Chapter 1 - Breakfast for Three Dangerous Men
Maeve dropped the skillet onto the burner and shouted, "If you're going to threaten me, at least let me finish the potatoes!"
Dante Falcone stepped into the kitchen and noticed the silver locket hanging beneath her stained apron.
A tiny letter F had been scratched into its back.
Dante stopped walking.
He knew that locket.
Maeve O'Connell had survived thirty-seven hours at Falcone Manor.
That left eleven hours before she broke the record.
Not that she knew there was a record.
The employment agency had merely told her that the position paid unusually well, included a private room, and required "discretion, flexibility, and comfort working in a demanding household."
Demanding, Maeve had discovered, was a creative word.
Her first morning, Luca Falcone had appeared behind her without making a sound and asked why the coffee was six minutes late.
Her first afternoon, Nico had entered the laundry room with blood on his cuff, handed her the shirt, and said, "Forget you saw that."
Her first evening, Dante had summoned her into his office because she'd moved a crystal ashtray three inches to clean beneath it.
"Nothing in my house moves without my permission."
Maeve had stared at him.
"Then your dust has a very generous lease."
Dante hadn't smiled.
But Luca had choked on his whiskey.
By midnight, Maeve understood why the previous employees had disappeared.
The brothers weren't loud.
That would have been easier.
They were quiet.
Controlled.
They watched everything.
Every footstep seemed noticed. Every misplaced object became a question. Every ringing phone changed the atmosphere.
Falcone Manor wasn't a home.
It was a fortress pretending to be one.
And yet, by Maeve's second morning, she had discovered something stranger than the guns locked behind Dante's study wall.
The Falcone brothers apparently didn't know how to eat breakfast.
At seven fifteen, she found untouched coffee on the dining table.
At seven thirty, Luca walked through the kitchen and grabbed an energy drink.
At seven forty, Nico opened the refrigerator, stared inside for ten seconds, and closed it.
Maeve lowered the knife she'd been using to chop potatoes.
"When did you three last eat an actual breakfast?"
Nico glanced at her.
"Why?"
"Because you look miserable."
"I always look like this."
"That's unfortunate."
His mouth twitched.
Maeve decided she'd found the closest thing to humor in the house.
So she cooked.
Potatoes with onion and rosemary.
Bacon.
Eggs fried in butter.
Fresh coffee.
Nothing fancy.
Food that smelled like mornings when Maeve was a child and her mother stood over an old stove while rain tapped against their apartment windows.
She had just plated the third serving when the kitchen became silent.
Maeve felt it before she saw them.
She turned.
All three brothers stood behind her.
Dante occupied the center.
Thirty-seven. Tall. Dark suit. Open white shirt revealing the edge of tattoos across his chest.
Luca leaned against the doorway in a leather jacket, his expression suspicious enough to suggest the eggs might explode.
Nico stood beside him in black, sleeves rolled slightly, watching Maeve with unsettling curiosity.
Dante's eyes moved from Maeve to the plates.
"What are you doing?"
"Making breakfast."
"For whom?"
Maeve looked at the three plates.
Then at the three brothers.
"I'll give you one guess."
Luca stepped forward.
"You weren't told to cook."
"I wasn't told not to."
"People here follow instructions."
Maeve picked up the skillet.
"People everywhere need breakfast."
Dante's expression hardened.
"Every woman who worked in this house ran before forty-eight hours were over, and you should do the same."
Maeve calmly pushed his plate toward him.
"Your eggs are getting cold."
Nobody moved.
Maeve wondered whether she'd finally gone too far.
She needed this job.
More desperately than any of them knew.
Her landlord had given her until the end of the month. Her mother's old medical debts still followed her. The employment agency had already warned that another placement might take weeks.
Walking away wasn't an option.
But neither was spending every minute terrified of three men who treated breakfast like an interrogation.
"Sit," Maeve said.
Luca stared at her.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Nico looked down, hiding what might have been a smile.
Dante slowly pulled out a stool.
He sat.
Luca looked betrayed.
"You can't be serious."
Dante picked up his fork.
That settled it.
Within seconds, all three men were seated at the island.
Maeve turned toward the stove to hide her relief.
Then Nico spoke.
"Where did you get that?"
Maeve looked back.
His eyes weren't on the food.
They were fixed on her chest.
She immediately frowned.
"Try that question again."
"The necklace."
Maeve touched her apron.
Her fingers found the silver chain.
The locket must have slipped free while she cooked.
Dante's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
Luca straightened.
The atmosphere changed so quickly Maeve felt it against her skin.
She pulled the locket out.
"This?"
Dante stood.
"Where did you get it?"
"My mother."
"What was her name?"
Maeve hesitated.
Something in his voice frightened her more than any threat had.
"Kathleen O'Connell."
The brothers exchanged a glance.
Maeve caught it.
"What?"
Dante reached toward the locket but stopped before touching it.
"May I?"
That frightened her even more.
Dante Falcone had asked permission.
Maeve removed the necklace and placed it in his palm.
He turned it over.
The scratched F caught the morning light.
Luca went pale.
Nico whispered, "No."
Maeve's heartbeat quickened.
"What does it mean?"
Dante opened the locket.
Maeve had tried hundreds of times.
It had never opened.
A tiny click sounded.
Inside was a faded photograph.
Four young people stood together.
Three boys.
And one smiling young woman.
Maeve leaned closer.
She recognized the woman immediately.
Her mother.
But Kathleen O'Connell wasn't standing beside strangers.
She had her arms around three teenage boys.
The Falcone brothers.
Dante looked at Maeve.
"Your mother didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Before he could answer, a sharp electronic tone came from Luca's phone.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
"Dante."
"What?"
"The east gate."
Dante looked toward the security monitor.
A black SUV had stopped outside.
A man stepped from it holding a photograph.
The camera zoomed automatically.
The photograph showed Maeve.
May you like
And beneath her face, someone had written three words.
FOUND HER. ALIVE.
