Chapter 2 - THE GIRL IN THE HALLWAY
The morning sun hit the marble floors of the Rinaldi estate with a harsh, unforgiving glare. It was barely six a.m., but Serena Valente was already standing in the grand foyer, holding her seven-year-old daughter’s hand.
Lucia clutched a worn, one-eyed stuffed bear against her chest. She wore her best hand-me-down yellow dress, but her small shoulders were hiked up to her ears. The sheer scale of the mansion—the towering ceilings, the crystal chandeliers, the sweeping double staircase—was enough to swallow a child whole.
“Stay close to me, Lucy,” Serena whispered, giving her daughter’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Remember what we practiced.”
“Be polite. Don’t touch the fancy things. Don’t talk back,” Lucia recited softly, her dark eyes wide with apprehension. “Are the bad boys awake yet?”
“They aren’t bad boys,” Serena corrected gently. “They’re just… loud.”
Serena’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She had returned to her cramped apartment late last night, packed their meager belongings into two duffel bags, and brought Lucia here. Victor Rinaldi had offered room and board. Serena couldn’t afford to let her pride stand in the way of a safe roof over her daughter’s head, especially not with the custody hearing looming fourteen days away.
Footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs.
Victor Rinaldi descended. He was dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit that fit perfectly, his dark hair slicked back, his expression as unreadable as a vault door. He stopped on the landing, his dark eyes dropping from Serena to the small, trembling girl hiding behind her leg.
“You didn’t mention you had a child, Ms. Valente,” Victor said, his voice a low baritone that seemed to vibrate in the cavernous space.
“You didn’t ask for references, Mr. Rinaldi,” Serena replied, keeping her chin level. “You said room and board. This is my daughter, Lucia. Where I go, she goes. If that’s a dealbreaker, tell me now before I unpack.”
She held her breath, praying he wouldn't throw them out. Her bank account was officially at zero after paying for the cab ride here.
Victor slowly descended the remaining stairs. He knelt in front of Lucia, the expensive fabric of his trousers pooling on the marble. He didn’t smile—mafia bosses rarely did—but the sharp, dangerous edge in his eyes softened just a fraction.
“Lucia,” Victor said. “Do you like orange juice?”
Lucia peeked out from behind Serena’s leg and gave a tiny nod.
“Good. Because my sons spilled a gallon of it yesterday. Watch your step.” He stood up, looking at Serena. “Mrs. Chen will show you to the east wing guest suites. Settle in. The boys will be down for breakfast in twenty minutes.”
Relief washed over Serena so intensely her knees nearly buckled. But the relief was short-lived.
As Mrs. Chen led them down a long, portrait-lined corridor to their new rooms, Serena noticed something wrong. The door to their assigned suite was slightly ajar.
“Wait here,” Serena murmured to Lucia, pushing the girl gently behind the housekeeper.
Serena pushed the door open. Her duffel bags, which she had dropped off with a guard at the gate ten minutes prior, were sitting on the plush king-sized bed. But they were unzipped. The few items she owned—folded sweaters, Lucia’s schoolbooks, a small jewelry box—had been meticulously shifted.
Someone had searched her belongings.
Anger, hot and fast, replaced her fear. She marched out of the room, leaving Lucia with Mrs. Chen, and stormed back toward the kitchen.
Victor was pouring black coffee. He didn’t look surprised when she shoved the kitchen doors open.
“You went through my bags,” Serena demanded, her voice kept low so the children wouldn't hear, but shaking with fury. “I am here to cook and watch your sons, Mr. Rinaldi. I am not a threat to you.”
“I don’t check for weapons, Ms. Valente. My security detail does that at the gate,” Victor said smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Then what were you looking for?”
Victor reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a crumpled, faded photograph. He tossed it onto the kitchen island.
May you like
Serena’s breath caught in her throat. It was a picture of her ex-husband, David. The man who had abandoned them, drained their savings, and was now dragging her to court just to hurt her. She kept it in her wallet only so Lucia wouldn't forget what her father looked like.
“I was looking for liabilities,” Victor said quietly, his eyes locking onto hers. “And I found one. Why is my accountant’s runner in your wallet, Serena?”
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