Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN AT THE PLAYGROUND
I did not sleep.
At 2:17 in the morning, I sat on the floor beside Lily’s bed with my back against the wall and watched her breathe.
Dante had offered to move us to the main residence.
I refused.
He had offered a guard outside the staff apartment.
I refused that too.
Then I opened the curtain and saw a black SUV parked at the edge of the service courtyard.
One guard.
Maybe two.
I closed the curtain.
Technically, I had refused.
Technically, Dante had ignored me.
It should have made me furious.
Instead, I slept for eleven minutes.
At six, Lily woke by placing Bunny directly on my face.
“Mommy.”
I opened one eye.
“Yes?”
“Bunny hungry.”
“Bunny is fabric.”
She frowned.
“He still hungry.”
Children do not respect biology either.
I made oatmeal.
Lily fed one spoonful to Bunny.
I pretended not to see.
At seven, Mrs. Alvarez from the kitchen knocked.
She was sixty-three, Mexican, sharp-eyed, and had worked for the Marchetti family longer than Dante had owned the mansion.
She entered carrying coffee.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean concerned terrible, not ugly terrible.”
“Much better.”
She looked at Lily.
“Mr. Dante said she stays home from preschool.”
My spoon stopped.
“He said what?”
Mrs. Alvarez immediately looked guilty.
“He asked.”
“He does not know how to ask.”
“That is true.”
I stood.
“I am taking her.”
Mrs. Alvarez looked toward the window.
“Sarah.”
I hated the sympathy in her voice.
“You know?”
Her silence answered.
“How much?”
“Enough to know Mr. Dante worries.”
“About me?”
“About Lily.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why did nobody tell me?”
Mrs. Alvarez put the coffee down.
“Because Mr. Dante said there was no confirmed threat.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Apparently everyone in this house has a fascinating definition of protection.”
Lily looked up.
“Mommy?”
I softened immediately.
“Nothing, baby.”
Mrs. Alvarez waited until Lily returned to feeding Bunny.
Then she lowered her voice.
“There is a man who has parked near the south road three times.”
I stared.
“What man?”
“Nobody knows.”
“When?”
“First time maybe four months ago.”
Four months.
Dante had said someone had been watching before I applied.
That did not fit.
“I started eight months ago.”
“I know.”
“So why four months?”
She frowned.
“What did Mr. Dante tell you?”
“Not enough.”
“Then make him.”
That was excellent advice.
I found Dante in the breakfast room with Marco Bellini, his head of security.
Dante looked up from a tablet.
“Lily stays here today.”
I walked straight to the table.
“You really are terrible at asking.”
Marco looked down.
Dante’s mouth tightened.
“Good morning.”
“No.”
“That is not a greeting.”
“It is my answer.”
He leaned back.
“I expected that.”
“Then why did you tell Mrs. Alvarez?”
“To prepare food.”
“She already makes food.”
“Extra food.”
I stared.
Dante finally sighed.
“Sit.”
“No.”
Marco stood.
“I should leave.”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Dante said.
Marco sat again.
I almost admired him for surviving this job.
I folded my arms.
“Who was across the south road?”
Dante’s face changed.
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
“Do not be angry at her.”
“I am not.”
“You look angry.”
“I often look angry.”
“That is true.”
Marco’s mouth twitched.
Dante ignored him.
“The car was registered to a shell company.”
“Connected to Caruso?”
“We do not know.”
“Who was inside?”
“Different driver each time.”
“How convenient.”
“Yes.”
“What were they watching?”
“The property.”
“Me?”
Dante did not answer quickly enough.
“Me.”
“We think so.”
I felt sick.
“Why?”
“That is what we are trying to learn.”
I looked toward Marco.
“Do you have photographs?”
He glanced at Dante.
I snapped.
“Stop asking him with your eyes.”
Marco blinked.
Dante said quietly, “Show her.”
Marco opened a file on the tablet.
Three photographs.
The first showed a gray sedan near the mansion gates.
Second, a man inside a coffee shop two blocks from Lily’s preschool.
Third—
I stopped breathing.
A woman stood outside the grocery store I used every Thursday.
She wore sunglasses and a red scarf.
I knew her.
“Her.”
Dante leaned forward.
“You recognize her?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“She called herself Emily.”
“When?”
“At the playground.”
Both men went still.
I continued.
“Three months ago. Maybe four. Lily was on the swings. She sat beside me.”
“What did she ask?”
I thought.
Normal questions.
Or what had felt normal.
“How old is your daughter?”
“Four.”
“Does she go to school around here?”
“Preschool.”
“Her father must adore her.”
The memory turned sour.
“She asked about Michael.”
Dante stood.
“What exactly?”
