Chapter 3 - THE ECHOES OF ROSA
"No one sent me!" Norah stepped back, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Do not lie to me in my own house." Dominic’s voice remained perfectly level, which was far more terrifying than if he had shouted. Salvatore suddenly slammed his good hand on the armrest. A hoarse, agonizing sound tore from his throat. “N-no.” It was the first actual word Norah had heard him speak in two weeks. Salvatore reached out, his trembling fingers grabbing Dominic’s wrist. He squeezed with surprising strength, shaking his head frantically, pointing at Norah. He was defending her. Dominic looked at his father’s desperate grip, then back at Norah. The suspicion in his eyes fractured, replaced by a deep, unsettling confusion. "My grandmother died when I was ten," Norah said, her voice shaking but defiant. "She worked in a textile factory. She had nothing. I didn't even know she knew anyone outside of Brooklyn. I was assigned this case by the agency." Dominic studied her. He was a man who read lies for a living. After a long, suffocating moment, he pulled his wrist from his father's grasp. "Frank," Dominic called out. The massive guard stepped forward. "Lock the estate down. No one leaves. Pull the agency files on Miss Gallagher. Every address, every tax return, every phone call." Norah felt a cold sweat break across her spine. "I need to do my job. His blood pressure is spiking." Dominic stepped aside. "Do your job, Nurse. But you aren't leaving this house until I know why the woman who nearly destroyed our family sixty years ago shares your blood." For the next two days, the atmosphere in the house changed from tense to venomous. But Salvatore changed, too. He stopped throwing things. He allowed Norah to take his vitals without a fight. When she fed him, he maintained a solemn, heavy eye contact, as if searching her face for ghosts. On the third night, a thunderstorm rattled the heavy windows of the estate. Norah was in Salvatore’s room, adjusting his IV line. A small, hesitant shadow appeared in the doorway. Norah turned. Standing there was a little boy, no older than six. He wore oversized pajamas, clutching a faded blue teddy bear. He had Dominic’s dark hair, but his eyes were wide and terrified. This was Leo. Dominic’s nephew. The son of Dominic’s older brother, who had been killed three years ago. The boy lived like a ghost in the massive house, ignored by the staff, kept out of Salvatore’s sight by strict orders. "I'm scared of the thunder," Leo whispered. Before Norah could speak, Salvatore let out a sharp grunt. Norah tensed, expecting the old man to throw something at the child. Instead, Salvatore used his good hand to pat the edge of his bed. Leo hesitated, then ran forward, climbing onto the edge of the mattress, curling up at his grandfather's feet. Salvatore awkwardly, gently, rested his trembling hand on the boy's head. Norah watched, stunned. The monster was capable of tenderness. Suddenly, Salvatore pointed frantically at the bottom drawer of his heavy oak dresser. He looked at Norah, urgency burning in his eye. Norah walked to the dresser and pulled the drawer open. It was full of folded blankets. Salvatore grunted louder, pointing down. Under the blankets. Norah dug her hands to the bottom. Her fingers brushed against cold metal. She pulled out a small, heavy iron lockbox. Salvatore made a motion with his hand—open it. Norah found the small silver key he kept on his bedside table. She slid it into the lock. It clicked. She opened the lid. Inside wasn't money or guns. It was a stack of unmailed letters, bound by a silk ribbon. The top envelope was addressed to Dominic. But the handwriting wasn't Salvatore’s. Norah recognized the elegant, sweeping cursive instantly. It was her grandmother's handwriting. And the return address on the envelope was a federal witness protection PO Box. Before Norah could process what she was holding, the bedroom door swung open. Dominic stood there, soaking wet from the rain, holding a printed dossier in his hand. His eyes fell on the letters. "Put those down," Dominic said, pulling a gun from his waistband. "Now."
