Chapter 2 - The Man Inside the House
Vincent reached Matteo's hallway in forty-three seconds.
He remembered the number because men like Vincent remembered the details surrounding moments when their lives almost ended.
Forty-three seconds.
Long enough for a killer to cross a bedroom.
Long enough for a child to disappear.
Long enough for Vincent to imagine every possible consequence.
The emergency lights glowed red along the hallway floor.
Dominic and three guards followed him.
“Generator's running,” Dominic said. “But the west-wing cameras were manually isolated.”
“From where?”
“Still checking.”
Vincent didn't slow down.
Matteo's bedroom door was locked.
He hit it with his shoulder.
Nothing.
“Clara!”
No answer.
He fired once into the electronic lock.
Dominic kicked the door open.
Vincent entered with his pistol raised.
“Matteo!”
The room was dark.
Lightning flashed beyond the windows.
The wheelchair sat empty.
Vincent stopped breathing.
Then Clara's voice came from the bathroom.
“In here.”
He turned.
She was sitting on the tile floor with Matteo behind her.
Clara held a heavy ceramic lamp in both hands like a weapon.
Matteo clutched the back of her shirt.
She stared at Vincent's gun.
“Put that thing down before you shoot somebody.”
Vincent lowered it.
“Are you hurt?”
Matteo shook his head.
Vincent crossed the room.
He dropped onto one knee in front of his son.
For one irrational second he wanted to grab Matteo and never let him out of his arms again.
Instead, he examined him for injuries.
“Dad.”
Vincent stopped.
Matteo had not called him Dad in months.
“I'm here.”
“The lights went off.”
“I know.”
Clara's gaze moved between them.
“I heard someone outside the bedroom before the power died.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What?”
“Footsteps. They stopped outside the door.”
Dominic appeared behind him.
“We've got men sweeping the wing.”
Clara shook her head.
“They knew where we were.”
Vincent said nothing.
Because he agreed.
He helped Matteo back into his wheelchair himself.
Clara watched him.
“You heard what he said, didn't you?”
Vincent's eyes lifted.
“What?”
“The camera.”
Silence.
Clara looked toward the smoke detector.
Then toward the molding.
“You're not nearly as clever as you think.”
Dominic looked at Vincent.
Vincent dismissed the guards with one glance.
Only Dominic remained.
“You knew?”
Clara asked.
“I suspected.”
“Since when?”
“The second day.”
“How?”
“You put a camera inside a smoke detector directly across from the bed. The reflection catches in the window after sunset.”
Vincent's mouth hardened.
“And you stayed.”
“I needed the job.”
She looked toward Matteo.
“And he needed someone who wasn't scared of you.”
Under normal circumstances, nobody said that to Vincent Rossi twice.
Tonight, he almost respected it.
“Tell me what Matteo said.”
“I think you heard.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
Clara folded her arms.
“He said he saw someone put something under the vehicle before the explosion. He said the man works here.”
Dominic's face changed.
Vincent noticed.
Barely.
But he noticed.
“You knew something?”
Dominic shook his head.
“No.”
Vincent stared at him.
They had known each other eighteen years.
Dominic had carried Vincent out of a warehouse after a gunfight in Providence.
He had been godfather to Matteo.
He had helped dig Isabella's grave.
And suddenly Vincent found himself wondering whether eighteen years meant anything.
Trust was a luxury.
He had taught himself that.
Now the lesson was eating him alive.
“Seal every exit,” Vincent said.
“Nobody leaves?”
“Nobody.”
Dominic nodded and walked away.
Clara waited until the door closed.
“You don't trust him.”
“I don't trust anyone.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Vincent looked at her.
Clara wheeled Matteo toward the bed.
“The person who cut power knew about your cameras.”
“Yes.”
“So either your security system isn't nearly as secret as you think or somebody who helped install it is involved.”
“The technician who installed it can't talk.”
Clara paused.
“I don't want to know what that means.”
“No, you don't.”
She settled Matteo under the blankets.
The boy looked between them.
“Dad?”
Vincent moved closer.
“Tell me about the man.”
Matteo immediately looked frightened.
Clara stepped between father and son.
“Not like that.”
Vincent's voice dropped.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“He's eight.”
