Chapter 3
Lucy made a sound that did not belong in a child’s throat.
It was small.
Animal.
Broken.
She slid off the sofa and reached toward the pieces of her mother’s locket scattered on the rug.
I moved before Bianca could step closer.
“Do not move,” I said.
She lifted both hands.
The act came back over her like a curtain.
Wide eyes.
Wet lashes.
Trembling mouth.
“You’re scaring me.”
Emma backed Lucy toward the far side of the room.
I kept myself between Bianca and my daughter.
“You came through a hidden door,” I said. “Holding my dead wife’s necklace.”
Bianca swallowed.
“I found it upstairs. Lucy must have stolen it from my drawer.”
Lucy cried harder.
“It was Mommy’s.”
Bianca snapped, “Stop lying.”
I took one step toward her.
She shut her mouth.
My phone was still in my hand.
I called 911.
Bianca lunged for me.
I caught her wrist.
She twisted, screaming before I even hurt her.
“He’s attacking me!” she shrieked toward the door. “Help!”
The operator answered.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“My name is Vittorio DeLuca,” I said, never taking my eyes off Bianca. “My fiancée and her brother abused my six-year-old daughter. I have video evidence. I need police and medical help at my house.”
Bianca’s face changed.
Not fear.
Hatred.
“You will regret that.”
“I already do.”
She tried to pull free.
I let go.
She stumbled back as if I had shoved her.
Then she slapped herself across the cheek.
Hard.
Emma gasped.
Bianca hit herself again, then screamed.
“Look what he did!”
Lucy hid behind Emma.
I stayed still.
The operator was silent for half a second.
Then she said, “Sir, officers are on the way. Stay separated from the other adult if possible.”
“I am.”
Bianca’s eyes flicked to the desk.
My letter opener lay there.
Silver handle.
Sharp point.
I saw the thought cross her face.
So did Emma.
“Mr. DeLuca,” Emma whispered.
Bianca ran for it.
I slammed my hand down on the desk first and swept the letter opener into the locked drawer.
She crashed into me, clawing at my jacket.
“You ruined everything,” she hissed. “Do you know what Marcus promised them? Do you know what your name was worth?”
Them.
I heard it.
One word, but it opened a door in my mind.
“What does that mean?”
She froze.
Then the front door downstairs burst open.
I heard male voices.
Not police.
My security team.
“Mr. DeLuca?” called Vincent, my head of security.
“In the study.”
The door opened.
Vincent stepped in with two guards behind him.
He saw Lucy crying.
He saw Bianca’s red cheek.
He saw the broken locket.
His expression went cold.
“Keep her here until police arrive,” I said.
Bianca laughed bitterly.
“You cannot detain me.”
Vincent did not blink.
“We can stand near doors.”
Emma helped Lucy gather the pieces of the locket.
Lucy’s hands shook.
I crouched beside her.
“I’m going to fix it.”
“She broke Mommy,” Lucy whispered.
“No,” I said, my voice cracking. “She broke a necklace. She did not touch Mommy.”
Lucy looked at me like she wanted to believe that more than anything.
Police arrived eight minutes later.
Two officers came first.
Then a female detective with tired eyes and a low voice.
Detective Mara Collins.
She knelt to Lucy’s level.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Mara. I’m here to help.”
Lucy moved behind me.
Detective Collins did not push.
Smart woman.
She looked at me instead.
“I understand there’s video.”
Emma held out the phone.
Bianca shouted, “That video is edited.”
Detective Collins took the phone carefully.
“Then we’ll preserve it properly.”
At that, Bianca went silent.
Marcus did not make it far.
Police stopped him at the estate gate after Vincent sent them the license plate.
They brought him back in cuffs.
He looked at Bianca first.
Then at me.
“This is family business,” he said.
Detective Collins turned.
“Child abuse is police business.”
Marcus sneered.
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
That was almost funny.
Not because I was powerful.
Because men like Marcus always confused noise with power.
Bianca’s mother arrived before the ambulance.
Camille Blackwell swept into my home in a camel coat, perfume floating ahead of her like a warning.
She looked at Bianca’s cheek.
Then at me.
“What did you do?”
I stared at her.
Her eyes moved to Lucy.
Not concern.
Calculation.
“My daughter said that child has emotional problems.”
Detective Collins stepped forward.
“Ma’am, you need to wait outside.”
Camille ignored her.
She pointed at Emma.
“And you. I warned you about involving yourself in things above your station.”
Emma went pale.
There it was again.
The proof that Emma’s fear had a history.
I turned slowly.
“You knew.”
Camille smiled at me like I was slow.
“Knew what?”
I looked at Bianca.
Then Marcus.
Then the woman who had walked into my home already prepared to defend cruelty.
“You all knew.”
Camille’s smile faded.
Police led Bianca and Marcus out separately.
Lucy watched from the staircase, wrapped in my coat.
When Bianca passed her, she leaned close and whispered, “Your daddy will send you away when he learns what you did.”
Lucy flinched.
Detective Collins caught it.
So did I.
“What did she mean?” I asked.
Lucy’s eyes filled.
“I didn’t want to tell.”
“Tell what?”
She reached into the pocket of her pajamas and pulled out a small black flash drive.
“Miss Emma said if something bad happened again, I should hide this.”
May you like
Emma covered her mouth.
And Camille, still standing in my foyer, turned as white as bone.
