Chapter 3 - Someone Inside the House
Marco did not wait for another order.
He pressed his radio.
“Seal the servants’ wing. Quietly. Nobody runs. Nobody gets warned.”
I stepped toward the door.
He blocked me.
“No.”
I stared at him.
Marco Bellini was one of perhaps three people alive who could physically block my path and expect to continue breathing.
“This concerns my children.”
“Which is exactly why you’re staying here.”
“I’m not hiding in a bedroom.”
“I didn’t say hide.”
His voice dropped.
“I said stay alive long enough to find out who did this.”
I almost pushed past him anyway.
Then Sophie spoke.
“Mr. Adrien?”
I looked down.
She was holding Nora’s tiny hand through the bars of the portable crib Marco’s men had brought into my room.
“You should stay.”
I stared at her.
Marco raised an eyebrow.
Apparently, a four-year-old had just succeeded where my security chief had failed.
I turned back.
“Five minutes.”
Marco nodded.
“If we have them, you’ll know.”
He disappeared.
Those five minutes became twenty-three.
No gunshots.
No shouting.
That somehow made everything worse.
I stood beside the window while Elena rocked Miles.
Theo sat on the floor near Sophie.
Nora had finally fallen asleep.
For the first time in hours, the triplets looked like babies again.
Not targets.
Babies.
Sophie pushed her doll across the carpet toward Theo.
The black device had been removed, but the seam remained open.
Theo touched the doll cautiously.
Then smiled.
The sight nearly broke something inside me.
I had spent years believing fear was a weapon.
Tonight I was discovering what it felt like when someone aimed it at people who could not defend themselves.
“Elena.”
She looked up.
“Sir?”
“You said you found the doll near the laundry entrance.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly where?”
“Beside one of the linen carts.”
“Was anyone nearby?”
She thought.
“Mr. Caruso crossed the corridor.”
My attention sharpened.
“Caruso?”
“Mr. Victor Caruso. He asked why Sophie was upstairs with me.”
Victor had managed household logistics for seven years.
He ordered supplies.
Oversaw maintenance.
Scheduled staff.
He had access to almost every wing.
“What did you tell him?”
“That childcare canceled and Sophie had to wait downstairs.”
“Did he see the doll?”
“I think so.”
“Did he react?”
“No.”
Then Elena stopped.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Elena.”
Her eyes moved toward Sophie.
“I may be remembering wrong.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“He asked whether Sophie liked toys.”
I felt something cold crawl up my spine.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said, ‘Children always notice toys, don’t they?’”
I stared at her.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Because it sounded normal at the time.”
Of course it had.
Danger rarely announced itself.
That was why it worked.
My phone vibrated.
Marco.
I answered immediately.
“Talk.”
“We have everyone from the servants’ wing.”
“And the transmitter?”
“Gone.”
My jaw tightened.
“What do you mean gone?”
“The signal stopped four minutes before we entered.”
“Someone ran?”
“No.”
“You just said everyone is contained.”
“They are.”
“Then search them.”
“We did.”
“Search the rooms.”
“Doing it.”
“Marco.”
A pause.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“One exterior service door was open.”
I looked toward Elena.
“Which one?”
“Laundry courtyard.”
The place she found the doll.
“Camera?”
“Disabled during the same eleven-minute recording gap.”
My pulse slowed.
That happened when I became angry enough.
“Someone entered or exited.”
“Looks that way.”
“Tracks?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m coming.”
This time Marco did not argue.
I left two men outside the bedroom and another inside with Elena and the children.
Sophie caught my sleeve as I passed.
“Mr. Adrien.”
I looked down.
“Don’t let the clicking man come back.”
My entire body went still.
“What clicking man?”
Elena turned.
“Sophie?”
The little girl looked confused by our reaction.
“The man who clicks.”
I crouched.
“When did you see him?”
She shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
“What does he look like?”
“A man.”
Children were excellent witnesses and terrible witnesses at the same time.
“Old or young?”
She thought deeply.
“Big.”
“Like me?”
She studied me.
“No. You’re bigger.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
“Does he work here?”
“I think.”
“What does he do?”
Another shrug.
Then she made a motion with her hand.
Two fingers tapping together.
Click.
Click.
“He always does that.”
“Does what?”
“With his ring.”
My heart changed rhythm.
“A ring?”
She nodded.
“He makes a sound on the table.”
Click.
Click.
