Chapter 2 – THE LIE IN THE INFIRMARY

I let Matteo’s call ring six times.

Tomas watched me.

Elena watched me.

Even Mia looked up from her mother’s bedside.

I answered on the seventh.

“Matteo.”

My cousin sounded relaxed.

Too relaxed.

“Thought you’d still be in Providence.”

“I’m home.”

A pause so small most people would have missed it.

I didn’t.

“Already?”

“Yes.”

“How’d it go?”

I stared at Grace.

Her face was pale beneath the bruising.

“The Morettis are reconsidering.”

Matteo laughed.

“They’ll come around.”

He sounded certain.

That interested me.

“Why are you awake?”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“I own the house I’m standing in.”

Another pause.

“Everything all right there?”

I looked directly at Elena.

She held my gaze.

“Shouldn’t it be?”

“Of course.”

“What are you asking me, Matteo?”

“Nothing.”

He was smiling.

I could hear it.

“Just checking in.”

“At two in the morning?”

“You’ve called me later.”

True.

That was what made good lies dangerous.

They always carried enough truth to stand upright.

I shifted Lily in my arm.

The baby’s head rested beneath my chin.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Breakfast?”

“Come at five.”

Silence.

This pause was longer.

“Five?”

“You’re awake.”

“So are you.”

“Then neither of us has a reason to be late.”

Another beat.

“Sure.”

“Matteo.”

“Yeah?”

“Use the front entrance.”

He stopped breathing for half a second.

Then he laughed again.

“Always do.”

I hung up.

Tomas stared at me.

“Front entrance?”

“Matteo knows another way into the house.”

Tomas frowned.

“What other way?”

I looked at Elena.

“Exactly.”

I handed Lily to her.

Elena instinctively gathered the baby against herself.

Mia turned sharply.

“That’s Lily.”

“I know,” Elena whispered.

“She likes being held like this.”

Mia demonstrated with her arms.

Elena adjusted the child.

Lily sighed and stayed asleep.

That tiny exchange hit me strangely.

Ten minutes earlier Elena had been chained inside my wall.

Mia had been scrubbing my desk.

Grace had been unconscious.

And somehow the three of them were already cooperating with the quiet efficiency of people who had learned that survival often depended on noticing what someone else needed before they asked.

I hated that I understood the instinct.

“Tomas.”

He looked at me.

“Call Dr. Keller.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

He glanced at Grace.

“What happened?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Tomas stepped into the hall to make the call.

I went to Grace’s bedside.

Mia watched every movement.

I checked Grace’s pulse.

Steady.

Her breathing was slow but regular.

I knew enough about sedatives to understand what I did not know.

That made me more dangerous, not less.

I did not guess when lives were involved.

“Mia.”

She looked at me.

“Did you see what happened to your mother?”

Her fingers tightened around Grace’s hand.

“You’re not in trouble.”

“You said that.”

“I meant it.”

She considered me.

Then nodded.

“Tell me.”

Mia looked toward Elena.

“The man got mad.”

“What man?”

Her eyes returned to mine.

“Mr. Matt.”

Children rarely understood titles.

But they remembered names.

Matteo had always told the staff children to call him Mr. Matt.

I kept my face still.

“What did Mr. Matt do?”

“Mama heard the lady.”

“Elena?”

Mia nodded.

“Mama told me to stay with Lily in the laundry room.”

“What happened then?”

“I didn’t.”

Despite everything, the answer almost made me smile.

Of course she hadn’t.

“What did you do?”

“I followed.”

“Where?”

“To your office.”

My study.

She looked worried again.

“I know I’m not supposed to.”

“That doesn’t matter right now.”

“Mama was listening to the wall.”

“And Matteo?”

“He came in.”

“What did he say?”

Mia squeezed Grace’s hand.

“He said Mama was nosy.”

My jaw hardened.

“Anything else?”

“He said you told him nobody was allowed to look in the wall.”

That part was almost true.

No one was.

“What did your mother say?”

“She said there was a hurt lady and she was calling you.”

