THE BUTTERFLY BRACELET

Marcus was inside Lily’s room.

Claire didn’t scream. A scream would alert him. A scream would give him the three seconds he needed to grab a hostage.

Instead, she scooped the eight-year-old girl into her arms. Lily let out a small squeak of surprise as Claire turned on her heel and bolted down the opposite corridor, away from the bedroom, away from the stairs where Dominic stood.

“Claire? What are you doing?” Lily whispered, her arms wrapping around Claire’s neck.

“We’re playing a game, sweetie. The quiet game.”

Claire pushed through the swinging door of the upstairs service corridor—a narrow, unlit hallway meant for staff to move invisibly through the mansion. She set Lily down behind a heavy laundry cart.

“Don’t move. Do not make a sound until I come back,” Claire breathed, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead.

Lily nodded, her dark eyes wide.

Claire stepped back into the main hallway, her heart slamming against her ribs. She needed a weapon. She reached into the pocket of her apron and gripped the heavy brass master key she used for the service doors. It wasn’t much, but wedged between her knuckles, it could do damage.

She crept toward Lily’s bedroom.

Through the cracked door, she could see Marcus. He wasn’t looking for the girl. He was tearing the room apart.

Books were thrown from the shelves. The mattress was slashed. The stuffed animals Lily loved were decapitated, their stuffing scattered like snow across the pink rug.

He was looking for the bracelet. Vanessa had lied to him. Vanessa told him she’d swapped it and put the real one somewhere, but Marcus hadn't found it yet.

“Where is it, you stupid broad?” Marcus muttered, ripping a framed photo of Rebecca off the wall and smashing it against the desk.

Downstairs, Dominic’s roar echoed up the staircase. “MARCUS!”

Marcus froze. He dropped the shattered frame and pulled a suppressed 9mm handgun from his shoulder holster. He moved toward the door.

Claire pressed herself flat against the wallpaper in the shadows.

As Marcus stepped out of the room, looking toward the grand staircase, Claire saw her opening. She didn’t think. Her instincts from a lifetime of protecting those who couldn't protect themselves took over.

She swung her fist, driving the brass master key directly into the nerve cluster on the side of Marcus’s neck.

Marcus choked, his knees buckling. He swung the gun wildly, the heavy barrel catching Claire across the cheekbone.

Pain exploded in her face. She fell backward, tasting copper.

Marcus recovered instantly. He stood over her, wiping a trickle of blood from his neck. He aimed the weapon at her forehead.

“Nosy little maid,” he hissed.

“Drop it.”

The voice was cold steel.

Marcus didn’t turn around. He knew better.

Dominic Romano was standing at the end of the hall. In his hands was a massive, custom-built .45 caliber pistol, pointed squarely at the center of Marcus’s back.

“Boss,” Marcus said smoothly, keeping his gun on Claire. “I caught the maid tearing up the kid’s room. She’s the rat.”

“Is she?” Dominic asked. He took a slow step forward. “Because ten seconds ago, Vanessa told me you blackmailed her for my dead wife’s bracelet.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Vanessa is a liar.”

“I know she is,” Dominic said. “But so are you. Because Rebecca’s bracelet isn’t a secret vault for diamonds. It’s a cheap silver band.”

“Then why are you pointing a gun at me, Boss?”

“Because you’re pointing one at the woman who just saved my daughter’s life.” Dominic’s hammer clicked back. The sound was deafening in the hallway. “Move the gun away from Claire.”

Marcus hesitated. He looked down at Claire, then back toward the stairs.

“You don’t understand what’s happening, Dominic,” Marcus said softly. “You think this is about you. It’s not. It’s about what Rebecca found out before she died.”

Dominic’s breathing hitched. “What?”

“She didn’t just get sick, Boss,” Marcus smiled, a cruel, ugly thing. “She found the ledger. The real one.”

Claire watched Marcus’s finger tighten on the trigger.

Suddenly, a tiny, terrified voice echoed from the service corridor.

“Daddy?”

Marcus pivoted instantly, aiming his gun toward the sound of Lily’s voice.

“NO!” Claire screamed.

She lunged upward, grabbing Marcus’s wrist with both hands, sinking her teeth into his forearm with savage force.

A gunshot went off, tearing through the ceiling.

Then came a second shot. Much louder.

Marcus went completely rigid.

He looked down at his chest. A dark red stain was blooming violently across his white shirt. He dropped his gun, swaying for a second before collapsing backward onto the carpet.

Dominic lowered his smoking .45. He didn't look at the dead man. He ran straight to the service corridor, scooping Lily into his arms as she ran out crying.

Claire sat on the floor, gasping for air, her cheek bleeding.

Dominic held Lily tight, his eyes finding Claire. The look that passed between the mafia boss and the maid was absolute.

They were no longer employer and employee. They were soldiers in a war to protect a child.

“Claire,” Dominic said, his voice raw. “Are you alright?”

Before she could answer, a crumpled piece of paper slipped from Marcus’s dead hand.

Claire crawled toward it. She unfolded the blood-spattered paper.

It was a child’s drawing. A crude crayon sketch of a blue butterfly.

But written across the butterfly’s wings, in Rebecca Romano’s elegant handwriting, was a sequence of numbers: 4-9-0-2.