Chapter 10 - THE GHOST IN THE WINDOW
Two months later, the Bellini mansion felt entirely different.
The heavy, brooding silence that had choked the halls for years was gone. Instead, the sound of a child’s laughter echoed through the grand foyer.
Leo was running down the hallway, clutching a brand-new toy airplane, his mother Isabella chasing playfully behind him. Isabella had color in her cheeks again. The dark circles under her eyes were fading. The Bellini family was healing.
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping my hands on a fresh apron, watching them with a smile. I wasn’t a housemaid anymore, though I still wore an apron when I baked. Nico had strictly forbidden me from cleaning, but old habits died hard.
My mother’s new boutique, Collins & Daughter Bridal, was thriving on Michigan Avenue. Mrs. Alvarez, officially retired, spent three days a week there just to "supervise the hem lines," though we all knew she just loved the company.
Everything was perfect.
Almost.
Nico came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing a soft kiss to my neck. "You're thinking too loud again, Emma."
I leaned back into his solid chest, sighing. "I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, Nico. Bianca and Carlo were exiled. But people like that don't just disappear quietly."
Nico’s grip tightened slightly. "Carlo is gone, Emma. The syndicate made sure he boarded a cargo ship to South America with nothing but the clothes on his back. Bianca went with him."
"I know," I murmured. "But..."
"But what?"
"Leo's been having nightmares again," I said softly.
Nico frowned, turning me around to face him. "Isabella said he was sleeping fine."
"He doesn't want to worry his mother," I explained. "I found him curled up in the window seat of the library at three in the morning last night. He was staring out at the front gates."
"What did he say?"
"He said he saw the vanilla lady," I whispered.
Nico went completely still. "My mother?"
"Nico, your mother is dead," I reminded him gently. "But Leo said the lady was standing outside the iron gates, looking up at his window. He said she was wearing a white coat."
Nico's eyes darkened instantly. The relaxed, loving man vanished, replaced once again by the ruthless head of the Bellini family.
Because on the night Bianca Rossi lost everything in my mother’s shop, she had been wearing a pristine white cashmere coat.
"Stay here," Nico commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous baritone.
He strode out of the kitchen, pulling his phone from his pocket. I followed him into the foyer just as he barked an order to his head of security. "Pull the perimeter camera footage from 3:00 AM last night. Check the south gate."
Five minutes later, Nico and I were standing in the security control room in the basement.
The head of security, a massive man named Paulie, tapped his keyboard. The grainy black-and-white footage from the south gate illuminated the screen.
For a long time, there was nothing but empty street and blowing trash.
Then, at 3:14 AM, a figure stepped out from the shadows of the oak trees across the street.
It was a woman. She was wearing a long, light-colored coat. She stood perfectly still in the freezing Chicago wind, staring directly up at the second-story windows of the mansion.
She stood there for twenty minutes.
Then, she raised a hand, pointed a single finger at the house like a gun, mimicking a recoil, and walked back into the darkness.
Paulie zoomed in on the frame just before she turned. The resolution was terrible, but the sharp, haughty profile was unmistakable.
It was Bianca Rossi.
"She didn't get on the boat with her father," Nico said, his voice lethal. "She stayed in Chicago."
"If the Commission finds out she's here, they'll kill her," Paulie warned.
"They won't get the chance," Nico said cold. "Lock down the estate. Double the guards on Isabella and Leo. Nobody leaves this house without my authorization."
He turned to me, his eyes full of fear and fury. "Call your mother. Tell her to close the shop early. I'm sending men to bring her here."
I nodded, pulling out my phone. I dialed the shop's number.
It rang four times before going to voicemail.
Panic instantly gripped my chest. My mother never let the shop phone go to voicemail.
"She's not answering," I choked out.
Nico didn't hesitate. He pulled his weapon, checking the magazine. "Paulie, get the cars ready."
My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
It was a picture of my mother’s favorite pair of fabric shears—the ones she used every single day.
They were stabbed deep into the pristine white oak of the boutique’s front counter, pinning down a torn piece of ivory lace.
May you like
And underneath the picture was a single line of text:
Tell the stupid little maid I want my engagement ring back.