I looked toward Elena.

She nodded.

Grace had tried to help.

“What happened next?”

Mia’s eyes filled.

“Mr. Matt said no.”

I waited.

“Mama said she worked for you, not him.”

That sounded exactly like Grace.

“What did Matteo do?”

“He grabbed Mama.”

Mia’s voice became smaller.

“I bit him.”

My eyes snapped to hers.

“You what?”

“He grabbed her.”

“You bit Matteo?”

She nodded.

“On his hand?”

“Here.”

She pointed to the web between her thumb and forefinger.

I filed that away.

Six years old.

Terrified.

And when a grown man put his hands on her mother, Mia Harper attacked him.

“What happened after that?”

“He yelled.”

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Did he touch Lily?”

Another shake.

“Mama got in front of us.”

Of course she did.

“Then Mr. Matt got something from the doctor cabinet.”

“A syringe?”

Mia did not know the word.

She pinched her fingers together.

“A shot.”

I looked at Grace’s arm.

“He gave it to your mother?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

Mia began crying silently.

No sound.

Just tears.

That was worse.

I crouched beside her.

“What did he say, Mia?”

“He said Mama made trouble.”

Her breath shook.

“And people who make trouble don’t get to stay in your house.”

There it was.

Not simply a threat.

A weapon built entirely out of my reputation.

“He said if I was good and finished Mama’s work, maybe you wouldn’t fire her.”

I looked away.

For years, I had convinced myself that fear was useful because it created order.

Men arrived on time because they feared disappointing me.

Deals were honored.

Debts were paid.

People thought twice before creating problems near my family.

I had treated fear like a wall.

Something that protected what was mine.

That night, a six-year-old showed me what fear looked like from the other side.

It looked like red hands.

A vacuum cleaner.

A baby tied to a child’s back.

And a little girl believing her mother’s entire life depended on polishing my desk before sunrise.

“Mia.”

She wiped her face.

“I am not firing your mother.”

She stared at me.

“Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not because of this. Not because of anything that happened here.”

“What if the office is dirty?”

“I don’t care about the office.”

That genuinely confused her.

Children understood adults more than adults liked to admit, but there were limits.

I touched the edge of the bed instead of touching her.

“This is important, so listen to me. Your mother did nothing wrong.”

Mia’s eyes moved toward Grace.

“She was helping somebody.”

“Yes.”

“That’s good?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Matt said it was bad.”

“Mr. Matt lied.”

The room went silent.

Tomas had returned.

He heard me.

His expression changed.

Men in my organization did not casually accuse a Duca of lying.

Especially another Duca.

But I was not speaking casually.

Mia absorbed the statement.

Then she looked toward Elena.

“Is the crying lady in trouble?”

“No.”

“Does she have to go back in the wall?”

Elena closed her eyes.

“No,” I said.

“Never again.”

Dr. Keller arrived twenty-three minutes later.

By then, I had moved Elena and the children to the adjoining sitting room.

Tomas remained with me.

Keller examined Grace in silence.

He was an old man with white hair, steady hands, and enough experience with my family to know when questions were safer after answers.

Finally, he straightened.

“She’s sedated.”

“With what?”

He held the empty vial I had found in the infirmary trash.

“Midazolam. More than I would have used, but not enough to be lethal in a healthy adult.”

“Head injury?”

“Minor. Probably struck something when she went down.”

“When will she wake?”

“She’s already starting to.”

As if summoned by the words, Grace moved.

Her eyelids fluttered.

Mia rushed through the doorway before anyone could stop her.

“Mama!”

Grace opened her eyes.

For several seconds, she looked lost.

Then she saw Mia.

Her entire body tensed.

“Mia?”

“I’m here.”

“Lily?”

“Here.”

Grace tried to sit.

Keller pressed her shoulder down.

“Easy.”

Her eyes moved past him.

Found me.

Fear replaced confusion.

She struggled harder.

“Mr. Duca.”

“Grace.”

“I’m sorry.”

Those were her first words to me.

Not help.

Not what happened.

