Chapter 1 - The Company PhoneAt exactly two in the morning, the grandfather clock inside the Castiglion mansion announced the hour with two deep, mournful chimes.
Leo Castiglion had heard gunshots that bothered him less.
He stood near the tall windows of his private study, looking past the reflection of his own sleepless face toward the iron gates at the end of the drive.
Rain streaked the bulletproof glass.
The city beyond the estate was nearly invisible.
Then headlights appeared.
A yellow cab crawled through the security gates.
Leo's grip tightened around the glass in his hand.
Mave stepped out.
Alive.
Alone.
Wet.
And four hours later than she had told him she would be.
The relief that hit him was immediately swallowed by anger.
Leo set down the untouched Scotch.
She had said dinner.
Dinner was not supposed to last until two in the morning.
He knew how ridiculous the thought was.
Mave Quinn was twenty-nine years old. She was not his daughter. She was not his wife. She was not even, technically, his friend.
She was his housekeeper.
An employee.
Nothing more.
That was the lie he had repeated to himself for almost a year.
The front door opened downstairs.
Leo left the study.
He heard Mave lock the deadbolt, then remove her shoes.
She moved quietly through the foyer.
Trying not to wake anyone.
Trying not to wake him.
Leo stepped from the shadows.
“You said it was dinner.”
Mave almost screamed.
Her keys hit the hardwood.
“Good God, Leo.”
She pressed a hand to her chest and glared at him.
“Do you practice appearing out of dark hallways like a serial killer?”
“You said you'd be home at ten.”
“And apparently we're skipping straight past hello.”
Leo crossed his arms.
“It's two.”
“I can read a clock.”
“You didn't answer your phone.”
“My phone died.”
“You could have borrowed one.”
“From whom?”
“The restaurant.”
“We left the restaurant hours ago.”
Something unpleasant moved through his chest.
“Who is we?”
Mave stared at him.
Then realization crossed her face.
“Oh.”
That single syllable irritated him more than any insult could have.
“Oh what?”
“You're jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
Mave looked exhausted, but amusement briefly softened her face.
“Of course not.”
“I'm concerned about security.”
“Of course.”
“You live in my house.”
“I work in your house.”
“You sleep here five nights a week.”
“Because you insist breakfast exists before sunrise.”
“Don't change the subject.”
Mave sighed.
The wet trench coat clung to her shoulders. Beneath it she wore a plain navy dress Leo had never seen before.
It wasn't expensive.
Nothing Mave owned was expensive.
Yet the sight of her wearing it somewhere other than his house annoyed him for reasons he refused to examine.
“My friend Nora's radiator blew,” she said. “We were halfway home. We waited almost two hours for a tow truck.”
“At midnight?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Near Halston Avenue.”
Leo's expression changed.
Mave noticed immediately.
“What?”
“Halston runs beside the old warehouse district.”
“So?”
“So you shouldn't have been there.”
“I wasn't sightseeing.”
“That neighborhood isn't safe.”
She laughed once.
“Leo, half this city isn't safe because of people you know personally.”
“That isn't funny.”
“I wasn't joking.”
He should have ordered one of his men to follow her.
The thought came naturally.
Too naturally.
Mave picked up her keys.
“I'm cold. I'm tired. And unless you're planning to fire me for staying out past bedtime, I'm making tea.”
She walked away.
Leo stared after her.
There were men in his organization who had known him for twenty years and would not turn their backs on him.
Mave did it whenever she felt like it.
He followed.
The kitchen lights came on.
Mave filled the kettle.
Leo took his usual seat at the black marble island.
“You could have called Giani.”
“I could also have called the mayor. Neither seemed appropriate.”
“Giani would have picked you up.”
“Exactly.”
“Why is that a problem?”
She faced him.
“Because your employees are afraid of you.”
“They respect me.”
“They're terrified of disappointing you.”
“Same result.”
“No, it isn't.”
Mave leaned against the counter.
“If I start calling your security men to pick me up after dinner, then I'm not the housekeeper anymore.”
Leo's expression hardened.
“What exactly would you be?”
“That is precisely the problem.”
The kettle began to whistle.
Neither moved for a moment.
Mave finally turned it off.
She made two cups.
One for herself.
One for him.
She placed his mug in front of him.
It was the ugly chipped mug she had brought from home during her first month working at the estate.
Every other cup in the kitchen cost more than most people earned in a week.
Leo always drank from hers.
He had never acknowledged the habit.
Mave sat beside him.
“You were worried,” she said.
“No.”
“You were standing in a dark hallway at two in the morning.”
“Security concern.”
“You loosen your tie when you're worried.”
Leo's eyes dropped.
His tie was hanging crooked around his collar.
He looked back at her.
“You observe too much.”
“It's my job.”
“Your job is cleaning.”
“My job is knowing when something is wrong before someone spills blood on a carpet.”
She took a sip.
He hated that sentence because it reminded him how she had entered his life.
Three years earlier, a meeting in the basement had ended badly.
Mave had been part of an outside cleaning crew.
Everyone else refused to enter the room.
