Chapter 7 - The Woman in the Red Dress
For twenty minutes I stared at the threat without allowing my face to change. It was a skill I'd learned young. Men trying to frighten you paid attention to breathing, to hands, to whatever muscle betrayed weakness. But no one had ever threatened Elise Navarro with the same casual ease they used to negotiate a shipping rate.
I showed Nico and Foster the message. Foster photographed it and initiated preservation requests for the sender's records. She ordered us not to approach the bank until her team could coordinate a search.
"You need to leave the property," I told Elise after the detective departed.
She shook her head. "That photograph was taken here. The girls aren't safe either."
"I'll move them. You can stay somewhere else, somewhere no one connects to me."
"They'll notice I'm gone."
"They'll get used to it."
"Maybe. But I'm not going to disappear because somebody hopes you'll be frightened enough to stop looking."
"This isn't about pride."
"I know. It's about the life my brother lost. And the life Serena lost. And those girls." Her voice lowered. "If you ask me to leave because you're protecting them, I'll listen. If you order me away because you think I'm too fragile to choose, I won't."
There it was again—that refusal to let me confuse control with protection. I didn't like it. I respected it more than I wanted to.
Foster arranged a guarded apartment for Elise's aunt, Ana, the only family she had left. Meanwhile, we transferred the twins to an interior suite and rotated our security staff, leaving only guards Nico could personally vouch for. The gala was that evening. Dominic had called five times to remind me that my absence would attract attention.
"If he knows we found the recording, he'll be looking for a reaction," Nico said. "Show him nothing."
Elise surprised us by volunteering to attend.
"Absolutely not," I said.
"Gabriel kept photographs of the foundation board," she explained. "I can recognize men whose names have vanished from the current website. If one of them is there, I can tell Foster."
Nico considered it. "In a public ballroom, with Foster's people nearby, she may be safer than here."
"You're both enjoying this," I muttered.
Elise smiled for the first time all day. "Only a little."
By seven-thirty, we were entering the ballroom of the Fairmont under a ceiling glittering with chandeliers. I wore a midnight-black suit. Elise wore a simple deep-red dress with sleeves that fell softly at her wrists. Her hair had been pinned loosely at the back, and she wore no diamonds, only the small sunflower key on its silver chain.
When she stepped out of the car, the men at the entrance turned their heads. I noticed because I was noticing her too. She looked beautiful, yes, but the beauty was sharpened by resolve. She was frightened and had chosen to come anyway.
"You don't have to stay near me," she said.
"I know."
"Luca."
I looked at her.
"You're hovering."
"I'm guarding. There's a distinction."
"In your vocabulary, maybe."
I offered her my arm. She hesitated, then took it.
Inside, Dominic held court near the charity auction. He spotted us immediately. His smile rose and then faltered when he saw Elise.
"Well," he said, "the nanny has become the guest of honor."
"She's my guest," I said. "That's all anyone needs to know."
His gaze shifted to the key against her throat. It lasted no more than a second. It was enough.
"A sentimental piece," he observed.
Elise touched it. "Very."
Dominic looked away too quickly.
Just inside the ballroom, a display honored Serena with photographs from Mercy House's early years. In one, she wore paint-stained jeans and was laughing beside a group of volunteers. In another, she held a little girl's hand while opening the renovated community kitchen. The captions thanked the donors, but Serena had always insisted the staff and residents deserved the photographs more than the men who funded them.
Elise stood in front of the display for a long time. "She looks happy," she said.
"She was happiest when people didn't recognize my name," I admitted. "She could talk to anyone without someone asking for a favor."
"Maybe that was the point."
I watched guests pass the photographs while discussing stock prices and weekend plans. A year ago, I had stood in the same room believing my donation was proof enough of my commitment. Serena had known that writing a check and listening to people were entirely different things.
A volunteer approached me, nervous at first, and thanked me for keeping the shelter open. I surprised us both by asking what support they needed most. She gave me a detailed answer about transportation for residents attending court hearings. For once, I listened without checking my phone.
The evening dissolved into speeches, champagne, and the kind of generosity that required photographers. I remembered Serena standing on that stage the previous year, speaking about women whose lives had changed because someone believed them. I had been proud of her while also checking messages beneath the table. The memory burned.
Elise moved through the crowd with controlled grace. She identified two former Easton executives in a photograph Nico had prepared, and Foster's team quietly recorded their interactions. An older woman from the foundation approached Elise near the auction display.
"You look like someone who used to come here," she said.
"My brother worked for Easton Logistics," Elise answered. "Gabriel Navarro."
The woman went pale. "I knew him. He asked whether anyone was approving invoices without signatures. I told him there was a new accountant. Then he disappeared."
"Who was the accountant?"
Before she could reply, a waiter dropped a tray. A crash of crystal startled the nearby guests. By the time Elise turned back, the woman was gone.
Then a security officer approached us carrying a velvet pouch.
"Mr. Caruso, I'm sorry to interrupt. A diamond bracelet is missing from the auction collection. We're checking guests discreetly."
I saw Elise stiffen. The officer opened the pouch to show an exquisite bracelet.
"It was found in your guest's coat," he said.
The ballroom went quiet around us. It was not truly quiet—music still played, glasses still clinked—but people nearby had turned to watch. Their expressions carried the satisfaction of people who enjoyed a scandal they wouldn't have to pay for.
Elise's cheeks flushed. "I didn't take it."
"Of course she didn't," I said.
Dominic arrived at my shoulder as if summoned by the scene. "Luca, let's not make this worse. A misunderstanding can be handled privately."
"Then call the police," I said.
The officer faltered. "Sir, we don't think that's necessary."
"If you're accusing a guest of theft, it is. Secure the camera footage and don't touch that pouch again."
Elise looked at me. I held her gaze. There was a moment when she could have expected me to choose appearances over her. I wanted her to see that I wouldn't.
Foster's plainclothes officer arrived within minutes. Video from the coatroom showed a man in catering uniform slip the bracelet into Elise's coat pocket. The officer identified him as a temporary hire using a false name. He had already left the building.
"This was meant to humiliate you," Nico murmured, "or make you turn on her."
Dominic's expression remained sympathetic. I wanted to hit him for how well he performed it.
At the edge of the ballroom, Elise finally exhaled. "You didn't even ask me whether I stole it."
"Did you?"
She gave me an incredulous look.
"There's your answer," I said.
"People will talk."
"Let them."
The band began a slow song. I looked at the dance floor, then back at her. "Would you dance with me?"
She stared. "Now?"
"Particularly now."
"I don't want anyone thinking I'm replacing Serena."
The words landed with tenderness and pain. "Neither do I," I said. "Serena isn't replaceable. That doesn't mean we have to stand in a corner forever."
Elise considered me, then set her hand in mine. We moved beneath the chandeliers, awkward at first, then slowly enough for the room to disappear. She was warm, close, alive. I felt guilty for noticing. I also felt something I had thought I'd buried with my wife.
Hope.
"Your hand is shaking," Elise said.
"I'm out of practice."
"At dancing?"
"At wanting anything."
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
May you like
My phone buzzed against my jacket. Nico had sent an urgent photograph from a traffic camera two blocks away. The fake waiter was entering a black sedan.
The driver was Grant Keene, my senior security supervisor—the man responsible for every camera in my house.