I’m sorry.

I felt something dark move through me.

“For what?”

“The study.”

She was barely conscious and apologizing about my study.

“I couldn’t finish.”

Mia immediately said, “I did it.”

Grace’s face collapsed.

“No.”

“I cleaned it, Mama.”

“No, baby.”

Mia looked hurt.

“I did good.”

Grace pulled her daughter against her chest.

“You did nothing wrong.”

Neither of them noticed that my hands had become fists.

Grace looked at me over Mia’s hair.

“He told her, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes closed.

“I tried to stop him.”

“I know.”

“Miss Moretti?”

“She’s safe.”

Grace exhaled.

Some of the tension left her body.

Then her eyes opened again.

“Don’t trust—”

Her voice failed.

I leaned closer.

“Who?”

But we both knew.

“Matteo.”

Tomas shifted behind me.

Grace looked at him and hesitated.

I noticed.

So did Tomas.

“You think he’s involved?” he asked.

Grace looked at me.

“Mr. Duca, I don’t know who works for him.”

Neither did I.

That was the next problem.

My cousin had been my underboss for almost nine years.

Half the men responsible for guarding my house had received promotions on his recommendation.

The locks were mine.

The walls were mine.

The guards were mine.

But trust?

I suddenly had no idea who owned that.

I told Keller to stay with Grace.

Then I took Tomas into the hall.

“You will replace everyone on exterior security.”

“With who?”

“Men who report directly to you.”

“Some of my men know Matteo.”

“I didn’t ask if they knew him.”

Tomas nodded.

“What are we expecting?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Roman.”

His use of my first name made me look at him.

Tomas and I had known each other for fifteen years.

He was not family.

Tonight, that improved his position considerably.

“Elena Moretti is here,” he said quietly. “Her brother’s going to assume you took her.”

“He already does.”

“You sure?”

“I spent five hours watching him try not to accuse me.”

Tomas swore.

“Why would Matteo do that?”

“We’re going to ask him.”

“At five?”

“Yes.”

“You want me in the room?”

“No.”

He stared at me.

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Probably.”

“Then why?”

“Because if Matteo thinks I know, he changes his story before I understand the entire reason.”

Tomas leaned closer.

“And if he comes here to kill the witness?”

“Then we learn something faster.”

He did not like that.

Neither did I.

But information was power, and right now Matteo had too much of both.

I returned to the sitting room.

Elena was sitting on a sofa with Lily asleep in her arms.

Mia sat pressed against her side.

The sight would have looked almost ordinary if not for Elena’s bruised face.

I stood in front of her.

“Tell me exactly what happened before you were taken.”

She looked at Mia.

I understood.

“Tomas.”

He appeared in the doorway.

“Take Mia and Lily to Grace.”

Mia resisted immediately.

“I want to stay.”

“You’re staying with your mother.”

“Is Mr. Matt coming?”

The question stopped all of us.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Later.”

Her small face tightened.

“He gets angry.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to let him near Mama?”

“No.”

She studied me again.

Then she gave me the same solemn nod she had earlier.

Trust given in installments.

Tomas took the children.

When the door closed, Elena said, “She doesn’t believe you completely.”

“She shouldn’t.”

Elena looked surprised.

“Trusting too quickly is dangerous.”

“You taught her that?”

“No.”

I looked toward the infirmary.

“Apparently my house did.”

Elena set the empty shawl beside her.

“My brother runs Moretti Freight.”

“I know.”

“It’s mostly legitimate.”

“Mostly.”

She ignored that.

“I handle auditing. Three months ago, I started finding duplicate service charges attached to the Boston routes.”

“What kind?”

“Storage. Security. Handling.”

“Whose authorization?”

“Matteo’s.”

That did not surprise me.

I hated that it didn’t.

“How much?”

“Over seven months? Almost two million.”

Now I understood one piece.

Matteo had been stealing.

But two million dollars did not explain kidnapping a woman and putting her behind my wall.

Not by itself.

“I told Carlo.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“And?”

