Chapter 1 - Mommy Needs a Boyfriend
Lucy Bennett walked toward Dominic Moretti clutching her stuffed rabbit and announced:
“Mr. Moretti, my mommy needs a boyfriend.”
Dominic crouched and noticed a folded crayon drawing beneath the rabbit’s arm.
A black figure stood beside a red door.
Then Lucy whispered, “That’s the man who watches Mommy.”
Dominic stopped smiling.
I had been working in Dominic Moretti’s mansion for eleven months, and until that moment, I had managed to keep my personal life outside its enormous front doors.
My name was Elena Bennett. I was twenty-nine years old, a single mother, and the owner of exactly three respectable black maid uniforms, one unreliable compact car, and an apartment whose bathroom faucet had been dripping since February.
I had rules.
Work hard.
Speak politely.
Never ask questions.
Never bring Lucy to work unless there was absolutely no alternative.
And most importantly, never forget who Dominic Moretti was.
People rarely said the word mafia around him.
They didn't need to.
Dominic was thirty-seven, wealthy enough to make politicians remember his birthday and frightening enough to make grown men lower their voices when he entered a room.
He wore tailored suits.
He spoke quietly.
He never repeated himself.
That morning, he was dressed in a dark navy suit and an open-collar white shirt. Black-and-gray tattoos climbed from beneath his collar toward his neck.
Lucy was wearing her favorite yellow dress.
I was wearing terror.
“Lucy.”
My voice barely worked.
She turned toward me.
“What?”
I hurried across the marble foyer.
“Sweetheart, come here.”
“But Mommy—”
“Now.”
Dominic raised one hand.
I stopped.
Not because he had threatened me.
Because everyone stopped when Dominic Moretti raised a hand.
His attention remained on Lucy.
“Does she?” he asked.
Lucy nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes.”
I wanted the marble floor to open beneath my shoes.
“Mr. Moretti, I am so sorry.”
Lucy hugged her worn gray rabbit tighter.
“Mommy says sorry too much.”
Dominic's mouth moved slightly.
Not quite a smile.
That somehow made the humiliation worse.
“Lucy.”
“She does,” my daughter insisted. “She says sorry when she drops things. She says sorry when people bump into her. She says sorry when she cries.”
Dominic looked at me.
I stared at the floor.
Children should come with warning labels.
Especially three-year-olds.
Especially three-year-olds standing in front of organized crime bosses.
“My babysitter canceled,” I explained. “It won't happen again.”
“Why?”
I blinked.
“Why what?”
“Why won't it happen again?”
“I'll make other arrangements.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
His voice remained calm.
I finally looked at him.
Dominic had an unsettling way of paying attention. Most powerful people I had encountered waited for their turn to speak.
Dominic listened.
That was worse.
Before I could answer, Lucy tugged his sleeve.
“Mommy gets scared at night.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Lucy, that's enough.”
Dominic's eyes moved from her to me.
“Scared of what?”
“Nothing.”
Lucy answered at the same time.
“The man.”
Silence.
The chandelier hummed faintly above us.
Dominic looked at Lucy.
“What man?”
I stepped forward.
“She has an imagination.”
“No, I don't.”
I closed my eyes.
Dominic almost smiled again.
Then Lucy reached beneath her stuffed rabbit's arm.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper.
My stomach dropped.
I recognized it.
She had been drawing at our kitchen table two nights earlier while I made macaroni and cheese.
I'd seen the crayons.
I'd seen the houses.
I'd never looked closely.
Lucy unfolded the paper.
There were three figures.
A small yellow figure.
A taller blue figure.
And a black figure standing near what looked like our red apartment door.
Dominic took the drawing carefully.
“Who's this?”
He pointed at the yellow figure.
“Me.”
“And this?”
“Mommy.”
His finger moved toward the black one.
Lucy stopped smiling.
“The watching man.”
Dominic's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I noticed.
His shoulders became still.
“When does he watch you?”
Lucy looked at me.
I crouched beside her.
“Honey, nobody watches us.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“The man by the car.”
My breath caught.
“What car?”
“The shiny black one.”
I remembered a sedan.
Not clearly.
A car parked across from our building two nights earlier.
There were dozens of cars on our street.
It meant nothing.
It had to mean nothing.
Dominic turned the drawing over.
Nothing was written on the back.
He examined the front again.
“What does the man look like?”
Lucy studied the picture.
“Like that.”
Three-year-old logic.
Dominic didn't laugh.
“Hair?”
“Brown.”
“Big or little?”
“Big.”
“Old?”
Lucy considered.
“Old like Mommy.”
I stared at her.
“Thank you.”
Dominic's mouth twitched.
Then he pointed toward a small shape near the black figure.
It looked like a crooked square.
“What is this?”
“A phone.”
My pulse quickened.
Dominic looked at me.
“You've seen him?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
His eyes narrowed.
I sighed.
“I've noticed a car.”
“How many times?”
“Maybe twice.”
“Maybe?”
“Three.”
“Where?”
“Across from my apartment.”
“When?”
“At night.”
“And you didn't think that mattered?”
“I live in a city, Mr. Moretti. People park cars.”
“Do they sit in them for hours?”
I said nothing.
Because yes.
Once, while carrying groceries upstairs, I had noticed someone sitting behind the wheel.
I had deliberately not looked.
When you're a woman walking home alone with a toddler, you learn not to turn every uncomfortable feeling into panic.
Otherwise you never sleep.
Dominic stood.
The warmth disappeared from his face.
“Marco.”
A man appeared from the corridor almost instantly.
I had seen Marco before.
He handled security.
“Boss?”
