Chapter 1 - HE GAVE THE FEMALE BODYGUARD ONE NIGHT TO PROVE HERSELF—BEFORE MIDNIGHT, SHE DISCOVERED HIS SECURITY CHIEF WAS SECRETLY OPENING THE DOOR FOR AN ASSASSIN
My name is Mia Callaway.
Two days earlier, I didn't even have a job.
I walked into Varro Security Agency wearing a black blazer, sensible shoes, and enough confidence to survive being underestimated.
Then I tripped over a trash can.
It slid across the lobby, hit a plant, and dumped dirt everywhere.
Twelve applicants stared at me.
“Structural weakness,” I said.
Nobody laughed.
They didn't hire me.
At least, that was what I thought.
At 7:13 the following morning, my phone rang.
“Mia Callaway?”
“Yes.”
“This is Martin Varro.”
I sat up.
The owner himself.
“Our best protection officer broke his leg last night.”
“I'm sorry.”
“His replacement has food poisoning.”
“Less sorry.”
Silence.
Then:
“Can you be in Westchester in ninety minutes?”
That was how I got the assignment nobody wanted me to have.
The client was Lorenzo DeLuca.
Construction.
Hotels.
Shipping.
Restaurants.
Warehouses.
And several businesses nobody discussed loudly.
Lorenzo had built the respectable half of his empire in public and inherited the dangerous half in private.
His twenty-six-year-old son, Matteo, had been receiving death threats for a month.
There was one problem.
Lorenzo had specifically requested a man.
“No woman will guard my son,” he'd reportedly said. “Women panic when violence begins.”
I closed the file.
“When do I start?”
At the DeLuca estate, Lorenzo studied me for three seconds.
“No.”
I didn't move.
He was fifty-five, silver beginning at his temples, with the calm face of a man accustomed to other people treating his opinions like laws.
Behind him stood Carlo Vescari, chief of security.
Carlo looked at me as if Varro had delivered a birthday clown.
Lorenzo glanced toward Martin.
“I requested your best man.”
Martin cleared his throat.
“Our best man is currently in surgery.”
“And this?”
I smiled.
“This has a name.”
Lorenzo's gaze returned to me.
I continued.
“Your son's last two guards were men.”
His eyes narrowed.
“One panicked under gunfire.”
Carlo's jaw tightened.
“The other sold Matteo's schedule.”
Carlo stepped forward.
“You've read confidential files.”
“I read the files required to keep the client alive.”
“You have an attitude.”
“So did the person who wrote the threat letters.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
Almost.
I continued.
“I've never panicked on assignment. Never taken a bribe. And I don't confuse size with competence.”
Lorenzo looked down.
My shoelace had somehow come untied.
He raised one eyebrow.
I looked down too.
Damn.
I tied it.
Then straightened.
“Footwear failure is not tactical failure.”
Carlo actually snorted.
Lorenzo stared at me for another moment.
“One night.”
I blinked.
“You have until morning to prove you belong here.”
I found Matteo in the library reading as if nobody had threatened to kill him.
He was nothing like his father.
Where Lorenzo looked carved from stone, Matteo looked like someone who had learned to hide intelligence behind humor.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
White shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
A book about Renaissance architecture in his hands.
He looked at me.
“You're smaller than the others.”
“You're less frightened than the file suggested.”
That made him smile.
“You read my file?”
“I know your shoe size.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Should I be concerned?”
“Only if I ask for your blood type.”
“You already know it.”
“O negative.”
His smile widened.
“I'm starting to like you.”
“Don't. It complicates invoices.”
For the next several hours, I studied everything.
Camera placement.
Guard rotations.
Service corridors.
Emergency exits.
Staff access.
Vehicle positions.
Radio frequencies.
And one detail bothered me.
The estate had too many blind spots for a family this paranoid.
Not accidental blind spots.
Designed ones.
A section near the wine cellar disappeared from surveillance for eleven seconds every camera rotation.
The north staircase had no coverage.
The west garden had two cameras pointing at nearly identical angles while leaving a service gate invisible.
“Who designed the system?” I asked.
Matteo looked up from his phone.
“Carlo.”
“Who approves modifications?”
“My father.”
“Who actually understands them?”
“Carlo.”
Bad answer.
At dinner, I asked Lorenzo about the threats.
He looked irritated.