“He said he would bring it up during tonight’s meeting.”

I remembered Carlo sitting across from me.

His anger.

His hesitation.

The way he had looked at Matteo’s empty chair once and then at me.

Matteo had told me he was staying in Boston to handle a warehouse problem.

Convenient.

“Elena.”

She watched me.

“When were you taken?”

“A little after nine.”

“Where?”

“Parking garage under our office.”

“Who?”

“Two men I didn’t recognize at first.”

“At first?”

“One spoke later. I’d seen him with Matteo.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“They put me in a van.”

Her hands began shaking.

She noticed and clenched them.

“When we stopped, Matteo was there.”

“At this house?”

“No. Some garage. He told me I’d made things difficult.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“That Carlo was about to embarrass himself over numbers he didn’t understand.”

My jaw tightened.

“Then?”

“He asked where my copies were.”

“Copies of the audit?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because by then I knew whatever he was doing was worse than stealing.”

She looked directly at me.

“He told me you had approved it.”

“What?”

“The money.”

That was new.

“He said the extra charges were your private cut.”

I laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“And you believed him?”

“I didn’t know.”

Fair answer.

“He said if Carlo accused you publicly, it would destroy the agreement and probably start a war.”

“So Matteo kidnapped you to keep Carlo quiet.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But?”

She looked toward the wall separating us from my study.

“When he brought me here, he kept asking where the evidence was.”

I waited.

“He didn’t care about Carlo signing the agreement.”

“What did he care about?”

“Finding the audit.”

That was the second piece.

Not leverage.

Erasure.

Matteo did not merely want the deal.

He wanted evidence gone.

“Where is it?”

Elena said nothing.

“Elena.”

“If I tell you, what happens to it?”

“Depends what it proves.”

“And if it proves your cousin stole from you?”

“Then he stole from me.”

“And if it proves you knew?”

“Then you decide what to do with that information.”

She stared at me for a long time.

“You’re either very confident or very dangerous.”

“I’ve been called both.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

Then she said, “There’s a copy with my attorney.”

I let out a slow breath.

Good.

Matteo could not erase everything by killing her.

That also meant if he believed the only copies were still hidden somewhere, he would keep searching.

“Did Matteo know?”

“No.”

A movement at the doorway.

Tomas.

“Boss.”

“What?”

He held out a phone.

“Carlo Moretti has called three times.”

I took it.

Not my phone.

A secure line.

I looked at Elena.

“Do you want him to know you’re alive?”

Her face broke.

“Yes.”

I called.

Carlo answered before the first full ring.

“If you hurt her—”

“She’s alive.”

Silence.

Then breathing.

“Roman.”

“She’s alive.”

“Put her on.”

I handed Elena the phone.

“Carlo?”

Whatever came from the other end made her begin to cry.

Not the crying Mia had heard through the wall.

This was different.

Release.

Anger.

Relief.

She turned away from me.

“I’m okay.”

A pause.

“No. Listen to me. Roman didn’t—”

She looked at me.

“I don’t think he knew.”

Carlo shouted loudly enough that I could hear him from across the room.

Elena winced.

“Stop. Carlo. Stop.”

She listened.

Then slowly lowered the phone.

“He wants to talk to you.”

I took it.

Carlo did not bother with courtesy.

“Where is my sister?”

“My house.”

“I knew it.”

“No. You knew she was missing.”

“Don’t play games.”

“If I had taken your sister, Carlo, we would not be having this conversation.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t.”

Silence.

“Ask yourself a better question.”

“What?”

“Why would I spend five hours negotiating with you while secretly holding the one person whose disappearance guaranteed you wouldn’t trust anything I said?”

He said nothing.

“Who contacted you after Elena disappeared?”

Another silence.

Then, “I got a message.”

“From?”

“A number I didn’t know.”

“What did it say?”

His breathing changed.

“Carlo.”

“It said if I wanted my sister home, I would sign the agreement exactly as written and stop asking about Boston charges.”

There it was.

“Anything else?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“It said the message came from you.”

“Send it.”

“To where?”

