Chapter 2 - The Mark Of The Hawk
The afternoon inside the Valente estate stretched on with an unbearable, suffocating silence.
Every glance from a passing bodyguard felt like a silent interrogation.
I wiped down the polished mahogany bannisters in the grand foyer, my eyes darting toward the heavy oak doors of the executive wing.
Julian Mela appeared at the top of the grand staircase at three o'clock, adjusting the crisp French cuffs of his charcoal suit.
He looked entirely unbothered, commanding two guards with quiet, clipped gestures.
Yet I noticed the slight tension in his jaw and the subtle, frantic sweep of his eyes across the carpeted steps.
He was searching for the paper.
He knew he had lost something catastrophic.
As he descended the stairs, his cold gray eyes caught mine.
I instantly dropped my gaze, lowering my sponge into the bucket of warm soapy water with practiced submissiveness.
“Anna,” his voice rang out, smooth as polished glass and just as cold.
“Yes, Mr. Mela?” I answered, keeping my spine bowed.
“Have you cleaned the eastern wing today?” he asked, pausing on the bottom step and resting his cane against the floor.
The onyx hawk ring on his finger caught the afternoon light, gleaming ominously.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, keeping my breathing completely even.
“Around eleven o'clock.”
“Did you find any loose documents or files that might have been dropped by the reading room?”
His eyes bored into the side of my face, testing my pulse through sheer psychological weight.
“Nothing, Mr. Mela,” I lied, forcing my voice to sound tired and completely ordinary.
“Just dust and the mail delivery for the front office.”
He lingered for a second longer, the silence stretching until my lungs burned for air.
“Very well,” he muttered, his fingers tapping once against his silver-topped cane.
“Make sure you stay in the staff quarters after dark tonight. We are expecting inventory transfers, and the grounds will be locked down.”
“Understood, Mr. Mela.”
He walked away, his heavy cologne of cedarwood and bitter tobacco lingering in the air.
My hands shook violently beneath the soapy suds.
He hadn’t believed me; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.
Julian was too shrewd to trust the word of a housekeeper who cleaned the very hallway where his treason had fallen.
I finished my shift on autopilot, my mind racing with terrifying possibilities.
At five o'clock, Luca Valente returned to the compound.
The entire estate shifted on its axis the moment his black armored convoy rolled through the iron gates.
Luca was thirty-two years old, built like a fortress, with dark, stormy eyes and a sharp jawline carved from granite.
He was not a man of loud outbursts or erratic violence.
His power was cold, calculated, and absolute.
He walked into the grand hall shedding his tailored wool coat, flanked by four armed lieutenants.
As he crossed the foyer, his gaze caught sight of Mia sitting quietly on the bottom stair of the staff annex, still wearing her little black blazer and holding Barnaby tight.
The hardened lines around Luca’s eyes visibly softened, a phenomenon that only ever occurred in the presence of my daughter.
He stopped right in front of her.
The armed lieutenants halted instantly, waiting in dead silence.
Luca slowly lowered himself onto one knee, bringing his imposing frame down to her level.
“What is your assignment today, little boss?” he asked, his deep voice carrying a rare, gentle warmth.
Mia stood up proudly, adjusting her sunglasses with her free hand while clutching the bear against her chest.
“Guarding Barnaby,” she declared with absolute conviction.
Luca’s lips curved into a faint, rare smile.
“That is an important post,” he agreed, reaching out with a massive, calloused hand to gently tap the nose of the stuffed bear.
My heart leaped straight into my throat.
If he pressed just a little harder, he would feel the stiff, unnatural bulk of the paper inside the cotton stuffing.
I stepped forward from the shadows, my throat dry.
“Mia, darling, come inside. Don Luca is busy with work.”
Luca stood up, his tall frame towering over both of us as his dark eyes locked onto mine.
There was something heavy and unreadable in his gaze—something that made me wonder if he had already seen the note on his desk.
“Let her be, Anna,” he said quietly.
“The house is safer with her on watch.”
He turned and began walking toward his office, calling out to his men to assemble the logistics team for midnight.
I wanted to run after him.
I wanted to scream out that his shipment was compromised and that the man walking beside him was selling his empire to the highest bidder.
But Julian was already flanking Luca, holding a leather folder and whispering something into his ear.
Julian glanced back over his shoulder at me, a microscopic, venomous smirk touching his lips.
In that chilling moment, I knew the awful truth: Luca had never received my note.
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Julian had intercepted it before Luca ever stepped foot into his study.
The trap was already set, and the crosshairs were pointed squarely at my little girl and me.