“Can you remember what the ring looks like?”
“Black.”
“Anything on it?”
She squinted.
“A bird.”
I stood slowly.
I knew a man who wore a black signet ring engraved with a bird.
Not Victor Caruso.
Someone much closer to me.
But before I could ask another question, the bedroom door opened.
One of Marco’s guards entered.
“Sir, Mr. Bellini needs you downstairs.”
“Why?”
“We found something.”
The servants’ wing looked like a police raid.
Staff lined the corridor under guard.
Some frightened.
Some angry.
Some whispering.
Victor Caruso stood near the wall.
He saw me and immediately approached.
“Adrien, what is happening?”
“Stay where you are.”
His face fell.
“I’ve worked here seven years.”
“Then you know what ‘stay’ means.”
He stopped.
Marco waited inside the laundry room.
On a stainless-steel folding table rested a small transmitter.
Luca stood beside it.
“Where?”
“Inside a detergent box,” Marco said.
“Prints?”
“Being checked.”
“Signal?”
“Matches.”
I looked toward the open service door.
Sunlight had faded outside.
The courtyard beyond was empty.
Marco handed me a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a strip of dark fabric.
“What is this?”
“Caught on the exterior latch.”
“Uniform?”
“Maybe.”
Then Luca spoke.
“The transmitter has a memory buffer.”
“Meaning?”
“It recorded some network activity.”
“Can you see who operated it?”
“Not directly.”
He hesitated.
“But I found an access code.”
I waited.
Luca turned his screen.
Six numbers.
31214.
Marco frowned.
“That mean anything?”
I stared at the code.
Yes.
It did.
I had used those numbers for years.
March 12, 2014.
The date Marco and I had survived an ambush that killed two of our men.
It was an old internal security code.
Only a handful of people had ever known it.
Marco understood from my face.
“Who?”
I looked down the corridor.
Victor.
Senior guards.
Old employees.
People I had trusted for years.
“Seven people knew that code.”
“How many still work for you?”
“Four.”
Marco’s expression hardened.
“Names.”
I gave them.
One was Victor.
One was Marco himself.
One was me.
The fourth was a man named Damien Rusk.
My former security coordinator.
He had left my organization eight months earlier.
Officially, he had retired.
Unofficially, he had disappeared after I discovered he was selling information to one of my rivals.
I had allowed him to leave because his betrayal had not touched my family.
Apparently, that had been a mistake.
Marco pulled out his phone.
“I’ll find him.”
“Do it.”
He turned away.
Then Sophie’s description returned to me.
A black ring.
A bird.
Damien had worn a black onyx signet ring.
The face of it carried a raven.
I walked toward the laundry courtyard.
On the stone floor outside, Marco’s men had found a partial shoe print.
Fresh mud.
Large boot.
The trail led toward the garden wall.
Then vanished.
I looked toward the house.
Damien had known every camera angle.
Every guard rotation.
Every service entrance.
And he knew my old security codes.
But a question remained.
Why attack my children?
Damien had betrayed me for money.
He had never hated me enough to hurt babies.
Not unless someone was paying him.
“Boss.”
Marco had returned.
“What?”
“I found Damien’s last known address.”
“And?”
“Empty.”
“Since when?”
“Three months.”
“Bank accounts?”
“Closed.”
“Family?”
“No wife. No children.”
“Vehicle?”
“Abandoned at the airport six weeks ago.”
I turned toward him.
“So he vanished.”
“Yes.”
Then Luca called from inside.
“Mr. Moretti.”
We joined him.
He had extracted another file from the transmitter.
Audio.
“Someone stored this on the device.”
“Play it.”
Luca hesitated.
“Sir—”
“Play it.”
He pressed a key.
Static filled the room.
Then a man’s voice.
Distorted electronically.
But calm.
“Adrien Moretti.”
Every person in the room became still.
“If you’re hearing this, the little girl was smarter than your security.”
My blood turned cold.
The recording continued.
“I wondered how long it would take before someone understood why your children were crying.”
A faint laugh.
“You built a fortress, Adrien.”
Another pause.
“But fortresses are useless when the enemy is already sitting at your table.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Marco looked at me.
The message had confirmed what I feared.
Damien might be involved.
But he was not acting alone.
Someone inside my home had helped him.
Someone close enough to know my codes.
My schedules.
My children.
May you like
And perhaps worst of all—
Someone who expected to sit at my table again tomorrow.