“Carlo briefed you.”
“I want to hear your version.”
“My version?”
“Yes.”
“There have been six notes.”
“Seven.”
His fork stopped.
“What?”
“The file contains six. Matteo received another this afternoon.”
Lorenzo looked at his son.
Matteo sighed.
“I was going to mention it.”
“When?”
“Before dessert.”
Lorenzo's face darkened.
I placed the note on the table.
YOU WILL DIE WHERE YOUR FATHER THINKS YOU ARE SAFEST.
Lorenzo read it.
Then looked at Carlo.
“How did this reach him?”
Carlo took the note.
“It was inside a package.”
“I know.”
I watched him.
“Who screened the package?”
Carlo looked at me.
“My team.”
“That's the problem.”
His eyes hardened.
“You have been here six hours.”
“Seven.”
“You think you understand my operation?”
“No.”
“I think somebody else does.”
Silence.
Lorenzo leaned back.
“Explain.”
“The threats aren't trying to frighten Matteo into staying home.”
“They're pushing him here.”
Carlo scoffed.
“Ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
I looked at Lorenzo.
“Where did Matteo live before the threats?”
“Manhattan.”
“Private apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Variable schedule?”
“Yes.”
“Different drivers?”
“Yes.”
“And after the threats?”
Lorenzo understood.
“He moved here.”
“Fixed location. Predictable security. Same perimeter.”
Matteo stopped smiling.
I continued.
“Whoever sent the threats didn't drive Matteo into hiding.”
“They herded him.”
Carlo's face hardened.
“You're inventing conspiracies to justify your presence.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at him.
“But if I'm wrong, you lose nothing.”
“If you're wrong?”
“If I'm right, Matteo stays alive.”
Lorenzo said:
“She stays.”
Carlo didn't like it.
That made two of us.
At 11:32 p.m., I noticed a draft behind a bookcase in Lorenzo's private study.
Matteo watched as I ran my fingers along the molding.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding out why this wall breathes.”
I pressed one panel.
It opened.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
And on the floor lay a folded note.
Four words in red ink.
TONIGHT, YOU WON'T SEE IT COMING.
For once, Matteo stopped smiling.
“You should be afraid,” I said.
“I am.”
“Good. Fear keeps you alert.”
Then I heard something.
Footsteps.
Inside the wall.
Matteo reached for his gun.
I stopped him.
“Wait.”
A shadow moved beyond the passage.
Then a radio crackled.
A familiar voice whispered:
“East Wing is clear. Move when Carlo gives the signal.”
Matteo went completely still.
Carlo.
The man responsible for every camera.
Every guard.
Every locked door.
I looked at Matteo.
He finally understood what I already had.
The attack wasn't trying to get past his security.
His security was opening the door.
I grabbed Matteo's wrist.
“We move now.”
“My father—”
“Not by radio.”
“Why?”
“If Carlo controls security, assume he controls communications.”
We entered the passage.
I closed the panel behind us.
Darkness swallowed us.
Matteo whispered:
“You know where this goes?”
“No.”
“That inspires confidence.”
“Would you prefer Carlo?”
“Excellent point.”
We moved.
The passage split twice.
Old servants' corridors, probably built when the estate belonged to another family.
At the second junction, I heard men moving.
Three.
Maybe four.
I pulled Matteo into an alcove.
A flashlight beam passed.
Then voices.
“Where's the kid?”
“Library.”
“Carlo said the woman was with him.”
“Take her too.”
“Alive?”
Pause.
“No.”
Matteo's hand tightened into a fist.
I leaned close.
“Listen to me.”
He looked at me.
“You do exactly what I say.”
“My father—”
“Is currently safer than you because you're the target.”
“What if Carlo goes after him?”
“Then we find out why.”
Matteo stared.
“You're disturbingly calm.”
“My heart is doing something medically irresponsible.”
That almost made him laugh.
Almost.
We moved again.
The corridor ended behind a panel near the old chapel.
I opened it slightly.
Empty.
We slipped through.
Then I saw Lorenzo.
He stood near the altar.
Alone.
Holding a gun.
He aimed it at me.
“Mia?”
“Don't shoot.”
“Where is Carlo?”
“That was going to be my question.”
Matteo stepped out.
Lorenzo's face changed.
“What happened?”
I handed him the note.
Then told him what we'd heard.
