Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE WITH TOO MANY LOCKS
I had imagined Damian Caruso’s mansion before.
Everyone in the city had.
People described massive gates, armed guards, black cars, marble floors, cameras hidden in every wall.
The reality was worse.
Or perhaps safer.
I could not decide.
The estate sat beyond tall stone walls on nearly ten acres north of the city. Trees covered the property, shielding most of the house from the road.
Three security gates opened before our vehicle reached the main entrance.
I sat in the back seat beside Leah.
She refused to let go of me.
Damian sat across from us.
Nobody spoke for most of the drive.
Every few minutes I looked toward the window, half expecting to see Gabriel standing beside the road.
Alive.
The word still made no sense.
Gabriel had died on a rainy highway near Geneva.
Or that was what I had been told.
The police had said his car went through a barrier.
The vehicle burned.
Identification had supposedly been confirmed through dental records.
I remembered sitting at the funeral staring at the closed coffin.
Now I understood why it had been closed.
Damian broke the silence.
“Did you see his body?”
“No.”
“Who arranged the funeral?”
“His attorney.”
“Name?”
“Thomas Keller.”
Damian leaned back.
There it was again.
Thomas.
Always Thomas.
“What did your husband do?”
“Financial consulting.”
“For who?”
“Private clients. Banks. Investment groups.”
“That answer is probably fiction.”
I looked at him.
“You’re saying I knew nothing about my own husband?”
“I’m saying someone stole your daughter, staged your husband’s death, connected himself to my sister, and now appeared outside the restaurant the same night Leah recognized you.”
His eyes were cold.
“That isn’t coincidence.”
I hated how reasonable it sounded.
The car stopped.
Before the driver could open my door, Leah climbed onto me.
“Home,” she whispered.
Damian froze.
It was her second new word.
My eyes filled immediately.
Damian looked away.
The smallest crack appeared in his controlled expression.
Then he stepped outside.
Inside the mansion, I expected cold marble and expensive art.
Instead, the first thing I noticed was children’s drawings.
They were everywhere.
On the hallway walls.
Across a refrigerator near the kitchen.
Pinned beside framed paintings that probably cost more than my annual salary.
Most were scribbles.
Some showed houses.
Trees.
A black figure.
A yellow figure.
I stopped at one drawing.
Two women stood beside a small child.
One woman had black hair.
The other had brown hair.
Above the brown-haired figure was a rough circle.
A moon.
My skin prickled.
“Who is that?”
Damian followed my gaze.
“She drew it six months ago.”
He studied the picture.
“We assumed the second woman was Bianca.”
I pointed at the shape above the figure.
“That’s my necklace.”
Damian said nothing.
Leah touched the drawing.
“Mama.”
My knees almost gave out.
A woman appeared from the end of the hallway.
She was perhaps sixty, with silver hair pulled neatly behind her head.
The moment she saw Leah holding my hand, she stopped.
“Mr. Caruso?”
“Rosa, this is Elena Russo.”
The woman’s face changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
I saw it clearly.
“You know me.”
Rosa immediately looked toward Damian.
“No.”
“You do.”
“Elena,” Damian said quietly.
I stepped closer.
“Have we met?”
Rosa’s hands tightened around the dish towel she carried.
“No, miss.”
“You looked at me like you knew me.”
“I was surprised.”
Damian watched her.
“Rosa.”
One word.
That was enough.
The older woman lowered her eyes.
“I have seen her before.”
The air changed.
Damian moved closer.
“Where?”
Rosa looked terrified.
“Two years ago.”
My heart hammered.
“Where?”
“In this house.”
Damian’s face became unreadable.
“That’s impossible.”
Rosa shook her head.
“Not her personally.”
She looked at me.
“A photograph.”
“What photograph?”
Rosa hesitated.
Damian’s voice lowered.
“Answer.”
“Miss Bianca had it.”
My hands went cold.
“A picture of me?”
“Yes.”
Rosa’s eyes became wet.
“She kept it hidden inside her room.”
Damian stared at her.
