Chương 3 - My Mother’s Front Door
I called my mother before I showed anyone the message.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Grace?
I thought you were working late.”
“Are your doors locked?”
A pause.
“Yes.
Why?”
“Check the back one.”
“Baby, what happened?”
“Please, Mom.”
I heard her slippers against the kitchen floor.
Then the dead bolt.
“It’s locked.”
“Stay away from the windows.”
Luca was watching me.
I turned the screen toward him.
The look on his face changed.
“Marco.
Send a car.”
“No,” I said.
Both men looked at me.
My voice shook, but I kept going.
“You don’t send strangers to my mother’s house without telling her who they are.”
Luca nodded once.
“Fair.”
Marco gave me the driver’s name, vehicle description, and a number my mother could call.
I repeated everything.
Only then did I tell her to pack a bag.
“Is this about your employer?”
“It’s about something I saw.”
“Grace.”
The way she said my name made me go cold.
“What?”
“Someone called this afternoon.
Asked whether you were still working there.”
“Who?”
“He said he was checking a reference.”
“Did he give a name?”
“Adrian.”
I looked at Luca.
He heard it.
“Mom, don’t speak to anyone else.
I’m coming.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
I almost laughed.
She had threatened my job ten minutes earlier.
Now she looked as though we were supposed to be on the same side.
“You know who sent this?”
“No.”
“Then stay away from me.”
Victor adjusted his cuff.
“People receive strange messages every day.”
Luca faced him.
“Not photographs of their mothers’ homes during my engagement dinner.”
Marco escorted the Bellinis into the sitting room while another guard remained outside.
Nobody touched them.
Nobody raised a weapon.
The quiet felt deliberate.
Luca offered to have someone drive me.
I agreed, but only after sending my mother the driver’s photograph.
As I left, Vanessa caught my sleeve.
Her fingers were cold.
“Adrian doesn’t leave loose ends.”
I pulled free.
“Then tell Luca what you know.”
She glanced toward the sitting room.
Her father stood in the doorway.
Vanessa let go.
At my mother’s house, I found her waiting with an overnight bag and the blue sewing tin she took everywhere.
She didn’t ask about the mansion.
She asked about the chair.
“What did you find under it?”
“A transmitter.”
Her hand closed around the tin.
“Was there a white stripe across the back?”
I stared at her.
“Yes.”
She sat down slowly.
“Oh, Grace.”
“What?”
She looked toward the family photograph above the fireplace.
My father had been dead for eleven years.
May you like
“Your father brought one home exactly like that,” she said.
“The week before his accident.”
