Chapter 3 - The Man Who Took the Money
Derek Voss was not brought to the townhouse.
Giovanni refused to tell me where he was.
That should have relieved me.
It didn't.
At 1:20 in the morning, I sat in a guest bedroom wearing one of Rosa's oversized sweaters while a private doctor wrapped my ribs.
“Hairline fracture,” she said. “Painful, but stable.”
“How long?”
“Several weeks.”
I closed my eyes.
Several weeks meant slower work.
Slower work meant fewer shifts.
Fewer shifts meant—
“Your salary continues.”
Giovanni stood in the doorway.
The doctor packed her bag.
I glared at him.
“Do you normally eavesdrop on medical appointments?”
“In my house? Occasionally.”
The doctor hid a smile and left.
I folded my arms carefully.
“You don't have to pay me for work I don't do.”
“You were injured because you work for me.”
“We already had this argument.”
“And you lost.”
“I don't remember losing.”
“You're upstairs wearing Rosa's sweater.”
Fair point.
He entered.
There was a small cut across one knuckle.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
“Did you hurt him?”
“Lauren.”
“Did you?”
“He's alive.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No.”
I waited.
Giovanni sighed.
“Franco hit him.”
“That is somehow not comforting.”
“It wasn't intended to be.”
He placed a phone on the table.
Mine.
The screen was cracked.
“You found it?”
“In Voss's apartment.”
I picked it up.
“Why keep it?”
“Because he was ordered to.”
I looked at him.
“By Carlo?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Then who?”
“Voss never met the person who hired him.”
“How was he paid?”
“Cash. Instructions delivered through an intermediary.”
“What instructions?”
Giovanni was silent.
I knew immediately.
“What?”
“Lauren—”
“Tell me.”
His jaw tightened.
“They were told not to kill you.”
My fingers closed around the phone.
“They were told to make the injuries visible.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
“To take your phone.”
“Why?”
“To see whether I would recover it.”
I felt sick.
“This was a test.”
“Yes.”
“Of you.”
“Yes.”
“Using me.”
His eyes hardened.
“Yes.”
For the first time, I saw something beneath his control.
Guilt.
That made me angrier.
“You don't get to look guilty.”
His eyebrows rose.
“You didn't hit me.”
“No.”
“You didn't send them.”
“No.”
“So don't stand there acting like you're responsible for every terrible thing in Manhattan.”
“You were selected because of me.”
“That doesn't mean you get to decide everything for me now.”
A long silence followed.
Finally, he nodded.
“Fair.”
I hadn't expected that.
“But you're still not leaving.”
“There it is.”
“Because that part isn't about guilt. It's about keeping you alive.”
A knock interrupted us.
Franco entered.
“We found the intermediary.”
Giovanni turned.
“Who?”
“Peter Lang.”
Luca appeared behind him.
“What the hell?”
I looked around.
“Am I the only person who doesn't know everyone?”
Luca leaned against the doorframe.
“Lang handles accounting for several Moretti businesses.”
Giovanni's face had gone cold.
“For how long?”
“Eleven years,” Franco said.
“Bring him.”
“Already trying.”
Franco hesitated.
“There’s more.”
He handed Giovanni a tablet.
“Lang accessed household employment records three days before Lauren was attacked.”
My breath caught.
Giovanni looked up.
“What records?”
“Schedules. Addresses. Emergency contacts.”
“My sister.”
I stood.
Pain exploded through my ribs.
Giovanni caught me before I fell.
For one second, his hand was around my waist.
Then he immediately released me.
“Sit.”
“Call whoever is watching Megan.”
Franco was already dialing.
He spoke briefly.
Then nodded.
“She's safe. Sleeping. Nothing unusual.”
I exhaled.
Giovanni looked at the tablet.
“Why Lauren?”
Franco scrolled.
“There are nineteen household employees.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe because I walk home.”
Rosa appeared in the hallway.
“No.”
We turned.
She had clearly heard us.
“What do you mean?” Giovanni asked.
Rosa stepped inside.
“Lauren wasn't supposed to work Tuesday night.”
I stared at her.
“She covered for me,” Rosa continued. “My grandson was sick.”
Giovanni's gaze sharpened.
“Was that schedule change recorded?”
“No. It happened that afternoon.”
Franco and Giovanni exchanged a look.
I understood a second later.
“If whoever chose me used the employee records three days earlier…”
“They expected Rosa,” Giovanni said.
Rosa went pale.
The room became silent.
The attackers had not chosen me.
I had simply walked into a trap meant for someone else.
But Franco was still studying the records.
“Wait.”
He enlarged something.
“No.”
Giovanni stepped beside him.
“What?”
Franco pointed.
“The schedule was changed.”
Rosa shook her head.
“I didn't update it.”
“Someone did.”
The system showed the edit.
Tuesday, 4:37 p.m.
Housekeeping assignment changed from ROSA MARTINEZ to LAUREN HALE.
My skin prickled.
“Who changed it?”
Franco opened the administrator log.
Then he stopped.
Giovanni read the name.
His expression became unreadable.
Luca stepped forward.
“Who?”
Giovanni slowly turned the tablet around.
The account belonged to:
May you like
Luca Moretti.
---
