Chapter 3 - THE DRAWING IN THE DARK
I backed away from the bed, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
Marcus was six-foot-four, built like a brick wall, and had been Dante’s most trusted enforcer for five years. He was the man supposed to protect Ava.
“Marcus, what are you doing?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though my knees were shaking.
“Meredith promised me a seat at the table when she takes over the Costa empire,” Marcus said smoothly, wrapping the leather belt around his knuckles. “Dante is weak. He lets a child and a maid dictate his life. Meredith’s family understands how the world really works.”
“She’s going to kill Ava’s mother,” I breathed, looking at the tickets. “And Ava.”
“No,” Marcus corrected, a cold smile touching his lips. “I’m going to kill Sarah. Meredith just paid for the plane to dump the bodies over the Atlantic. And unfortunately for you, Jenna, you just found the flight itinerary.”
He lunged for me.
I didn’t scream. I grabbed the heavy brass bedside lamp and swung it as hard as I could.
The brass base slammed into Marcus’s jaw with a sickening crack.
He grunted, stumbling backward, his hand flying to his face.
I didn’t wait for him to recover. I darted past him, sprinting out into the hallway.
“Dante!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the silent mansion. “Dante!”
I heard heavy footsteps rushing up the marble staircase. Dante appeared on the landing, his suit jacket discarded, his tie loose.
He saw me sprinting toward him, terrified, and instantly pulled a sleek black handgun from the holster at his waist.
“Jenna, what is it?” Dante demanded, catching my arm and pulling me behind his broad frame.
“Marcus!” I gasped, pointing back toward the guest room. “He’s working with Meredith! He’s going to kill Sarah and Ava tonight!”
Dante’s entire body went rigid. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. The quiet father was gone; the ruthless syndicate boss had returned.
We heard the crash of a window shattering at the end of the hall.
Dante pushed me into Ava’s bedroom. “Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me.”
He sprinted down the hall.
I slammed Ava’s door and threw the deadbolt. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely turn the brass lock.
Ava was sitting up in bed, clutching her blankets, her brown eyes wide with terror.
“Jenna? Why were you screaming?” she whimpered.
“Everything is okay, sweetie,” I lied, rushing to her bed and pulling her into my arms. “Your daddy is taking care of it. We just have to stay in here for a little bit.”
Ava buried her face in my shoulder. I held her tight, listening to the heavy thud of boots running across the roof outside. Marcus had escaped through the window.
Ten agonizing minutes passed.
Finally, a heavy, rhythmic knock came at the door. Two knocks, a pause, then one. Dante’s code.
I unlocked the door.
Dante stepped inside. His knuckles were bruised, and a thin cut bled above his eyebrow, but his eyes were entirely focused on Ava. He holstered his weapon and walked over to the bed, softening his posture instantly.
“Hey, little bird,” Dante whispered, sitting on the mattress and brushing her hair back. “I’m sorry about the noise. Everything is safe now.”
“Where did Marcus go?” Ava asked.
“He went away. He won’t be coming back.” Dante looked up at me over Ava’s head. His eyes told me Marcus had escaped the grounds.
“Dante,” I said softly. “The tickets in the guest room. Did you see them?”
He nodded, his jaw clenched tight. “I saw them. I’ve been trying to call Sarah’s cell phone for the last ten minutes. It’s going straight to voicemail.”
A wave of dread washed over me. Sarah never turned her phone off. Not when Ava was at Dante’s house.
“I have to go to Sarah’s house,” Dante said, standing up. “If Marcus is heading there, I have to beat him. My loyal men are already surrounding this estate. Nobody gets in or out.”
“I’ll stay right here with her,” I promised.
Ava reached under her pillow. Her small hand pulled out a folded, crumpled piece of notebook paper.
“Daddy,” she whispered. “Before you go.”
Dante stopped at the door. He walked back to her. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“I didn't want to show you,” Ava said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Because Meredith said if you saw it, you’d be mad at Mom.”
She handed him the paper.
Dante unfolded it. I stepped closer to look.
It was a crayon drawing. Ava loved to draw. But this wasn't a picture of flowers or a family holding hands.
It was a drawing of Meredith standing in a dark room. She was holding a small, silver object in her hand. And on the floor, drawn with messy red crayon, was a woman lying still. Sarah.
“Ava,” Dante said, his voice trembling slightly. “When did you draw this?”
“On Sunday,” Ava cried. “When Mom dropped me off. I saw Meredith by Mom’s car. She put something under the car. A silver box with a blinking red light.”
Dante and I stared at each other in absolute horror.
A tracker. Meredith hadn't just planted a tracker; she might have planted a bomb.
“I need to go. Now,” Dante said.
He didn't wait for another word. He sprinted out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the stairs.
I sat on the bed, holding Ava as she sobbed. I rocked her, singing a soft lullaby to drown out the sound of Dante’s SUV roaring out of the driveway into the stormy night.
An hour passed. The storm outside worsened, thunder rattling the windowpanes.
I kept my phone in my hand, waiting for Dante to call. Nothing.
I decided to get Ava some warm milk from the kitchen to help her sleep. I told the guards outside the door I was just going downstairs and coming right back.
I walked down the grand staircase into the dark, silent foyer.
As I passed the heavy oak coat closet near the front door, I heard a sound.
It was a faint, rhythmic ticking.
I stopped. The house was dead quiet except for the rain.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I walked slowly toward the closet. I gripped the brass handle and pulled the door open.
Hanging on the hook was Dante’s heavy winter coat. The one he hadn’t worn in months.
I reached my hand into the deep pocket.
My fingers brushed against cold metal. I pulled it out.
It was a silver pocket watch. An antique, intricately engraved with a crest I didn't recognize.
It wasn't Dante’s watch.
I pressed the latch, and the face popped open.
Inside the cover was a small, faded photograph.
It was a picture of Meredith, smiling warmly. And standing next to her, with his arm wrapped lovingly around her waist, was Dante’s head chef.
The man who had supposedly "accidentally" placed the almond tart in front of Ava.
May you like
A cold blade pressed firmly against my throat from behind.
“You really can’t stop digging, can you, Jenna?” the chef whispered in my ear.
