Chapter 1 — The Woman Who Was Never Just a Maid
Chapter 1 — The Woman Who Was Never Just a Maid
Vincent didn't move.
Marcus' footsteps stopped less than three feet from the closet door.
The silence became unbearable.
Then...
A phone vibrated.
Marcus answered immediately.
"Yes?"
A distorted voice came through the speaker.
"Our people just confirmed Torino's convoy never reached the airport."
Marcus frowned.
"What?"
"He turned around."
"Somebody says his car was seen heading back toward the estate."
Marcus slowly looked around the bedroom.
For the first time...
Doubt entered his eyes.
"Search everything again."
One of the gunmen reached for the closet handle.
Elena reacted before Vincent could.
She deliberately kicked a shoe box behind them.
The muffled thud echoed inside the closet.
Marcus spun around.
"Who's there?"
Elena pushed the closet door open herself.
She stepped out calmly, holding a basket of freshly folded laundry.
The gunman immediately pointed his rifle at her forehead.
"What are you doing in here?"
She lowered her eyes like a frightened servant.
"Mrs. Torino asked me to organize Mr. Torino's suits before he returned tomorrow."
Marcus studied her face.
"You've been here this whole time?"
"Yes, sir."
"You hear anything?"
She shook her head.
"I wear headphones while I work."
Marcus snatched the wireless earbuds from her apron.
They weren't even turned on.
Elena didn't blink.
"I forgot they died."
The room fell silent.
Marcus stared at her for several long seconds.
Then...
He smiled.
"Finish your work."
As the gunmen left the bedroom, Marcus stopped at the doorway.
Without turning around, he said quietly,
"If you see my uncle tonight..."
"...call me first."
The bedroom door closed.
Neither Vincent nor Elena breathed.
Thirty seconds...
One minute...
Two.
Only after the security sensor outside indicated the men had reached the second floor did Elena quietly lock the bedroom door.
Vincent stepped out.
His face had become stone.
"You lied better than most men I've known."
Elena looked directly into his eyes.
"I've had practice."
Vincent glanced toward the pistol hidden beneath her uniform.
"Who are you?"
She hesitated.
"I'm the reason you're still alive."
Vincent's voice hardened.
"That wasn't my question."
She slowly removed the handgun and laid it on the marble table.
"I was waiting until tonight."
"For what?"
"For you to finally become the target."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"You knew this was coming."
"Yes."
"How long?"
She answered without emotion.
"Eleven months."
The words hit Vincent harder than Marcus' betrayal.
Eleven months.
May you like
Someone had been planning his execution for almost a year...
while eating dinner at his table.
