Chapter 2 - THE VOICE RECORDER
The dining room felt like a tomb.
Nobody breathed.
Nobody reached for their wine glasses.
Thirty of the most powerful men in the city sat frozen in their high-backed chairs, their eyes darting between Damian Castellano, the security guard, and me.
I stood completely still, my hands gripping the edge of the silver serving tray so hard my knuckles ached.
Damian didn’t look at the screen anymore.
He was looking at me.
His dark eyes were impossible to read. The cold, calculated mafia boss had vanished, replaced by a man trying to process a betrayal inside his own home.
"Where is it?" Damian asked.
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It commanded the air in the room.
I reached into the deep pocket of my black uniform apron. My fingers brushed against the small, cold metal rectangle. I had kept it hidden for two days, terrified that Henry would realize it was missing. Terrified that if I handed it over, they would kill me before I could explain.
I pulled it out.
The small voice recorder sat in my trembling palm.
Damian walked toward me. He didn’t snatch it. He gently took it from my hand, his fingers briefly brushing against mine. His skin was warm.
He looked at Henry.
Henry was still sitting at the table, his face pale, his jaw clenched tight.
"You told me she was a clumsy maid," Henry said, his voice completely devoid of its usual arrogant polish. "I didn't think she had the nerve to steal from me."
"You don't know the people who work in my house, Henry," Damian said softly. "But you are about to."
Damian pressed the play button on the device.
He held it up so the entire room could hear.
A sharp burst of static filled the dining room, followed by the sound of two men talking in hushed, urgent tones.
The first voice was Henry’s.
“The security rotation changes at midnight. I’ll make sure the cameras in the west wing are disabled for exactly four minutes. That’s all you get.”
A second voice answered.
A voice I hadn’t recognized two nights ago, but one that made the blood freeze in my veins now.
It was deep. Raspy. Unmistakable.
“Four minutes is plenty. The girl sleeps deeply. Just make sure you get the silver bracelet off her wrist before we move her. It has a biometric tracker inside the clasp. If Damian sees the signal leave the estate, he’ll lock down the perimeter before we hit the front gates.”
“I’ll handle the bracelet,” Henry’s recorded voice replied. “Just make sure your end of the money is transferred. I’m risking my life for this.”
“You’re getting paid, Henry. Just bring me Damian’s daughter.”
The recording clicked off.
A collective gasp echoed down the long dining table.
They weren't just planning a robbery. They were planning a kidnapping. They were going to take Mia. Damian’s six-year-old daughter.
Damian’s face drained of all color. The glass in his left hand shattered, the heavy crystal snapping under the sheer force of his grip. Red wine dripped from his fingers like blood, but he didn't seem to feel the pain.
He slowly turned his head toward the end of the table.
Toward the man who owned the second voice on the tape.
Marcus Thorne.
Damian’s oldest friend. His lawyer. The godfather to his daughter.
Marcus was sitting completely still, his hands resting flat on the mahogany table. He didn't look panicked. He looked resigned.
"Marcus," Damian whispered, the heartbreak in his voice more terrifying than any threat. "Why?"
"Because you went soft, Damian," Marcus said, not breaking eye contact. "You stopped pushing the business. You stopped expanding. You want to play the happy father while the rest of us lose money. The families in New York want a new leader. I was just giving them what they asked for."
I stared at Marcus, my mind racing.
The man who had bought Mia her first bicycle was planning to sell her to a rival syndicate to force Damian out of power.
But something wasn't right.
If Henry was working with Marcus... why did Henry look so terrified? Why was Henry sweating, while Marcus looked perfectly calm?
"Grab him," Damian ordered his guards, pointing at Marcus.
Three heavily armed men stepped forward.
But Marcus smiled.
It was a cold, empty smile.
He reached into his tailored suit jacket. The guards raised their weapons, shouting for him to freeze. But Marcus didn't pull out a gun.
He pulled out a small, remote detonator.
"I wouldn't," Marcus said calmly. "Unless you want the west wing of this mansion to become a crater."
The room erupted into chaos. Men shouted, pushing their chairs back, scrambling for the exits.
"Quiet!" Damian roared, silencing the room instantly. He looked at Marcus. "You’re bluffing."
"Am I?" Marcus tilted his head. "Ask Henry. Henry, tell your boss what I had you plant in the basement beneath Mia’s bedroom yesterday."
Everyone looked at Henry.
Henry was hyperventilating. He looked at Damian, tears welling in his eyes.
"I... I didn't want to, Damian," Henry sobbed. "He threatened my wife. He said he would kill my family if I didn't help him. I planted the explosives. I swear to God, I didn't have a choice!"
My breath hitched.
The reversal hit me like a physical blow. Henry wasn't the mastermind. He wasn't even a willing participant. He was a hostage to Marcus's cruelty.
"You choked her," Damian said, pointing a bloody finger at me. "You choked Olivia to protect this?"
"I choked her to save her life!" Henry yelled, his voice cracking. "Marcus was in the room! If she had spoken, if she had screamed, Marcus would have shot her right there! I choked her to make her pass out so Marcus would leave her alone!"
I touched my bruised throat.
Henry had hurt me... to save me?
"A touching story," Marcus interrupted, standing up from his chair. He held his thumb over the red button on the detonator. "Here is how this works, Damian. I walk out the front door. My men are waiting at the gate. If anyone follows me, I press this button, and your daughter’s bedroom turns to ash."
Damian stood perfectly still. The most powerful man in the city was completely paralyzed by the threat to his little girl.
"Let him go," Damian whispered to his guards.
The guards stepped back, lowering their rifles.
Marcus smirked. He straightened his tie and began to walk toward the grand double doors of the dining room.
"A pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," Marcus said.
He pushed the doors open and disappeared into the hallway.
Damian immediately turned to his head of security. "Evacuate the west wing. Now. Get Mia out of that room. Do not trigger any alarms."
The guards sprinted out.
Damian looked at me. His eyes were wild with fear.
"Olivia," Damian said, stepping toward me. "Mia trusts you. She’ll be scared. Go with the guards. Get her out."
I nodded desperately. I didn't try to speak. I just ran.
I pushed past the fleeing guests, sprinting down the long, carpeted hallways toward the west wing. My heart hammered in my chest.
I reached the heavy oak door of Mia’s bedroom. The two guards were already there, slowly turning the handle.
They pushed the door open.
"Mia, honey?" I forced the raspy, painful whisper past my lips.
The room was dark, lit only by a small princess nightlight in the corner.
I rushed to the bed, pulling back the heavy pink comforter.
I froze.
The bed was empty.
Mia was gone.
And resting on her pillow, perfectly centered in the dim light, was a small, silver object.
May you like
It was the silver bracelet. The one with the biometric tracker.
Marcus hadn't needed Henry to disable the cameras at midnight. Marcus had already taken her.
