Chapter 2 - THE ROOM BEHIND THE LAUNDRY WALL
“Where have you been keeping her?”
Hannah looked at Grace in my arms and then toward the hallway.
That glance told me the answer was inside my house.
My grip tightened around Julian’s medal.
“Hannah.”
“In the old linen room.”
I stared at her.
“What old linen room?”
“Behind the east laundry.”
There were fifty-three rooms in the Caruso estate. I owned every square foot.
Apparently, I did not know all of them.
“Show me.”
Hannah hesitated.
“Mr. Caruso—”
“Now.”
Grace made a small unhappy sound against my chest.
My tone had frightened her.
I stopped.
That surprised me more than anything else that morning.
I lowered my voice.
“Show me.”
Hannah led me downstairs.
I followed carrying the baby, though I could have handed Grace back.
I did not.
The east laundry sat beneath the servants’ wing, beyond the commercial washers and shelves of pressed linens.
Hannah pushed aside a rolling rack.
Behind it was a narrow wooden door painted the same color as the wall.
I had walked past it hundreds of times.
She unlocked it.
The room beyond was barely large enough for a cot.
A portable crib stood against one wall.
A jar of formula.
Diapers.
Two baby blankets.
A little stuffed rabbit missing one eye.
A hot plate.
Three cans of soup.
A stack of Hannah’s uniforms.
That was it.
I stared.
“You sleep here?”
“When Grace is with me.”
“This room doesn’t have a window.”
“It has a vent.”
My head turned slowly.
“A vent?”
Hannah flinched.
I immediately hated myself for the reaction.
“You brought my brother’s child into my house and hid her in a closet.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“You work for me.”
“Yes.”
“You could have asked.”
Her face changed.
Something bitter appeared beneath the fear.
“Could I?”
The question stopped me.
Hannah looked around the room.
“You didn’t know I was pregnant.”
I said nothing.
“You didn’t know I took unpaid leave.”
Nothing.
“You didn’t know Grace existed until she crawled under your desk.”
Each sentence landed cleanly.
“You knew my name because it was printed on payroll.”
Her voice shook.
“But if I had come into your office nine months ago carrying a newborn and said I needed help, would I have gotten past the second floor?”
I wanted to say yes.
I could not.
Security probably would have turned her away before anyone called me.
Grace grabbed my collar.
Hannah wiped at her eyes.
“I wasn’t trying to deceive you.”
“You hid Julian’s daughter.”
“I hid my daughter.”
That distinction mattered.
I looked at the crib.
“How long has she been coming here?”
“Eleven days.”
“And before?”
“My sitter.”
“Who?”
“Mrs. Alvarez. She lives in Queens.”
“What happened to her?”
“Stroke.”
“Why not daycare?”
“I told you.”
“Twenty-four hundred dollars.”
“Yes.”
I looked around again.
The number was absurd.
Not because it was high.
Because it was less than what I had spent on wine during last night’s dinner.
Grace’s rabbit sat near the pillow.
I picked it up.
One eye.
Frayed ear.
Julian had bought watches worth more than Hannah’s annual salary.
Something didn’t fit.
“My brother knew you were pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“He knew the baby was his.”
“Yes.”
“And he left you nothing?”
Hannah’s eyes shifted.
There.
Another secret.
“What?”
“He tried.”
“Explain.”
“A week before he died, Julian gave me an envelope.”
“What was inside?”
“Cash. A key. Instructions.”
“What key?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve had eighteen months.”
“He told me not to use it unless someone came looking for me.”
“Did someone?”
Hannah went quiet.
My pulse changed.
“Did someone come looking for you?”
“Three days after his funeral.”
I set the rabbit down.
“Who?”
“I never saw his face.”
Grace reached for it, so I handed it back.
Hannah continued.
“I was leaving my apartment. A man was waiting across the street.”
“Could have been anyone.”
“He followed me.”
“How long?”
“Two days.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Julian told me not to.”
Anger hit instantly.
“He told you not to contact his own family?”
“He said someone close to you wanted him dead.”
The room became silent.
The baby gnawed peacefully on the rabbit’s ear.
I heard the laundry machines through the wall.
My own breathing.
Nothing else.
“What exactly did Julian say?”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“The night he gave me the envelope, he was scared.”
“My brother wasn’t scared of anything.”
“He was that night.”
I hated how certain she sounded.
“He told me if anything happened, I was not to trust anyone with the last name Caruso.”
My jaw hardened.
“That includes me.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you applied for a job in my house.”
Her expression twisted.
“I ran out of money.”
“How did you even get hired?”
“I used Reed.”
“Your mother’s name?”
She nodded.
“Human resources never connected me to Julian.”
Of course they hadn’t.
My estate employed more than eighty people.
I had turned the house into a corporation.