She walked inside, stared at the stains on the concrete, and asked for industrial bleach and triple pay.
No questions.
No panic.
No judgment.
Her mother was dying of cancer at the time.
Medical bills had buried them both.
Leo discovered that afterward.
He offered Mave permanent employment.
She accepted.
The arrangement should have remained simple.
Then her mother died.
Then the debt disappeared.
Then Mave stayed anyway.
That part had never made sense.
Leo looked at her.
“Why are you still here?”
She stopped drinking.
“What?”
“Your mother's medical bills are paid.”
Her face changed.
“How do you know that?”
“I know everything that happens under my roof.”
“You saw my bank statement.”
“That too.”
Mave placed the mug down.
“That was private.”
“So is my business. Yet you reorganized the files in my desk last Tuesday.”
“They were arranged by emotional trauma instead of alphabetically.”
“Mave.”
She looked away.
“The salary is good.”
“You could get another job.”
“I like this house.”
“You complain about it constantly.”
“I like complaining about this house.”
“That isn't an answer.”
She smiled faintly.
“No.”
It wasn't.
Leo reached toward her sleeve.
His fingers touched the wet fabric.
“You're freezing.”
“I'll survive.”
“Take the coat off.”
“Bossy.”
“Mave.”
She removed it.
Goosebumps covered her arms.
Leo immediately stood and increased the thermostat.
When he turned back, she was watching him.
That look again.
Too knowing.
Too gentle.
It made him uncomfortable.
Leo preferred fear.
Fear had rules.
Tenderness did not.
“Finish your tea,” he muttered.
He left before she could say anything else.
He slept for ninety minutes.
By eight, he was behind his desk listening to Carmine Russo explain why one of their shipments had been delayed at customs.
Carmine was a large man with little patience and even less imagination.
“New inspector,” Carmine said. “Won't take the usual money.”
“Then the usual money isn't what he wants.”
“I can scare him.”
“No.”
Carmine frowned.
“No?”
“We don't threaten federal employees because paperwork annoys us.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find out what he wants.”
“And if he doesn't want anything?”
“Everyone wants something.”
Leo rubbed his temple.
“Figure it out.”
The door opened.
Carmine automatically reached toward his jacket.
Leo didn't react.
Only one person entered without knocking.
Mave carried a tray.
Coffee.
Fruit.
Toast.
She had tied her hair back and changed into the simple black uniform she wore around the estate.
“Morning.”
Carmine nodded.
“Miss Quinn.”
She placed coffee near Leo.
Carmine's gaze shifted.
For less than a second.
But Leo saw it.
Leo saw everything.
The atmosphere changed.
Carmine looked back at him.
His face lost color.
Leo spoke quietly.
“Do you need something else?”
“No, boss.”
“Then leave.”
Carmine disappeared so quickly that Mave raised an eyebrow.
The door shut.
“You did it again.”
Leo picked up his coffee.
“Did what?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The one that makes grown men remember they have somewhere else to be.”
“He was finished.”
“He looked at me.”
Leo said nothing.
Mave stared at him.
“Oh my God.”
“Don't.”
“You really are jealous.”
“I said don't.”
“Leo.”
“He was disrespectful.”
“He glanced at my apron.”
“He stared.”
“For one second.”
“One second too long.”
Mave folded her arms.
“You cannot murder employees for noticing women.”
“I wasn't going to murder him.”
She waited.
Leo took a drink.
“I was considering restructuring his responsibilities.”
She burst out laughing.
He hated how much he liked the sound.
When she recovered, Leo opened the top drawer.
He removed a black box and pushed it toward her.
“Take this.”
Mave frowned.
She opened it.
A new smartphone rested inside.
She looked at Leo.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“My phone still works.”
“Your phone died.”
“The battery is old.”
“Exactly.”
“This costs more than my rent.”
“Company property.”
“I don't need company property.”
“You do now.”
Mave narrowed her eyes.
“Does it track me?”
Leo said nothing.
Her mouth fell open.
“Leo.”
“It has security software.”
“It tracks me.”
“It allows my people to locate the phone.”
“No.”
She pushed the box back.
Leo pushed it toward her again.
“Mave.”
“No.”
“You were stranded beside Halston Avenue after midnight.”
“Which I survived.”
“You were lucky.”
The word came out harder than intended.
Mave's expression shifted.
Leo leaned forward.
“Someone torched one of my trucks three blocks from where your friend's car broke down last week.”
Mave became still.
Leo continued.
“The Volkov crew has been testing territory near the warehouse district. They've followed two of my men home. They're looking for weaknesses.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing.”
The answer was too fast.
Mave stared.
Leo looked away.
Everything, he thought.
It had everything to do with her.
His enemies knew he didn't have a wife.
No children.
No publicly acknowledged lover.
His parents were dead.
His closest associates were heavily guarded.
Leo Castiglion had built his life so there was almost nothing a rival could take from him.
Almost.
Mave closed the box.
“I'll take it.”
Leo looked at her.
“Good.”
“But you don't track me unless there's an emergency.”
“Define emergency.”
“If I ask you to find me.”
“Unacceptable.”
“If I'm actually missing.”
