Chapter 1 - SHE HAD FIFTY-THREE SECONDS TO SAVE THE MAN SHE CAME TO DESTROY
Martha Bellini knew she could lose her job for opening Damian Falcone’s bathroom door without permission.
She did not know she had exactly fifty-three seconds to save his life.
Steam filled the white marble bathroom when she pushed through the door. Damian stood beneath the running shower with his back toward her, water sliding over broad shoulders marked by old scars no employee in the Falcone mansion dared mention.
He turned slowly.
“Martha.”
There was no embarrassment in his voice.
Only warning.
“No one enters this room.”
Martha should have apologized and backed away.
Instead, she stared beyond him.
A tiny red dot trembled across the fogged mirror.
Her blood went cold.
“Get down!”
Damian’s hand moved toward the recessed cabinet beside the sink.
Martha ran.
“What the hell—”
She slammed both palms against his chest.
They hit the wet marble floor together.
The mirror exploded.
The crack of the shot seemed to split the room in half. Glass rained around them while a bullet buried itself in the wall exactly where Damian’s upper body had been.
For one stunned second, neither moved.
Then Damian rolled over Martha, shielding her as another section of the mirror collapsed.
“Stay down.”
Footsteps thundered through the hallway.
Damian reached beneath the sink, opened a concealed compartment, and pulled out a handgun.
The bathroom door flew open.
Victor Renzi entered first.
Four security men crowded behind him.
Every weapon immediately turned toward Martha.
Victor stared at Damian, then Martha, then the ruined mirror.
“What is she doing in here?”
“She saved my life.”
Victor did not lower his weapon.
“Or staged it.”
Martha’s stomach tightened.
Victor stepped closer.
“She enters a restricted room less than a minute before someone puts a round through your mirror?”
Damian’s gaze stayed on Martha.
Victor continued.
“That is either extraordinary luck or excellent timing.”
He was right.
That was what frightened Martha most.
Because Martha Bellini was not Martha Blake, the woman named on the mansion’s employment papers.
Her references were forged.
Her work history was invented.
She had entered Damian Falcone’s home nine days earlier for one reason.
To discover whether he had murdered her brother.
“Everyone out,” Damian said.
Victor looked at him.
“Damian.”
“Now.”
“She could be involved.”
“She stays.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
For a second Martha expected him to challenge the order.
He didn’t.
“I’m locking down the estate.”
“Do it.”
Victor looked once more at Martha.
“And if we find something linking her to the shooter?”
Damian’s expression did not change.
“Then bring it to me.”
Victor backed toward the doorway.
“One casing on the roof across the courtyard. We’re checking exits.”
“Go.”
The door closed.
Only then did Martha notice blood running down her arm.
Damian tossed her a towel.
“Press it against the cut.”
She obeyed.
He wrapped another towel around his waist and crouched beside the shattered mirror.
“Why did you come in?”
“I heard something.”
“What?”
“Glass.”
Damian slowly looked toward the window.
It had been intact until the bullet passed through it.
Martha knew immediately.
Wrong answer.
Damian stood.
“You heard glass break before glass broke.”
She said nothing.
He stepped toward her.
Martha had spent nine days studying him from hallways and dining rooms.
Damian never sat with his back toward a door.
He changed cars unpredictably.
He rarely ate food that had been left unattended.
She had considered those habits evidence of guilt.
Now she understood something else.
Damian Falcone survived because he noticed inconsistencies.
His right hand disappeared behind a folded towel.
When it returned, he held a silver lighter.
Martha stopped breathing.
Two initials were engraved into the metal.
A.B.
Andrew Bellini.
Her brother.
Damian flicked the lid open.
“Try again, Ms. Bellini.”
Martha’s knees nearly weakened.
He knew.
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
“You knew who I was?”
“On your third day.”
“And you let me stay?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to know what you were looking for.”
Martha stared at the lighter.
“Where did you get that?”
“Answer my question.”
“My brother died with it.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Damian’s voice remained calm.
“Andrew handed it to me three days before his car entered the Charles River.”
Martha stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“He came here because he believed somebody was following him.”
“You killed him.”
Damian’s face barely moved.
“That’s why you came.”
“You were the last powerful man photographed with him.”
“That photograph was taken three days before he died.”
“He texted me two hours before his death.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed.
“What did he say?”
Martha hesitated.
Then:
“If anything happens to me, find the man with the silver lighter.”
Damian looked at the object in his hand.
“That message wasn’t identifying his killer.”
“Then what was it doing?”
“Identifying the person he wanted you to find.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
His answer surprised her.
“I expect you to decide based on evidence.”
Martha stepped closer.
“My brother is dead.”
“I’m aware.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like he was a number.”
Something shifted in Damian’s face.
Gone almost immediately.
“He wasn’t.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“You expect me to believe Damian Falcone doesn’t know what happens inside his own city?”
“No.”
