Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Estate
That night, the mansion felt less like a home and more like a crime scene waiting to be unmasked.
I sent Grace upstairs to put the girls to bed, despite every instinct telling me to lock them away in a secure vault. Instead, I retreated to my private study, poured a double glass of bourbon, and called Luca, my most ruthless enforcer and head of security.
“Pull every security tape from the night Isabelle died,” I ordered the second he picked up. “Every exterior camera, every motion sensor log, every internal hard drive.”
“Boss, we went through those a hundred times,” Luca’s voice came crackling through the encrypted line. “The perimeter was secure. Nothing tripped the alarms except Isabelle’s car pulling out.”
“Someone bypassed them,” I growled, slamming my glass down so hard the crystal cracked. “My daughter just told me an intruder was inside this house the night she was killed. Find out who had access codes. Find out who turned off the north-wing sensors.”
“Consider it done, Dominic.”
As I hung up, a soft knock rattled the heavy mahogany door of my study.
The door creaked open, and Grace slipped inside. She had changed out of her apron into a simple dark sweater and jeans. Her hair was loose, framing a face that looked far too young and resilient to carry the heavy burdens of my broken household.
“The girls are asleep,” she said quietly, keeping her distance near the threshold.
“How did you do it?” I asked abruptly, staring into the amber liquid of my glass.
“Do what?”
“Get them to speak. I brought in specialists from across the country. I spent millions on therapists, toys, and distractions. They wouldn't utter a single syllable to anyone. Yet you walk in here, sing a few songs, and within two months, they’re talking to you like you’re their entire world.”
Grace sighed, walking slowly toward the center of the room. She didn't look intimidated by the rows of locked gun cabinets or the stark, menacing decor of my workspace.
“Because you threw money and fear at a problem that required patience and love,” Grace said softly, her words landing like physical blows. “You walk into this house like an executioner, Dominic. Even when you try to be gentle, you smell like smoke, danger, and blood. Children don't heal in a war zone. They locked themselves away because they felt entirely unsafe in a house guarded by a man who couldn't protect their mother.”
I stood up so fast my chair crashed backward against the wall. The dark, violent rage I kept caged inside my chest surged upward. I crossed the room in two strides, backing her up against the bookshelf until she had nowhere else to go.
“You don't know a damn thing about me, or the war I fight every single day to keep them alive!” I snarled, my face inches from hers.
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Grace didn't cower. She looked up into my eyes, her pulse visible in the rapid beat against her throat, but her expression remained completely unbroken.
“Then prove it,” she whispered fiercely. “Find the monster who killed Isabelle. Because right now, the greatest danger to those little girls isn't out on the streets of New York. It’s walking the halls of this house.”