“She asked if my husband worked nearby.”
“And you said?”
“That he was dead.”
“Anything else?”
Marco asked, “Did she ask his name?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
I felt stupid.
Ashamed.
Then angry at feeling ashamed.
“She was another mother at a playground.”
“She had a child?”
I stopped.
No.
She had been alone.
I had not thought about it.
“No.”
Dante looked at Marco.
“Find her.”
“Already moving.”
Marco left.
I stared at Dante.
“This is insane.”
“Yes.”
“Why Michael?”
“I do not know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He looked at me.
“I would rather tell you I do not know than invent certainty.”
That shut me up.
He continued.
“Michael’s last route originated at a Marchetti warehouse and was diverted twenty-three miles west.”
“By Caruso?”
“Possibly.”
“You keep saying possibly.”
“Because evidence matters.”
I thought about his brother.
Six hours.
A father who refused to give up a ledger.
Dante had spent his whole life learning what certainty cost.
“What was in Michael’s truck?”
“Official manifest: restaurant equipment.”
“And unofficial?”
“We do not know. The trailer burned after the shooting.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
I walked toward the window.
The grounds were covered in early winter frost.
Lily loved the small hedge maze beyond the fountain.
I could see it from here.
The idea of someone watching her through a camera lens made my skin crawl.
“What do I do?”
Dante’s voice softened.
“For today, keep Lily inside.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We find out who Emily is.”
“And if you do not?”
“We change her school route. Move you into the main house temporarily.”
I turned.
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“No.”
“The staff apartment is secure but separate.”
“It is our home.”
“It is fifty yards from mine.”
“Exactly.”
He stared.
I continued.
“You do not get to turn us into prisoners because your enemies discovered Google Maps.”
“That is not what I am doing.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to keep your child alive.”
The room went silent.
My anger hit his grief.
I saw it.
He regretted the words immediately.
His face changed.
I took a breath.
“Lily is not Luca.”
“I know.”
“I am not your father.”
“I know.”
“And you are not fifteen.”
That one landed.
Dante looked away.
I softened.
“Fear does not get to raise her.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Neither does carelessness.”
“That is fair.”
For once, we had found a sentence both of us could live inside.
He sat down.
“Compromise.”
I almost smiled.
“You know the word.”
“Rarely use it.”
“Obviously.”
He ignored that.
“Lily stays inside the main grounds today. No preschool. You can continue working if you want, or take the day.”
“Paid?”
His eyebrows rose.
“Yes, Sarah.”
“I had to ask.”
“You live in my house.”
“I have met rich people.”
That nearly earned a smile.
“Tomorrow?”
“Two security vehicles follow you. Not close.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Two.”
I folded my arms.
He did too.
This was ridiculous.
“Fine. Two. But no men walking Lily to the classroom.”
“Agreed.”
“And they stay out of sight.”
“As much as possible.”
“And if Lily asks?”
“Tell her they are friends.”
“No.”
Dante frowned.
“Why?”
“Because armed employees are not friends by definition.”
He stared.
“Tell her they are security.”
“She is four.”
“She already thinks I make you cry. I doubt vocabulary is the primary problem.”
I hated that he was right.
Before I could answer, Marco returned.
His face made my stomach turn.
“Found Emily.”
Dante stood.
“Who?”
“Name is Nora Caruso.”
The room went cold.
Caruso.
I gripped the chair.
“Related to Vincent?”
Marco nodded.
“His niece.”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“Why was she near Lily?”
Marco put another photograph on the table.
This one had been taken years earlier.
Nora Caruso stood beside Michael.
My husband.
They were outside a warehouse.
Too close to be strangers.
I stared.
“No.”
Dante looked at me.
“Sarah?”
“I do not know her.”
But Michael had.
The photograph showed him giving Nora something.
An envelope.
On the back, stamped by an old investigative unit, was a date.
Three days before Michael died.
My hand began to shake.
Dante moved closer but did not touch me.
“Do you know what he gave her?”
“No.”
I looked at the photograph.
My husband had carried secrets into our marriage.
More than one.
Marco said, “There is another problem.”
Dante turned.
“Nora Caruso entered the United States under a different name two months ago.”
“What name?”
Marco looked at me.
“Emily Bennett.”
My last name.
My stomach dropped.
“That is impossible.”
“It is the identity she used on a rental application.”
“Why?”
“We do not know.”
Then Marco placed one final page on the table.
A birth certificate application.
Incomplete.
Never officially filed.
Mother: Nora Caruso.
Father:
Michael Bennett.
I could not breathe.
Dante caught the table before I did.
May you like
My husband had not only known Nora Caruso.
Somebody had tried to register him as the father of her child.
