Chapter 3 - The Silver Key
The floor tilted beneath my feet.
"My... my front door?" I could barely breathe. "Why would someone target me? I just clean the floors! I don't know anything about you or your world."
Ethan’s jaw tightened. "He doesn't want you. He wants me to know he can touch anyone in my building. He knows I'm watching you on the cameras. He knows she laughed."
He looked at Ellie. "He knows I smiled."
It was a twisted, sick game of chess, and my baby was suddenly on the board.
"Grab your coat," Ethan ordered. "We are leaving through the private garage."
"I’m not taking my daughter anywhere with a mafia boss!" I snapped, maternal instinct overriding my fear.
Ethan stopped. He turned slowly, the air in the room dropping ten degrees.
"You think I'm the danger, Hannah?" He stepped closer, his voice a dangerous whisper. "I could have you fired. I could have you evicted. But right now, I am the only reason a man named Marcus Vance hasn't kicked down your broken door. You have three seconds to decide."
He held out his hand.
Ellie reached up and grabbed his index finger, giggling.
I looked at my innocent baby, then at the dark, terrified urgency in Ethan’s eyes.
I grabbed my coat.
The private elevator plummeted to the sub-basement in silence. Ethan stood rigid, his hand hovering near his jacket pocket.
A sleek, armored black SUV was waiting. A driver in a dark suit opened the door.
"The estate, Mr. Whitmore?" the driver asked.
"No. The safehouse on Ridgeview," Ethan commanded.
We drove in silence through the snowy Knoxville streets. I clutched Ellie to my chest, my mind spinning.
When we arrived at the massive, gated property, Ethan led us inside. The house was cold, dark, and felt completely empty.
"Stay in the living room," Ethan instructed. "Do not go near the windows."
He walked down the hall, speaking quietly into his phone.
I sat on the edge of a leather sofa, bouncing Ellie. I noticed a heavy oak desk in the corner. On top of it sat a small, framed photograph, lying face down.
Curiosity and adrenaline got the better of me. I reached over and flipped the frame.
It was a picture of Ethan, looking younger, laughing. He was holding a little girl with blonde curls.
She was holding the one-eyed yellow rabbit.
My stomach dropped. I looked at Ellie’s toy. I looked closer at the photograph.
Around the little girl's neck was a thin silver chain. Hanging from it was the exact same tarnished silver key Ethan had pulled from his pocket earlier.
But my blood ran completely cold when I looked at the little girl's wrist.
She was wearing a braided red string bracelet.
I gasped, dropping the frame. It clattered against the desk.
Ethan appeared in the doorway, his eyes dark. "What did you do?"
"That bracelet," I pointed a trembling finger at the photo. "My late husband, David... he wore that exact same bracelet. He never took it off. He said he made it with his niece."
Ethan went perfectly still.
"David?" Ethan breathed. "David Mercer?"
"Yes," I whispered.
May you like
Ethan closed his eyes, and a look of pure, devastating heartbreak crossed his face.
"David Mercer wasn't your husband's real name, Hannah," Ethan said. "His name was David Whitmore. He was my younger brother."
