Chapter 2 - The Red Light That Was Never Supposed to Blink|
The thing in the porcelain bowl was not an insect.
I realized that the moment the tiny red light blinked a second time.
The black object was no longer than my little finger, but its segmented body twisted against the white porcelain as though it were alive. A thin wire protruded from one end, and beneath the slick black coating, something metallic caught the chandelier light.
Vincent Moretti stared at it.
Then he did something I had never seen him do.
He backed away from me.
The most feared Mafia boss in Chicago, the man whose name could empty a room, looked at that tiny object as though it were a loaded gun.
"Vincent?"
He couldn't hear me.
I reached for his phone, but he caught my hand and shook his head.
Then he pointed toward the ceiling.
The security camera.
My stomach dropped.
Vincent took the phone from my hand and typed three words.
DON'T LOOK UP.
I forced myself to stare at the table.
He typed again.
Smile. Pretend nothing happened.
How was I supposed to smile when my husband had just pulled something that looked like a mechanical parasite from his ear?
Before I could answer, Vincent lifted the porcelain bowl and covered it with a folded napkin.
Then he did something even stranger.
He pulled me against his chest.
His arms closed around me, and his lips brushed my hair.
From the camera's perspective, we probably looked like newlyweds sharing an intimate moment.
But his fingers were trembling.
Under the table, he pressed his phone into my palm.
Someone has been listening to every word spoken near me for years.
I stared at the screen.
Years?
Vincent's eyes searched mine.
Then he typed another message.
And whoever planted that thing knows it's gone.
A cold sensation crawled down my spine.
Before I could respond, the dining room doors opened.
A tall man in a charcoal suit entered.
I recognized him immediately.
Lorenzo Moretti.
Vincent's younger half-brother.
He had visited the mansion three times since our wedding, always wearing expensive cologne and an easy smile that never quite reached his eyes.
"Brother!" Lorenzo called cheerfully.
Vincent didn't react.
Of course he didn't.
Lorenzo approached the table and glanced at the broken glass scattered across the floor.
"What happened here?"
I opened my mouth.
Vincent gently squeezed my wrist.
A warning.
"I dropped it," I said.
Lorenzo looked at me.
Then at Vincent.
Then at the blood near my husband's ear.
His smile disappeared.
"Is he having another episode?"
I nodded.
Lorenzo stepped closer.
"Poor Vincent. It's getting worse, isn't it?"
Something in his voice made my skin crawl.
Not concern.
Satisfaction.
He reached toward Vincent's right ear.
Vincent seized his wrist.
Hard.
Lorenzo froze.
For a moment, the brothers stared at each other.
Then Vincent released him.
Lorenzo laughed.
"Easy, big brother. I'm trying to help."
He turned toward me.
"You should call Dr. Bellamy. He knows how to handle these attacks."
I remembered the name.
Dr. Arthur Bellamy.
Vincent's private physician.
The same doctor who had supposedly examined Vincent's ears for the last fifteen years.
The same doctor who insisted his deafness was permanent.
And the same doctor who prescribed the drops Vincent used every night.
My stomach twisted.
"I'll call him," I lied.
Lorenzo looked relieved.
"Good girl."
I hated those two words.
My father used to say them whenever I obeyed him.
Vincent's expression changed.
He couldn't hear Lorenzo, but he could read enough of his lips to understand.
His jaw tightened.
Lorenzo finally left, promising to return the following morning.
The second the doors closed, Vincent took my hand and led me down a narrow staircase behind the kitchen.
I had never seen that staircase before.
At the bottom was a locked room without windows.
Vincent pressed his palm against a scanner.
A steel door opened.
Inside were several computer monitors, a desk, and a wall covered with surveillance feeds.
But none displayed the dining room.
Vincent typed.
This room isn't connected to the mansion's security system.
"Who knows about it?" I whispered automatically.
He read my lips.
Then he held up one finger.
Only him.
My knees nearly gave out.
Vincent placed the black device inside a small metal container and sealed it.
Then he turned toward me.
For the first time since our wedding, he looked completely defenseless.
He typed slowly.
I thought I was losing my mind.
I stared at him.
The pain. The pressure. Sometimes I felt vibrations inside my skull. Bellamy said they were nerve spasms.
He swallowed.
I started believing him.
My chest ached.
For eleven days, I had been afraid of Vincent Moretti.
But someone had been hurting him for far longer.
"Vincent," I whispered, touching his face.
He watched my lips.
"You're not crazy."
His eyes closed.
When he opened them again, they were wet.
Suddenly, one of the monitors flashed.
An incoming message appeared.
No sender.
No number.
Only six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT INSIDE.
Vincent went completely still.
Then another message appeared.
WE KNOW WHAT YOUR LITTLE WIFE DID.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The screen flickered again.
This time, a photograph appeared.
My father.
Standing outside a casino.
Beside him was Lorenzo Moretti.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were four words.
FIFTY DOLLARS WAS ENOUGH.
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