Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN
I thought I had misheard him.
Dominic shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the hardwood floor.
“What did you just say?” Dominic’s voice was a lethal, terrifying growl.
The young guard took a step back, holding his hands up defensively.
“I swear to God, boss. There’s a woman standing at the gate in the pouring rain. She’s demanding to be let in. I looked at the old photographs in the security booth. It’s her. It’s Grace.”
Sophie grabbed my arm, her small fingers digging into my sleeve.
“Mommy?” she whispered, her eyes wide with a fragile, dangerous hope.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He drew his weapon and sprinted out of the living room, down the grand hallway, and out the front doors.
I scooped Sophie into my arms and followed him, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it physically hurt.
The morning sky had turned a bruising purple, and a cold, torrential Chicago rain was washing away the ash from the night before.
Dominic reached the towering iron gates at the front of the estate.
Four armed guards were standing behind the reinforced steel, their weapons aimed at a solitary figure standing on the other side.
She was soaked to the bone. She wore a simple gray trench coat, her dark hair plastered to her face.
I stopped a few feet behind Dominic, shielding Sophie from the rain with my jacket.
Dominic stood frozen, water pouring down his face, staring at the woman through the iron bars.
It was Grace.
She looked older, tired, and frighteningly thin, but there was no mistaking the shape of her eyes or the curve of her jaw.
“Dominic,” the woman said. Her voice was raspy, shaking from the cold.
Dominic’s gun slowly lowered to his side. The ruthless mafia boss looked like he had just been shot in the chest.
“Grace?” he choked out.
“Let me in, Dom. Please.”
Dominic stumbled forward, his hands grasping the cold iron bars. He looked like he wanted to tear the gate open with his bare hands.
“Open it,” Dominic roared at the guards. “Open the damn gate!”
The heavy iron doors slowly swung inward.
The woman stepped onto the property. She looked at Dominic, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks, and threw her arms around his neck.
Dominic dropped his gun on the wet asphalt. He buried his face in her shoulder, holding her so tightly I thought her ribs would crack, letting out a jagged, agonizing sob.
Sophie squirmed in my arms.
“Daddy?” Sophie cried out. “Is it Mommy?”
The woman pulled away from Dominic. She looked past him and saw Sophie standing in my arms.
A broken, beautiful smile spread across her face.
“Sophie,” she whispered, taking a step toward us.
Sophie didn't hesitate. She wriggled out of my grip and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, crashing into her mother’s legs.
Grace dropped to her knees in the puddles, wrapping her arms around her daughter, kissing her face over and over again.
I stood in the rain, completely stunned.
Answer one: Adrian hadn't murdered Grace in a car crash. He had hidden her.
Open two: If Grace had been alive for eight months... where had she been? And why did she only return the morning after Adrian was killed?
Dominic walked over and knelt beside them, wrapping his arms around both of them, sealing his family back together in the pouring rain.
I felt a sudden, profound emptiness in my chest.
My job was done.
The little girl who needed me had her mother back. The man who had looked at me with such trust didn't need a housekeeper to protect his family anymore.
I quietly backed away, turning toward the mansion to pack my things.
“Hannah.”
I stopped.
Dominic was looking at me from the ground, his arm still wrapped around his wife.
“Don't go,” he said softly.
Grace looked up at me. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and remarkably calm despite the tears.
“You’re Hannah?” Grace asked, her voice steadying.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said, bowing my head slightly.
Grace stood up, holding Sophie’s hand. She walked over to me.
She didn't offer a polite handshake. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly.
“Maria told me what you did,” Grace whispered in my ear. “She told me you saved my daughter’s life tonight.”
I froze. “Maria?”
Grace pulled back, looking at Dominic.
“We need to go inside, Dom,” Grace said urgently. “Adrian is dead, but the people who helped him aren't. And they know I’m here.”
Ten minutes later, we were sitting in Dominic’s private study.
Grace had changed into dry clothes and was sitting on the sofa, holding a mug of hot tea. Sophie was curled up beside her, refusing to let go of her mother’s hand.
Dominic stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving his wife.
“Where have you been for eight months, Grace?” Dominic asked gently.
Grace took a deep breath.
“I was locked in a psychiatric facility in upstate New York,” Grace said.
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “Adrian.”
“He drugged me,” Grace explained. “The night of the car crash, he staged the accident with a stolen body. He drove me to a private airstrip and flew me to a clinic owned by a corrupt doctor on his payroll. He told the staff I was dangerously delusional.”
“Why didn't he just kill you?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
Grace looked at me.
“Because of the ledger,” Grace said.
Dominic frowned. “What ledger?”
“Before Adrian staged the crash, I found a hidden ledger in his office,” Grace said. “It detailed millions of dollars he was siphoning from the syndicate’s offshore accounts. He was plotting a coup against you, Dom.”
Grace took a sip of her tea.
“I hid the ledger before he caught me. Adrian kept me alive because he needed to know where it was. He interrogated me for months, but I never told him.”
“How did you escape?” Dominic asked.
Grace looked at him, a small, sad smile on her lips.
“I didn't escape, Dom. I was released.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “By who?”
Grace reached into her pocket.
She pulled out a small, heavy object and placed it on the coffee table.
It was a gold watch.
But it wasn't a man’s pocket watch. It was a delicate, vintage women’s timepiece, engraved with the initials V.B.
Victoria Bellini.
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“Victoria visited me at the clinic yesterday afternoon,” Grace said, her voice turning cold. “She handed me this watch, gave me a plane ticket to Chicago, and told me that if I wanted my daughter to live, I had to come home and kill you.”
TITLE: THE WATCH THAT TICKED BACKWARDS
