Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Photograph
"Lock the gates."
Dante's command transformed the kitchen.
Luca disappeared toward the security room.
Nico drew a handgun from beneath his shirt.
Maeve stared at him.
"Put that away."
Nico actually looked surprised.
"Someone outside has your photograph."
"And waving a gun will improve things?"
Dante handed her the locket.
"Go upstairs."
"No."
"Maeve."
"Thirty seconds ago you knew something about my mother. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me."
Dante's jaw tightened.
Then the intercom sounded.
"Boss," a guard said. "The man at the gate says his name is Victor Hale."
Every Falcone brother froze.
Maeve noticed.
"Who is Victor Hale?"
Dante looked at her.
"A man who should be dead."
The answer didn't improve her morning.
Dante moved Maeve into his study while security surrounded the estate.
There, he finally told her the truth.
Twenty-two years earlier, Kathleen O'Connell had worked for their father, Salvatore Falcone.
Not as a maid.
As his accountant.
She had discovered money disappearing through shell companies controlled by Victor Hale, Salvatore's business partner.
Kathleen had collected evidence.
Then she'd vanished.
"We thought she died," Luca said.
Maeve shook her head.
"My mother raised me until I was seventeen."
Dante stared.
"Where?"
"Boston."
"Under O'Connell?"
"Yes."
Nico paced.
"Then Hale couldn't find her."
Maeve's throat tightened.
"Why would he want to?"
Dante's answer was quiet.
"Because your mother could have destroyed him."
Maeve remembered Kathleen differently.
A tired woman counting grocery money.
A mother working two jobs.
Someone who checked the locks twice before bed.
Someone who never allowed photographs online.
Maeve had thought it was anxiety.
Now she wondered whether it had been survival.
"What happened when she died?" Dante asked.
"Car accident."
"When?"
"Eleven years ago."
The brothers exchanged another glance.
Maeve hated those glances.
"Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Talking without words."
Nico looked almost apologetic.
Dante wasn't.
"Your mother's accident may not have been an accident."
The room seemed to tilt.
Maeve gripped the desk.
"No."
"We don't know."
"You just said—"
"I said may."
Dante opened a safe.
From inside, he removed an old envelope.
Kathleen's handwriting covered the front.
Maeve recognized it immediately.
For Dante, Luca, and Nico.
Maeve stared.
"You had a letter from my mother?"
"For twenty-two years."
"Why didn't you open it?"
"It wasn't sealed."
Dante handed it over.
Inside was one sheet.
If anything happens to me, protect the ledger.
Do not trust Victor.
And if someday my daughter comes looking, tell Maeve I was sorry.
Maeve read the final line twice.
Then a third time.
Her eyes burned.
"My mother knew I'd come here?"
"No," Dante said. "But she knew you might."
Maeve looked at him.
"I didn't come looking. An employment agency sent me."
Silence.
Dante slowly turned toward Luca.
"What agency?"
"Bellweather Domestic Staffing."
Nico's face hardened.
"We've never used Bellweather."
Maeve's blood went cold.
"You hired me."
"No," Dante said. "Our house manager hired someone named Margaret Ellis."
Maeve stared at him.
"That's not me."
"We know."
"Then why did nobody say anything?"
Luca gave a humorless laugh.
"Our staff turnover isn't exactly organized."
Dante took out his phone.
"Find out who changed the assignment."
Maeve suddenly remembered the woman at Bellweather.
Red glasses.
Gray suit.
A peculiar gold ring.
She'd insisted Maeve accept Falcone Manor.
"It's perfect for you," she'd said.
Perfect.
Maeve had thought she meant the salary.
Now she wasn't sure.
An hour later, Luca returned.
"Bellweather says Maeve was never in their system."
Maeve felt sick.
"That's impossible."
"They have no application. No interview record. Nothing."
"But I went there."
"The office address you gave us has been vacant six months."
Maeve sat down.
Someone had deliberately placed her inside Falcone Manor.
But why?
Dante crouched in front of her.
"Think. Did your mother leave you anything besides the locket?"
"Boxes. Photographs. Recipes."
"Documents?"
"No."
"Keys?"
Maeve stopped.
There had been one.
A small brass key taped inside Kathleen's cookbook.
Maeve had carried it for years without knowing what it opened.
"It's upstairs."
Dante stood.
"I'll come."
They reached Maeve's room.
The door was open.
Maeve knew she'd closed it.
Her suitcase lay overturned.
Clothes covered the floor.
Drawers had been emptied.
The mattress had been slashed.
Dante moved in front of her.
"Stay behind me."
Maeve barely heard him.
She stared at the bedside table.
Kathleen's cookbook was gone.
May you like
Then the bathroom door creaked.
Someone was still inside.
