Chapter 5 - A Safe Harbor with Barbed Wire
By nightfall, the estate had transformed.
Alina was not allowed back into the servants’ quarters. Her small, water-damaged duffel bag and Mia’s handful of worn plastic toys were retrieved by Dante personally.
Instead, Alina found herself standing in the middle of the master guest suite on the third floor. It was larger than her entire apartment. The carpets were plush ivory wool; the king-sized bed was draped in Egyptian cotton; French doors opened onto a private stone terrace that overlooked the estate’s illuminated rose gardens.
Mia was sprawled in the center of the bed, fast asleep, exhausted from an afternoon of eating strawberries and having three burly, heavily armed security guards perform ridiculous animal impressions to keep her entertained.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Alina turned, her nerves still wired like exposed copper. "Come in."
The door opened, and Damon stepped inside. He had changed out of his suit. He wore a simple black cashmere sweater, dark trousers, and no shoes, moving with a quiet, predatory grace. In his hand, he carried a small silver bowl filled with warm water, a clean cloth, and a fresh glass of milk.
He glanced at the bed, his expression softening instantly as he looked at the sleeping child.
"She went down easily?" he asked quietly.
"She thinks this is a castle," Alina said, her voice barely a whisper. "She asked me if you were the king."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her you were her father's friend."
Damon stood silent for a moment. He walked over to the nightstand, set down the milk and the bowl, and looked at Mia’s tiny face. In the dim lamplight, the resemblance was undeniable. The arch of her eyebrows, the stubborn set of her chin—it was Marco.
"She has his nose," Damon murmured. "God help her, she has his temper, too, if the way she confronted me in the foyer is any indication."
Alina let out a small, breathless laugh—the first real sound of relief she had made in three years. "She isn't afraid of anything. I tried to teach her to be quiet. To be careful. But she wants to know everything."
"Good," Damon said, his eyes never leaving the child. "Marco never bowed his head to anyone. She shouldn't have to either."
He turned to Alina. His gaze was intense, stripping away the distance between them. "Dante ran the papers you used to get the housekeeping job. They were decent forgeries. Who sold them to you?"
Alina hesitated. "A man named Felix. In the South End. He dealt in fake IDs for restaurant workers."
Damon’s jaw tightened. "Felix works for the Castiglione family. And the Castigliones report directly to my uncle, Silvano Moretti."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.
"Your uncle?" Alina asked, her heart beginning to pound again. "Why would your uncle care about a maid?"
"He didn't care about a maid," Damon said, his voice dangerously low. "He cared about a widow. Three years ago, when the warehouse burned, Silvano was the one who pushed hardest to write it off as an accident. He was the one who told me to stop looking for you. He said you were dead, that digging into it would only bring federal heat down on our shipping terminals."
Damon took a step toward her, his dark eyes burning with cold calculation.
"Felix didn't just sell you those papers by chance, Alina. You weren't hiding under my roof by accident. Someone placed you here. Someone wanted Marco's wife where they could watch her, keep her close, and ensure she never started asking questions about Pier 42."
Alina felt the room spin. "You mean... my job... my interview with Mrs. Bellini..."
"Mrs. Bellini is Silvano’s sister-in-law," Damon said flatly. "You were never safe, Alina. You were in a cage. They were just waiting for Mia to grow old enough to show whether or not Marco had passed something on to her."
"Passed what on?" Alina gasped. "Marco didn't leave us anything! Just the pendant, and a music box he bought her before she was born!"
May you like
Damon froze. His eyes snapped to hers. "A music box?"
***