I gave him a number.

He sent a screenshot.

I read the message twice.

MR. DUCA ADVISES YOU TO REMEMBER THE COST OF QUESTIONING FAMILY BUSINESS. SIGN TONIGHT. YOUR SISTER GOES HOME WHEN YOU DO.

The wording was careful.

Mr. Duca advises.

Not Roman says.

Not an actual direct quote.

Enough distance for Matteo to deny it later.

“Carlo.”

“What?”

“Did you show me this tonight?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You had six armed men in the building.”

“I had three.”

“The others were outside.”

“Not mine.”

Silence.

That interested both of us.

“Describe them.”

He did.

Black SUV.

Two men.

One with a scar above his right eyebrow.

I knew the man.

Darren Pike.

Matteo’s driver.

The third piece.

“When did the SUV leave?”

“Twenty minutes before you.”

That meant Matteo knew the meeting ended before I reached Boston.

He knew I was coming.

Maybe that explained the phone call.

Maybe it explained something worse.

“Carlo.”

“If my sister dies—”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t get to promise me that.”

“You’re right.”

My eyes went to the infirmary.

“I promised a child something tonight. One promise is enough.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find out exactly what my cousin has been doing with my name.”

“And then?”

“Then we speak again.”

I ended the call.

Tomas was watching me.

“Pike?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“He’s one of Matteo’s.”

“I know.”

Tomas rubbed his jaw.

“He’s scheduled tonight.”

My head lifted.

“Where?”

“Carriage-house entrance.”

The house suddenly felt different.

Older.

Larger.

Full of spaces I had stopped thinking about.

The hidden room behind my study had another exit.

Almost no one knew that.

A narrow passage ran behind the old chimney stack, down through the walls, and opened near the carriage house.

My father had built it as an escape route.

If Matteo knew enough to use the room, he knew the passage.

And Darren Pike was guarding the other end.

I looked at the clock.

2:44 a.m.

“Move Elena.”

“Where?”

“Not somewhere Matteo knows exists.”

Tomas gave me a dark look.

“We’re running out of those.”

He was right.

Then movement came from the infirmary.

Grace stood in the doorway.

Barefoot.

Pale.

One hand braced against the frame.

Mia stood beside her.

Keller protested from behind.

Grace ignored him.

“Mr. Duca.”

“You should be lying down.”

“So should half the people who work for you.”

Even drugged, Grace was still Grace.

I almost respected the insult.

Almost.

She reached into the pocket of her housekeeping apron.

Her hand trembled.

Then she opened it.

A black cufflink lay in her palm.

Silver initials were engraved across the face.

M.D.

“I pulled this off him,” she said.

“Before he injected me.”

Evidence.

Small.

Physical.

Useless by itself.

But Grace was not finished.

“He kept talking while he thought I was unconscious.”

I stepped closer.

“What did he say?”

Grace’s eyes met mine.

“He told someone on the phone to come back before five.”

The room went silent.

“What else?”

She swallowed.

“He said, ‘We move the Moretti woman through the old passage, and Roman never knows she was here.’”

My watch read 2:45.

Matteo had agreed to breakfast at five.

But according to Grace, someone was coming before five.

He had never intended to walk through my front door for breakfast.

He intended to empty the room first.

And if he discovered Elena was gone, he would know I knew everything.

I looked toward Tomas.

“Lock the carriage house.”

“I already put two men there.”

“Remove them.”

“Why?”

“If Matteo placed Pike there, I don’t know who else he placed.”

Tomas nodded.

He started away.

Then my phone vibrated.

A security alert.

Movement.

West courtyard.

I opened the camera feed.

For three seconds, all I saw was rain.

Then headlights appeared behind the carriage house.

A black SUV rolled through the rear gate.

Forty-five minutes early.

Tomas looked at me.

“Matteo?”

The vehicle stopped.

The driver’s door opened.

Darren Pike stepped out.

Then the rear passenger door opened.

My cousin emerged into the rain.

Matteo looked directly up toward the camera.

And smiled.