For several seconds he said nothing.
“No.”
Matteo stared.
“Dad.”
“Carlo has been with me twenty-seven years.”
“That doesn't make him innocent.”
Lorenzo looked at me.
“You heard his name.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't hear his voice.”
“No.”
“You're accusing a man who has taken bullets for this family.”
“I'm telling you someone inside your security detail said to move when Carlo gave the signal.”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
Then the chapel lights died.
Gunfire erupted outside.
I shoved Matteo down.
Glass exploded.
Lorenzo fired toward the doorway.
I crawled to the side wall.
“Back passage!”
Matteo moved.
Lorenzo followed.
Three armed men entered the chapel.
I fired twice.
One dropped.
The others scattered.
We reached the passage.
Lorenzo stopped.
“Go.”
“You too.”
“I'm covering.”
I grabbed his jacket.
“You hired me to keep your son alive, not preserve your dramatic reputation.”
Matteo barked a laugh despite the gunfire.
Lorenzo looked offended.
Then entered.
We moved through darkness.
Behind us, men searched the chapel.
Ahead, something clicked.
I froze.
“What?” Matteo whispered.
“Wire.”
A thin line stretched ankle-high across the passage.
Booby trap.
Someone knew these tunnels.
I stepped over.
Lorenzo's face changed.
“This passage isn't on the modern plans.”
“Who knows about it?”
“My family.”
“Define family.”
“Me.”
“Matteo.”
“My sister.”
“My brother.”
“And Carlo.”
There it was.
Carlo again.
We reached a steel door.
Locked.
Matteo whispered:
“We're trapped.”
“No.”
I removed two tools from my hair.
Lorenzo stared.
“Those were in your hair?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody searches a woman's hair clip for lock picks.”
Eight seconds later, the door opened.
Matteo smiled.
“Marry me.”
“Survive probation first.”
Lorenzo stared at both of us.
“This is not the time.”
We emerged inside the garage.
A vehicle waited.
Engine running.
Nobody inside.
I stopped.
Too convenient.
“Don't touch it.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“That's my armored SUV.”
“Exactly.”
I crouched.
Underneath the chassis, a red light blinked.
Explosive.
Matteo whispered:
“Jesus.”
Lorenzo looked at me differently.
Not as a woman.
Not as an employee.
As the person standing between his son and death.
Then a door opened behind us.
Carlo entered.
Gun in hand.
Lorenzo raised his weapon.
Carlo froze.
For one second nobody spoke.
Then Lorenzo said:
“Tell me she's wrong.”
Carlo looked at the bomb.
Then at Matteo.
Then at me.
His face changed.
“Mia.”
“Yes?”
“Get them out.”
I stared.
“What?”
Carlo raised his radio.
“Now.”
A bullet struck him from behind.
Carlo collapsed.
Matteo shouted.
I fired toward the doorway.
A man disappeared.
Lorenzo dragged Carlo behind a vehicle.
Blood spread across Carlo's shirt.
Lorenzo pressed his hands against the wound.
“Carlo.”
Carlo coughed.
“Wasn't me.”
Lorenzo's face twisted.
“I know.”
Carlo looked at me.
“Radio.”
I picked it up.
He whispered:
“Cloned.”
Someone had cloned Carlo's channel.
The voice we'd heard hadn't been his team receiving orders from him.
Someone wanted us to think it was.
“Who?” I asked.
Carlo struggled to breathe.
“Family.”
“Who?”
His eyes moved to Lorenzo.
“Ask…”
Blood touched his lips.
“Ask who changed Matteo's trust.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What trust?”
Carlo looked terrified.
Then his eyes closed.
“Carlo!”
Alive.
Barely.
Sirens sounded beyond the estate.
Real police.
I looked at Lorenzo.
“What trust?”
His face had gone gray.
“My father's estate.”
“What about it?”
“If Matteo dies before thirty…”
He stopped.
Matteo stared at him.
“What?”
Lorenzo whispered:
“Your shares don't come to me.”
“Who gets them?”
Lorenzo looked toward the burning east wing of his house.
“My brother.”
And suddenly the attack had a name.
Not Carlo.
Not an outside enemy.
Gabriel DeLuca.
Lorenzo's younger brother.
May you like
Matteo's uncle.
And a man who had been smiling across the dinner table only three nights earlier.
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