Names.
Badges.
Schedules.
People moving around me invisibly.
“What was in the envelope?”
Hannah walked to the crib.
She lifted the mattress.
Nothing.
Then she reached beneath the wooden slat and pulled out a thin plastic pouch taped underneath.
Cash.
A brass key.
And a folded sheet of paper.
I took it.
Julian’s handwriting.
I knew it immediately.
Hannah—
If anything happens to me, do not let our daughter grow up believing I abandoned her.
The key belongs to Locker 317 at Grand Central.
Do not open it unless you are being followed.
Do not trust Vincent.
My vision narrowed.
I read the final sentence again.
Do not trust Vincent.
Vincent Rizzo had served my father before I was old enough to understand what our family actually did.
He taught Julian and me how to box.
He drove us to school when threats were high.
When our father died, Vincent stood beside me through the entire funeral.
When Julian’s car burned beneath the Newark overpass, Vincent was the man who identified his watch and Saint Christopher chain among the wreckage.
Except the Saint Christopher chain was currently wrapped around my fist.
I looked at Grace.
Then Hannah.
“Vincent identified Julian’s belongings.”
“I know.”
“He told me this medal was destroyed.”
Hannah’s face went pale.
“Julian gave it to me six days before the crash.”
The floor seemed to shift.
I reached for my phone.
Hannah grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t.”
Nobody grabbed me.
Not captains.
Not lawyers.
Not people who wanted to continue breathing.
I looked at her hand.
She released me instantly.
“Sorry.”
“Why shouldn’t I call security?”
“Because Vincent controls security.”
My blood turned cold.
She was right.
Vincent hired the guards.
Approved rotations.
Reviewed surveillance.
He had full access to this estate.
Including the cameras.
Including the room where Grace had crawled under my desk.
I looked toward the ceiling.
A camera watched the laundry entrance.
“Has Vincent ever seen Grace?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You brought her through service corridors?”
“Yes.”
“Where was she when she escaped?”
“Supply room beside your office. I was cleaning the conference hall. She learned how to crawl faster this week.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Julian had learned to climb out of his crib at nine months.
My mother once found him asleep beneath the kitchen table.
Then my phone rang.
Vincent.
Hannah and I looked at each other.
I answered.
“Yeah?”
“Marco.”
That was my name.
Only a handful of people used it without Mr. Caruso.
Vincent was one.
“We have a problem.”
I watched Hannah.
“What kind?”
“One of the staff accessed a restricted corridor.”
My eyes hardened.
“Who?”
“Hannah Reed.”
She stopped breathing.
Vincent continued.
“Security footage shows her entering your office area with something concealed beneath a laundry cart.”
I looked at Grace.
Something.
He knew.
Or suspected.
“What do you want me to do?”
Vincent sounded almost amused.
“You don’t do anything.”
A pause.
“I’ll handle her.”
The words changed meaning now.
“How?”
“I already sent two men downstairs.”
I looked toward the laundry door.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Hannah’s face went white.
I handed Grace to her.
“Back room.”
“What?”
“Now.”
She took the baby.
I drew the pistol beneath my jacket.
The handle turned.
Two security men stepped inside.
They stopped when they saw me.
“Mr. Caruso.”
“Who sent you?”
Neither answered immediately.
That was enough.
“Vincent,” one finally said.
“What were your instructions?”
“To bring Ms. Reed upstairs.”
“Alive?”
The men looked at each other.
My gun rose.
“I asked a simple question.”
The older guard swallowed.
“He said not to let her talk to anyone.”
Behind me, Grace began crying.
Both men heard it.
Their faces changed.
I understood immediately.
They had not known what they were looking for.
Now they did.
The older guard reached for his weapon.
He never cleared the holster.
I slammed him into the wall.
The second froze when my pistol touched his throat.
“Get your hands up.”
He obeyed.
Thirty seconds later, both were disarmed and kneeling.
I called someone Vincent had never controlled.
Detective Anthony Bell.
We had grown up together before our lives went in opposite directions.
He became NYPD.
I became the man NYPD watched.
When he answered, I said, “I need a favor.”
He laughed.
“Those words from you usually ruin my week.”
“This one might ruin my family.”
His tone changed.
“What happened?”
I looked toward Grace.
“My dead brother has a daughter.”
Silence.
“And someone inside my house just tried to take her mother.”
Anthony stopped joking.
“Tell me where you are.”
Before I could answer, every light in the laundry room went out.
Hannah gasped.
The emergency lights should have activated.
They did not.
Then somewhere above us, the estate security doors began locking automatically.
One after another.
Heavy mechanical clunks echoed through the walls.
Vincent had sealed the house.
May you like
My phone lost signal.
And from the dark corridor came the slow, unmistakable sound of someone chambering a round.
