trusted.
Quiet.
Almost part of the family.
“You all right, Miss Gallagher?”
Beatrice stopped.
“Yes.”
Victor smiled.
“Storm probably knocked something loose.”
She looked at the cabinet.
When she looked back, Victor was still smiling.
There was nothing obviously threatening about it.
So Beatrice smiled too.
Then she went upstairs.
She would remember that moment six months later.
She would remember the open cabinet.
She would remember Victor standing beside it.
And she would remember something else.
May you like
His shoes had been wet.
But the rain had not reached the covered entrance he claimed to have used.