“You knew Bianca had a photograph of Elena Russo?”
“I did not know who the woman was.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
Damian took one step forward.
Rosa flinched.
That reaction told me enough about the man everyone feared.
But he stopped himself.
“Show me.”
Rosa led us upstairs.
Leah still held my hand.
We reached a bedroom at the far end of the second floor.
The room looked untouched.
Dust covers protected furniture.
A framed photograph of Damian and a younger woman sat beside the bed.
Bianca.
She had his eyes.
Her smile was softer.
Rosa crossed to an old writing desk.
“After Bianca died, you ordered nobody to remove her belongings.”
Damian nodded.
Rosa opened a narrow compartment beneath the desk.
Inside were envelopes.
Photographs.
A passport.
And a small red notebook.
She pulled out an old photograph.
I stopped breathing.
It was me.
Seven months pregnant.
Standing outside a bakery in Zurich.
I remembered the day.
Gabriel had taken that photograph.
“How did Bianca get this?”
Damian asked.
I could not answer.
I turned the picture over.
Three words were written on the back.
PROTECT HER BABY.
My hands began shaking.
Damian took the photograph.
His expression became dangerous.
“Rosa.”
“Yes?”
“Did Bianca say anything about this woman?”
Rosa swallowed.
“Only once.”
“What?”
“She said the child belonged to someone who would be destroyed if the truth came out.”
My mouth went dry.
“What truth?”
“I don’t know.”
Damian picked up the red notebook.
Most pages contained random dates, numbers, initials.
But near the middle was one repeated name.
Keller.
Then another.
G.R.
Gabriel Russo.
Damian turned pages faster.
Near the end, Bianca had written a sentence.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, DAMIAN MUST KNOW GABRIEL IS LYING ABOUT THE BABY.
I stared at the words.
Damian’s jaw tightened.
My husband had lied.
Bianca knew.
And she had died trying to bring Leah here.
“What happened the night Bianca arrived?”
I asked.
Damian closed the notebook.
“It was three in the morning.”
His voice became quieter.
“She came through the west gate in a stolen car.”
He looked toward Leah.
“She was carrying the baby.”
“Was Leah injured?”
“No.”
“Bianca?”
“Gunshot wound.”
I felt cold.
“Who shot her?”
“We never found out.”
“Did she say anything before she died?”
Damian looked at me for several seconds.
“She said two things.”
“What?”
“Keep the child safe.”
He paused.
“And?”
“She said, ‘Do not trust the father.’”
My breath disappeared.
Damian watched me understand.
“She meant Gabriel.”
Suddenly, an alarm sounded downstairs.
Damian immediately turned.
Security footsteps thundered through the hallway.
His chief appeared at the door.
“Boss.”
“What happened?”
“East gate breach.”
Damian’s face hardened.
“How many?”
“Unknown.”
Leah began crying.
Damian drew a pistol from beneath his jacket.
I stepped backward.
“Is Gabriel here?”
“We don’t know.”
Damian looked toward Rosa.
“Take Elena and Leah to the safe room.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I’m not hiding while someone comes for my daughter.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
My daughter.
Damian stared at me.
Then something almost like approval appeared in his eyes.
“Fine.”
He pointed toward the corridor.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved downstairs as shouting erupted outside.
Men rushed toward the front doors.
Cameras displayed vehicles near the perimeter.
But nobody had entered.
Then Damian’s security chief stopped.
His phone vibrated.
He answered.
Listened.
His face changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“There was no breach.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“Then why did the alarm trigger?”
The chief looked toward the security monitors.
“Someone hacked the system.”
Every screen suddenly went black.
Then a single image appeared.
Live video.
A hospital room.
An elderly doctor was strapped to a chair.
His mouth was bleeding.
Behind him stood the man from the restaurant footage.
Gabriel.
My supposedly dead husband.
He removed his cap.
Looked directly into the camera.
And smiled.
“Elena,” he said.
My blood turned to ice.
“If you want the truth about our daughter…”
May you like
He lifted a gun beside the doctor’s head.
“…come get it.”