“He may know who murdered his mother.”
“And you're looking at him like he's a witness in an interrogation room.”
Vincent clenched his jaw.
Clara softened her tone.
“Matteo, nobody's angry with you.”
The boy stared at his hands.
“I forgot.”
“That's okay.”
“I didn't mean to.”
Vincent felt sick.
“You didn't do anything wrong.”
Matteo looked at him.
Vincent forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Tell me only what you remember.”
A long silence.
Then Matteo spoke.
“We were leaving the restaurant.”
Vincent remembered.
Family dinner.
Isabella had complained that Matteo was still wearing ketchup on his sleeve.
“I went back because I forgot my dinosaur.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
The stuffed dinosaur.
Blue.
Matteo had carried it everywhere.
“I saw somebody crouching by the back wheel.”
“Who?”
“I couldn't see his face.”
Vincent's disappointment was immediate.
Then Matteo added,
“But he had the ring.”
“What ring?”
Matteo pointed toward Vincent's hand.
Vincent wore a heavy black signet ring bearing the Rossi crest.
Only five men in his organization had one.
Vincent.
Dominic.
His cousin Luca.
His financial adviser Carlo Bellini.
And Vincent's younger brother, Anthony.
All family.
All trusted.
All capable of entering the estate without inspection.
Vincent's stomach turned cold.
“What else?”
“He smelled like oranges.”
Vincent frowned.
Clara noticed.
“You know somebody who smells like oranges?”
Vincent did.
Carlo Bellini chewed orange-clove lozenges constantly.
He had since quitting cigarettes ten years earlier.
Too easy.
Far too easy.
Vincent stood.
Clara watched his face.
“You have a suspect.”
“I have a clue.”
“Don't confuse those.”
Vincent looked at her sharply.
She didn't flinch.
“People get killed when powerful men become certain too quickly.”
The statement hit differently than it should have.
Not advice.
Experience.
Vincent studied her.
“What happened during the two years missing from your employment record?”
Clara's expression shut down.
“Nothing relevant.”
“To me, everything under my roof is relevant.”
“Then fire me.”
“Why?”
“Because I won't explain my entire life because you're scared.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“I am not scared.”
Clara glanced toward Matteo.
“Yes, you are.”
Silence.
“You're terrified.”
Vincent's jaw flexed.
She continued quietly.
“You think if you control every door, every camera, every employee, every breath your son takes, nobody can hurt him again.”
Her voice softened.
“But somebody already did.”
Vincent looked away.
Clara's words landed too close to something he never allowed himself to name.
Guilt.
He had enemies because of the choices he made.
Isabella had died because somebody wanted him hurt.
Matteo sat in a wheelchair because of Vincent Rossi.
Clara moved past him.
“I'm staying with Matteo tonight.”
“No.”
“You just had a security breach.”
“I'll place guards.”
“He doesn't need guards staring at him while he sleeps.”
Vincent turned toward her.
“What does he need?”
Clara looked him directly in the eye.
“You.”
That answer frightened Vincent more than anything else she had said.
He remained beside Matteo's bed until almost two in the morning.
Matteo fell asleep.
Clara sat on the sofa reading quietly.
Neither spoke.
Eventually Vincent stepped into the hallway.
Dominic approached.
“We found something.”
He handed Vincent a security badge.
Carlo Bellini's badge.
Found inside the maintenance room beside the west-wing breaker panel.
Vincent closed his fist around it.
“Where is Bellini?”
Dominic's expression darkened.
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“His car left twenty minutes before lockdown.”
Vincent looked toward Matteo's door.
Orange lozenges.
A Rossi ring.
A security badge.
Everything pointed toward Carlo.
Everything except Clara's warning.
Too easy.
Then Vincent's phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Clara entering a hospital two years earlier.
Beside her was a dark-haired man Vincent recognized immediately.
A man who had died six months before Isabella's bombing.
A man once employed by Carlo Bellini.
Beneath the photograph were six words.
ASK YOUR MAID WHO HER HUSBAND WAS.
Vincent slowly lifted his eyes toward Matteo's bedroom.
May you like
For the first time, Clara Hayes was no longer merely his son's caretaker.
She was part of the war.