Dominic handed him the drawing.
“Make a copy. Give the original back.”
Marco glanced at it.
“What's this?”
“A witness statement.”
I almost laughed.
Then I realized he wasn't joking.
“She is three.”
Dominic looked down at Lucy.
“She sees things.”
Lucy nodded solemnly.
“I see lots.”
“I've noticed.”
Marco left with the drawing.
I stood.
“Mr. Moretti, please. This is unnecessary.”
“Maybe.”
“I don't want trouble.”
His gaze settled on me.
“Trouble rarely asks permission.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I didn't say you couldn't.”
“Then please don't turn this into something.”
His jaw tightened.
“Elena.”
He rarely used my first name.
I stopped.
“If somebody has been sitting outside your home watching you and your daughter, it is already something.”
That silenced me.
Lucy tugged my apron.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Is Mr. Moretti your boyfriend now?”
Dominic coughed.
Marco, returning from the hallway, suddenly became extremely interested in the photocopier room behind him.
“No,” I said.
Lucy frowned.
“Why?”
“Because grown-up things are complicated.”
“Why?”
“Because they are.”
“Why?”
“Lucy.”
Dominic crouched again.
“Your mother is right.”
She looked disappointed.
“But you like her.”
I nearly dropped dead.
Dominic's eyes flicked toward me.
Something unreadable passed through them.
He returned his attention to Lucy.
“I think your mother is very brave.”
That wasn't an answer.
Lucy knew it.
“So you like her?”
“Lucy Bennett.”
She giggled.
For one ridiculous second, the tension disappeared.
Then Marco returned with the drawing.
Dominic took it.
His eyes went immediately to something I hadn't noticed.
“Lucy.”
“Yes?”
“Why did you draw this?”
He pointed toward the black figure's hand.
Lucy leaned closer.
There was a tiny gray mark.
“I didn't.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“The man has it.”
“What?”
“Shiny thing.”
“A ring?”
She shook her head.
“On his wrist.”
Dominic went very still.
“A watch?”
Lucy nodded.
“Silver?”
Another nod.
“Does it have a black face?”
I looked at Dominic.
“How could you possibly know that?”
He didn't answer.
Instead he asked Lucy, “Have you seen the man anywhere besides your house?”
Lucy hugged her rabbit.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She pointed.
Not toward the front door.
Not toward the windows.
Toward the staircase behind Dominic.
My skin turned cold.
“Here,” she said.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He came here.”
Dominic rose slowly.
“When?”
Lucy looked toward the staircase as if expecting someone to appear.
“Yesterday.”
Marco's hand went immediately beneath his jacket.
Dominic's expression became hard.
“Who worked yesterday?”
Marco answered.
“Regular staff. Two contractors. Flower delivery. Kitchen supplier.”
“Security footage.”
“I'm on it.”
Marco left.
I grabbed Lucy's hand.
“We're going home.”
“No.”
Dominic's voice stopped me.
I turned.
“Excuse me?”
“You're not going home.”
My fear became anger.
“You don't get to decide that.”
“If someone followed you here, returning to your apartment is exactly what they expect.”
“You're frightening my daughter.”
“No,” Lucy announced. “I'm hungry.”
Neither of us spoke.
Dominic rubbed his jaw.
“What does she eat?”
“Anything beige.”
“Chicken?”
“Beige.”
“Pasta?”
“Beige.”
He looked toward the kitchen.
“Problem solved.”
I should have refused.
Instead, ten minutes later, my daughter was eating buttered pasta in a kitchen larger than my entire apartment while Dominic stood near the window talking quietly on his phone.
I watched him.
I had spent almost a year trying not to.
That was becoming difficult.
He ended the call.
“Your mother called earlier.”
I stiffened.
“How do you know?”
“House phone. You listed this number with the hospital.”
My mother's condition had deteriorated during the past month.
Cancer had taken her strength in pieces.
First her appetite.
Then her ability to walk.
Then her certainty that she would see Christmas.
I had been trying to save enough money for the drive to Pennsylvania.
“She wants to see Lucy,” I said.
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Go.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I work.”
“You're taking leave.”
“I can't afford leave.”
“Paid.”
“No.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“No?”
“I don't take charity.”
“You've worked eleven months without missing a shift.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“It means you're taking paid leave.”
I folded my arms.
“You're extremely irritating.”
Marco entered.
Dominic looked at him.
Something in Marco's face erased our argument.
“What?”
“We found the footage.”
He held a tablet.
Dominic took it.
I stepped closer despite myself.
The screen showed yesterday's foyer.
Employees passed.
A delivery man.
A contractor.
Then a man appeared near the side entrance.
Baseball cap.
Dark jacket.
His face angled away from the camera.
My stomach turned.
I had seen that jacket.
Across from my apartment.
Dominic froze the image.
“Zoom.”
Marco did.
The picture blurred.
But the man's wrist remained visible.
Silver watch.
Black face.
Lucy looked up from her pasta.
“That's him.”
Nobody moved.
Dominic enlarged another frame.
The stranger had turned slightly.
Enough to expose part of his face.
Dominic stared.
Marco whispered something under his breath.
I looked between them.
“You know him.”
Dominic didn't answer.
“Dominic.”
It was the first time I had called him that.
His eyes met mine.
Before he could speak, Marco's phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His face changed.
“What?”
Marco turned the screen toward Dominic.
“We have another problem.”
A photograph filled the screen.
It had been taken less than ten minutes earlier.
My apartment building.
My red door.
And standing directly in front of it was the man from Lucy's drawing.
May you like
He wasn't alone.
Someone was opening my apartment from the inside.