He looked toward the bullet hole.
“After today, I expect you to believe I don’t know what happens inside my own house.”
That silenced her.
Damian opened the bottom of the lighter.
A tiny memory card dropped into his palm.
Martha stepped forward instinctively.
He noticed.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“It means Andrew didn’t give you enough information to make you a target.”
Martha pointed toward the ruined mirror.
“I’m lying on a floor covered in glass next to a man somebody just tried to shoot.”
“I think that phase has passed.”
He inserted the memory card into a secure phone.
One file appeared.
Audio.
Forty-seven seconds.
Damian pressed play.
Andrew Bellini’s voice filled the bathroom.
Martha almost dropped the towel.
Her brother sounded breathless.
“If Damian is hearing this with Martha, then she saw the signal and both of you are alive.”
Martha stared at Damian.
He looked equally disturbed.
Andrew continued.
“Do not give the card to Victor.”
Martha’s eyes moved toward the door.
“Do not call the house doctor.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“The bullet is only the beginning.”
Martha stopped breathing.
“Someone inside the house has to finish the job.”
The recording ended.
Silence filled the bathroom.
Then something shattered outside.
A soft hiss followed.
White vapor began crawling through the gap beneath the bathroom door.
Damian moved toward the handle.
Martha grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
He looked at her.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t helpful.”
“It’s coming from the hallway.”
Damian watched the vapor spread.
His eyes changed.
“Martha.”
“What?”
“Get away from the door.”
A fist struck the other side.
“Damian!”
Victor.
“Open up!”
Damian did not move.
Victor pounded again.
“There’s been a breach in the ventilation system.”
Martha whispered,
“Andrew said not to trust him.”
Damian lowered his voice.
“He said don’t give him the card.”
“That’s not much better.”
Victor shouted again.
“You need to move!”
Damian looked toward a decorative panel beside the bathtub.
Martha followed his gaze.
“What?”
“There’s another way out.”
“Of course there is.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have guns under sinks and apparently escape doors beside bathtubs.”
“You came here under a fake identity to investigate a mafia boss.”
“Fair.”
Damian pulled the panel open.
A narrow service passage appeared beyond it.
Martha stared.
“You expect me to follow you into that?”
“You can stay with the mysterious vapor.”
“Wonderful choices.”
Damian stepped inside.
Then stopped.
He looked back at her.
“Bring the lighter.”
Martha picked it up.
“Why me?”
“Because if I’m wrong about you, you’ll run with it.”
“And?”
“I’ll know.”
She stared at him.
“You are insane.”
“Possibly.”
Victor struck the bathroom door again.
“Damian!”
Martha stepped into the passage.
Damian pulled the panel closed behind them.
Darkness surrounded them.
Only his phone illuminated the narrow corridor.
Martha whispered,
“Where does this go?”
“Private study.”
“Who knows about it?”
“My father knew.”
“Your father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Victor?”
Damian hesitated.
“No.”
That mattered.
They moved quickly.
Martha’s shoulder burned.
Damian noticed.
“You’re bleeding more.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Andrew used to say that.”
She stopped.
“What?”
Damian turned.
“He said it whenever somebody asked whether he was okay.”
Martha stared at him.
“You knew him better than you said.”
Damian’s expression hardened.
“I knew him long enough to get him killed.”
Before Martha could answer, a metallic click came from farther down the passage.
Damian immediately switched off the phone.
Darkness swallowed them.
Martha heard his breathing.
Then another sound.
Someone ahead.
Damian whispered,
“This passage was supposed to be empty.”
Martha tightened her grip on the silver lighter.
“So much for only your dead father knowing.”
A beam of light appeared around the corner.
A man’s voice spoke softly into a radio.
“They didn’t come out.”
Martha looked toward Damian.
He did not move.
The voice continued.
“Check the study.”
The light disappeared.
Footsteps retreated.
Martha whispered,
“That wasn’t Victor.”
“No.”
“Do you recognize the voice?”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
He waited several seconds.
Then:
“One of my uncle Enzo’s men.”
Martha felt the mystery widen.
“Your uncle?”
Damian turned his phone back on.
“My father’s younger brother.”
“Does he live here?”
“No.”
“Then why does one of his men know about your secret passage?”
Damian looked toward the darkness.
“That is now one of the questions.”
Martha tightened the towel around her shoulder.
“And Andrew?”
Damian looked at the lighter in her hand.
“The first.”
They continued toward the study.
Behind them, muffled shouting spread through the mansion.
The sniper was gone.
The hallway had been compromised.
Someone knew Damian’s private escape route.
And a dead man had somehow predicted enough of the attack to leave instructions behind.
For the first time since entering the Falcone mansion, Martha stopped wondering whether Damian had killed Andrew.
A more dangerous question had taken its place.
May you like
What had Andrew discovered that was worth killing him for—
and why had he believed Martha and Damian would have to survive it together?
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