“Better.”
“If I'm more than six hours late.”
“Two.”
“Four.”
“Three.”
Mave sighed.
“Fine.”
She picked up the phone.
“You're impossible.”
“So I'm told.”
She started toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Leo?”
“Yes?”
“There was something strange last night.”
Every muscle in his body tightened.
“What?”
“When Nora's car broke down, a black sedan passed us twice.”
Leo slowly stood.
“Make?”
“I don't know.”
“Plate?”
“I didn't see it.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought I was being paranoid.”
“Did it stop?”
“No.”
“Did anyone get out?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
Mave hesitated.
That hesitation scared him more than the story.
“What?”
“When I got home, there was something in my coat pocket.”
She reached into the apron.
Leo moved around the desk.
Mave placed a folded piece of paper onto the mahogany.
Leo opened it.
His blood turned cold.
It wasn't a threat.
Not exactly.
It was a photograph.
Old.
At least twenty-five years.
A woman stood outside a hospital.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Terrified.
Mave whispered, “That's my mother.”
Leo barely heard her.
Because he recognized the man standing beside Evelyn Quinn.
His own father.
Salvatore Castiglion.
On the back of the photograph were seven handwritten words.
ASK LEO WHO HIS FATHER KILLED FOR HER.
Mave stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Leo couldn't answer.
For the first time in years, Leo Castiglion felt something dangerously close to fear.
Because his father had been dead for fourteen years.
And the photograph should not have existed.
Someone knew about Evelyn Quinn.
Someone knew about Mave.
And someone had waited until now to make certain Leo understood exactly what could be taken from him.
He reached for the company phone.
Mave grabbed his wrist.
“Leo.”
“I'm locking down the property.”
“What?”
“No one enters or leaves without my authorization.”
“Don't overreact.”
He looked at her.
“Mave, someone put a photograph of your mother and my father into your pocket without you noticing.”
Her grip loosened.
Leo's voice dropped.
“They got close enough to touch you.”
The color faded from her face.
For once, she didn't argue.
Leo pressed the security intercom.
“Giani.”
A voice answered immediately.
“Yes, boss?”
“Close the gates.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Leo kept his eyes on Mave.
“And find Carmine.”
“Problem?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
Leo turned the photograph over again.
His father's face stared back at him from another lifetime.
“The kind that started before either of us knew it existed.”
That afternoon, twelve armed men surrounded the estate.
Mave tried to continue cleaning.
Leo knew because he watched her move from room to room on the security monitors while pretending to conduct business.
At six, she entered his study without knocking.
Again.
“You're staring at cameras.”
“I'm working.”
“You've been watching me dust the west hallway for five minutes.”
Leo looked away from the monitor.
“The west hallway is strategically important.”
“It contains three ugly paintings and a linen closet.”
“Still important.”
Mave sat across from him.
“Tell me about your father.”
“No.”
“Leo.”
“No.”
“My dead mother is standing next to him in a photograph.”
“I can see that.”
“Somebody put it in my pocket.”
“I know.”
“And you're refusing to explain.”
“Because I don't know enough yet.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Leo stood.
He walked toward the window.
“My father owned businesses with people who didn't solve disagreements through lawyers.”
“Like you.”
“Worse.”
Mave said nothing.
“He kept records,” Leo continued. “Financial records. Personal records. Insurance.”
“Blackmail.”
“Yes.”
“Did my mother work for him?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he kill someone for her?”
Leo turned.
“My father killed many people.”
The sentence landed heavily.
Mave looked down.
“That isn't an answer.”
“It is the only answer I can give you.”
She stood.
“I want to go home.”
“No.”
Her eyes flashed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The part where concern becomes control.”
“Mave—”
“My apartment is my home.”
“This is safer.”
“That doesn't make it mine.”
Leo stepped toward her.
“Until I know who sent that photograph, you're staying here.”
“You cannot imprison me.”
“I can keep you alive.”
“Those are not the same thing.”
She moved toward the door.
Leo caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Never hard.
Mave looked down at his hand.
Leo immediately released her.
The silence hurt.
“I won't lock you in,” he said.
“Good.”
“But if you leave tonight, four men are going with you.”
“No.”
“Then six.”
“That isn't how negotiation works.”
“It is in my house.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then a violent explosion shook the windows.
Mave screamed.
Leo threw himself toward her.
The glass vibrated in its reinforced frame.
An alarm began screaming downstairs.
Leo dragged Mave behind the desk.
“What was that?”
“Stay down.”
He pulled the pistol from the drawer.
Smoke rose beyond the front lawn.
Someone shouted through the intercom.
“Boss! Gatehouse!”
Another explosion followed.
The lights died.
Mave's fingers closed around Leo's sleeve.
In the darkness, his new company phone vibrated in her apron pocket.
The screen illuminated her frightened face.
One message.
Unknown sender.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HER STAY OUT LATE.
Leo read it.
Something inside him changed.
The jealousy disappeared.
The confusion disappeared.
What remained was colder.
Much colder.
May you like
Someone had declared war.
And they had chosen Mave Quinn as the battlefield.
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