CHAPTER 1 — THE BASEMENT
CHAPTER 1 — THE BASEMENT
The steel door slammed shut with a sound that echoed through the concrete basement.
Then came the lock.
One heavy click.
Another.
Silence.
I stood in the middle of the cold room with my hands trembling, trying to slow my breathing.
This wasn't how I had imagined my first twenty-four hours earning five thousand dollars a week.
A few hours earlier, I'd been holding two sleeping little girls in my lap.
Now I was a prisoner.
The basement smelled of damp stone and motor oil. Bare light bulbs hung from the ceiling, throwing pale shadows across old wine racks and stacked wooden crates. Somewhere above me, I could hear faint footsteps moving across polished marble floors.
Life in the mansion continued.
Without me.
The door opened again.
Two armed guards stepped inside first.
Dante Moretti followed.
He still wore the same charcoal suit he'd had on that morning, but his tie was gone, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled to his forearms. His dark eyes looked colder than before.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He was calculating.
One of the guards placed the silver locket on the metal table between us.
Dante folded his arms.
"Start talking."
I looked at the photograph inside the locket.
His daughters smiled back at me.
"I've never seen this before."
His expression didn't change.
"Convenient."
"I don't know the dead man."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I expect you to believe the truth."
For several long seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he pushed a folded file toward me.
"My people spent all night digging through your life."
I didn't touch it.
"You were fired from a diner six weeks ago."
"I was."
"You have no criminal record."
"No."
"You've never traveled outside the United States."
"Correct."
He leaned forward.
"So explain how a waitress from Chicago knows a lullaby that only my wife ever sang to our daughters."
My throat tightened.
"I can't."
His jaw clenched.
"Can't?"
"I can tell you where I learned it."
"And?"
"My grandmother."
He stared at me without blinking.
"She raised me after my parents died. Every night, she sang that song whenever I couldn't sleep."
"What was her name?"
"Lucia Romano."
For the first time since we'd met, something flickered across his face.
Recognition.
It disappeared almost instantly.
"I know that name."
"I didn't."
"My father used to speak it."
I frowned.
"You said our families hated each other."
"They did."
Before I could ask another question, the basement door burst open.
Marco, the head of security, hurried inside.
His face had gone pale.
"Dante."
"What?"
"The girls."
Dante moved before Marco finished the sentence.
"What happened?"
"They're asking for her."
Marco looked directly at me.
"They won't let anyone else near them."
Dante swore under his breath.
"They've refused dinner," Marco continued. "One of them started crying the moment she realized the new nanny was gone."
"They'll calm down."
"They haven't."
Marco hesitated.
"The older twin locked herself in the nursery closet."
"And Sofia?"
"She keeps repeating the same sentence."
Dante's expression hardened.
"What sentence?"
Marco looked uncomfortable.
"'Don't let them take the singing lady.'"
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Dante slowly turned back toward me.
"They barely speak to anyone."
"I know."
"They trusted you after ten minutes."
"I didn't ask them to."
His eyes searched mine, looking for the lie he was convinced had to be there.
Instead, he found only exhaustion.
"You still think I came here to hurt them?" I asked quietly.
"I think someone sent you."
"No one did."
"The dead man had a map of my house."
"I've never even met him."
"You knew my wife's lullaby."
"I wish I knew why."
He studied me for another long moment.
Then his phone rang.
He answered immediately.
I watched every trace of color drain from his face.
"What do you mean she collapsed?"
His voice became dangerously calm.
"When?"
Another pause.
"I'm coming."
He hung up and looked at Marco.
"Call Dr. Bennett."
"Already on his way."
Dante looked at me again.
One of his daughters had fainted.
And for the first time since throwing me into the basement...
He looked uncertain.
Not because he trusted me.
Because he was running out of people his daughters trusted.
Without another word, he picked up the locket and headed for the door.
Just before he stepped outside, he stopped.
"If my daughter wakes up asking for you..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
The steel door closed again.
May you like
But this time...
The lock never clicked.
