Chapter 2 - The Bloody Rosary in the Conservatory
The heavy steel felt ice-cold against my denim skirt.
I draped the wool throw over my lap.
My palm burned under the bandage.
Every instinct screamed at me to run out the back gate.
To run to Caleb.
Richard opened the parlor door.
His face wore a mask of effortless composure.
"Just finishing up with Levin, Celeste."
Celeste stood in the archway.
Her eyes scanned the room like searchlights.
They landed on me.
A tiny twitch pulled at the corner of her crimson mouth.
"Dr. Levin left ten minutes ago, darling. Why are you still in here with the
maid?"
"She needed an incident report for insurance."
Richard stepped past her.
"We don't need lawsuits during the merger."
Celeste’s posture relaxed.
Just a fraction.
"Of course. You're always so thorough."
She glanced at me with pure disgust.
"Take your bag and leave through the service tunnel, Naomi."
"She stays," Richard said calmly.
Celeste froze.
"Excuse me?"
"Mother asked for her earlier. Naomi knows how she likes her peppermint tea."
Richard checked his gold watch.
"I’m bringing Naomi up to check on her before we cut the cake."
Panic flashed in Celeste’s pale eyes.
It vanished instantly behind a theatrical pout.
"Richard, she’s dead asleep. Dr. Levin gave her a sedative before he looked at
Naomi. If you wake her, she’ll be delirious all night."
"Sedative?" Richard asked softly.
He stepped within three inches of Celeste.
"Levin told me he hadn't seen Mother since Tuesday."
The air between them turned into razor wire.
Celeste didn't blink.
"Then it was the replacement nurse. Honestly, Richard, you're so tense tonight."
She smoothed the silk lapel of his tuxedo.
"The Italian investors want to see Teresa. I told them she was resting
comfortably. Don't cause a scene."
"I never cause scenes," Richard said.
He took her wrist.
He held it a little too tight.
"Come with me to the conservatory. We have five minutes before the champagne
pours."
He looked over his shoulder at me.
"Naomi. Follow us."
I stood up slowly.
The revolver was tucked deep inside the pocket of my black apron.
My heart felt like a trapped bird in my ribs.
I walked two paces behind them down the marble corridor.
The conservatory was a massive glass dome filled with rare orchids.
It smelled of damp earth and humid rot.
The fountain bubbled in the center.
Richard stopped by the stone bench.
His eyes swept the flagstones.
I saw it first.
Near the base of a bleeding-heart orchid.
A string of carved olive-wood beads.
Mrs. Castellano’s rosary.
She had brought it from Sicily forty years ago.
She never took it off her wrist.
Never.
The beads were snapped in two.
And across the white marble tile, three dark, sticky drops glistened.
Fresh blood.
Celeste saw me looking.
Her jaw hardened into stone.
She didn't look like a glamorous socialite anymore.
She looked like an executioner.
"Richard," she whispered, her voice dropping all sweet warmth. "You should have
stayed at the table."
From the shadowy palms behind the fountain, a tall man stepped out.
He wore the black tactical jacket of Castellano’s private security.
Except his weapon was already drawn.
A sound-suppressed automatic pistol was aimed directly at Richard’s chest.
It wasn't Daniel.
It was Marcus—the head of the gate detail.
Celeste didn't step back.
She stepped toward Marcus.
"You're very observant, Richard. But you're thirty minutes too late."
Richard didn't flinch.
His hands stayed loose at his sides.
"Where is she, Celeste?"
"In a crate on its way to the docks," Celeste smiled.
"The Moretti family sends their regards. They've wanted your shipping lanes for
twenty years. All it took was a pretty girl to open the side gates."
She turned her venomous gaze on me.
"And this pathetic little cockroach almost ruined it."
Marcus raised his weapon.
"Take his phone, Celeste."
Celeste reached toward Richard’s breast pocket.
She laughed softly.
"You really thought you could play both sides, Richard? You're getting old. You
should have signed the maritime transfer when I asked."
Then Marcus’s phone chimed with a video alert.
He glanced down.
A cruel grin spread across his scarred face.
He showed the screen to Celeste.
It was a live camera feed of a small room.
A dim bedroom in Queens.
On the screen was a narrow twin bed with superhero sheets.
My son Caleb was sleeping soundly, clutching his stuffed bear.
And standing above him was a man in a black mask holding a pair of shears.
My lungs collapsed.
"CALEB!"
The scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.
Celeste turned to me, her eyes glittering with demonic triumph.
"Quiet, maid," she whispered.
"One word from me, and the boy doesn't wake up."
May you like
Marcus pulled the hammer back on his suppressed gun.
"Drop to your knees, Don Castellano. Or the kid dies first."
