Chapter 3 – The Shadow in the West Wing
Upstairs in the family wing, the air felt suffocatingly heavy.
Ethan lay fast asleep under Dr. Harris’s watchful eye. The physician sat silently in an armchair by the bed, his medical kit lying open on the rug. The mild sedative had done its job to stabilize the boy’s pulse, though Ethan remained unusually pale against the dark silk pillows.
Down the long, oak-paneled hallway of the staff quarters, Sophia sat on the edge of her narrow bed, holding Lily so tightly the toddler stirred in her sleep.
A sharp, heavy knock echoed off the wooden door.
Sophia’s chest tightened. She carefully laid Lily down, pulled the quilt over her shoulders, and crossed the room. When she pulled the door open, Dominic Moretti filled the dimly lit doorway.
The overhead lights cast harsh shadows across his sculpted features, highlighting the hard set of his jaw and the cold focus in his eyes.
“Mr. Moretti,” Sophia whispered, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. “Is… is Ethan okay?”
“He’s sleeping,” Dominic replied flatly. Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped past her into the small, spotless room. The air smelled softly of lavender and worn paper. His eyes swept the room—the neatly stacked paperbacks, the framed photograph of her late husband, Mark, who had died in an accident at a Moretti port two years prior, and the tiny yellow sneakers neatly tucked by the closet.
“You’re wondering if I was involved,” Sophia said softly, turning to face him, her fingers laced tightly against her apron.
Dominic turned back to her. “Why would I think that, Sophia? Six years under my roof. Perfect record. Impeccable references.”
“Because,” she whispered, looking straight at him, “in your line of work, everyone has a price. My husband died on your docks. The compensation was generous, but it doesn’t last forever. I live here, eat your food, and raise my daughter in your hallways. To your enemies, I’m the easiest target.”
Dominic closed the distance between them, his heavy dress shoes moving silently across the carpet. He stopped inches away, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her.
“If you were compromised, Sophia, your daughter wouldn’t have sprinted across a crowded ballroom to save my son,” Dominic said, his low voice carrying absolute authority. “A three-year-old doesn’t execute a scripted lie. She saw a threat. And I need to know every detail.”
Sophia swallowed, meeting the gaze of the man who ruled New York’s underworld. “She… she kept talking about a man. A man with a watch.”
Dominic’s focus sharpened instantly. “What kind of watch?”
“A gold watch,” Sophia recalled, piecing together her daughter’s frantic whispers. “She told me while I was calming her down. She said the man who touched the cake had a shiny watch that ticked loudly. And a jagged scar across his thumb.”
Dominic went dead still.
A scarred thumb. A gold watch.
Not a single member of the kitchen crew fit that description. Not Chef Laurent, nor any of his line prep staff.
It fit Viktor Vance—Marcus’s younger brother. An independent logistics inspector who held carte blanche access to the estate’s private service lifts whenever Marcus authorized his entry passes.
“Stay in this room, Sophia,” Dominic said, turning abruptly toward the corridor.
“Mr. Moretti—what is going on?” Sophia called out, taking a step toward him.
Dominic didn’t pause. “It means someone close to me forgot who runs this house.”
What would you like to explore next as we move into Chapter 4—should Dominic confront Marcus directly down in the subterranean command bunker, or set a trap to catch Viktor before he clears the estate grounds?
