Chapter 3 - The Broken Lock
The air in the basement storage room was cold and stagnant. Juliet stood in the dark, her chest heaving as she tried to keep her panic under control.
She was twenty feet underground, locked inside a reinforced concrete vault. Her phone was upstairs on her nightstand, charging. Nobody was scheduled to come down to the laundry room until six the next morning.
"Okay, Juliet," she whispered to herself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Think. You've survived four chaotic brothers in a three-bedroom apartment. You can figure this out."
She pulled the penlight from her apron pocket—a small tool she always kept for inspecting stains on fabrics. The thin beam of light cut through the ink-black darkness, illuminating the stacks of boxes and iron shelves.
She returned to the central table, picking up the photograph she had dropped.
“Look for V.D.”
The note was clearly written by Elena Caruso before her death six months ago. Elena had discovered that Victor Dane was embezzling syndicate money, and she had tried to leave a trail. But before she could tell Matteo, she had died.
Was her death really an accident? Or had Victor silenced her?
A cold shiver ran down Juliet's spine. If Victor realized she had found this note, he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate her too.
She swept her penlight across the room, searching for an exit. At the far back of the storage room, near the ceiling, was a narrow ventilation grate. It was high up, but the iron shelving units beside it provided a ladder.
Juliet tucked the photograph safely into the hidden inner pocket of her uniform dress. Then, she began to climb the metal shelves.
Her curvy frame made the climb challenging, but she was strong. She gripped the metal bars, hoisting herself up until she reached the dusty grate. Using the edge of a heavy brass paperweight she had grabbed from a desk, she worked frantically on the rusted screws holding the vent cover in place.
One. Two. Three.
The metal screws gave way with a sharp snap. Juliet shoved the grate aside, squirmed her head and shoulders into the narrow metal shaft, and began army-crawling through the dust toward the faint light at the far end.
Ten agonizing minutes later, she burst through an exterior exit hatch near the mansion's rear rose garden, tumbling out onto the wet grass, gasping for air.
She was covered in dust and cobwebs, her uniform torn at the hem, but she was alive.
She didn't run to her room. She didn't call the police. She knew how the Caruso empire worked—Matteo was the law here. If she tried to flee, Victor could easily frame her or intercept her before she reached safety.
She had to go directly to Matteo.
Juliet entered the house through the kitchen side-door, hurrying up the back staircase to the master wing.
As she reached the top landing, she saw a light shining beneath the door of Matteo’s private study. But before she could reach it, she heard voices coming from inside.
The door was slightly ajar. Juliet pressed her back against the hallway wall, peeking through the crack.
Matteo sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his face grim. Standing across from him was Victor Dane.
"I’m telling you, Matteo, the girl is unstable," Victor was saying, his voice filled with feigned concern. "Rosa caught her wandering around the private accounts office earlier tonight. She’s snooping. She may have been sent by the rival families in Chicago to gather intel on your liquid assets."
Matteo leaned back in his leather chair, his dark eyes unreadable. "Juliet isn't a spy, Victor. I had Dominic run her background three times. She’s a housekeeper from Detroit with no ties to the syndicate."
"People can be bought, Matteo!" Victor insisted, leaning over the desk. "She’s broke! Her rent was six months behind! A woman like that will do anything for money. I suggest we remove her from the estate tonight. I’ve already had my men lock down her quarters."
Juliet’s blood ran cold. Victor was already setting his trap, setting the stage to make her disappear.
Matteo stood up slowly, his towering presence filling the room. "No."
Victor paused. "No?"
"She stays," Matteo said, his voice dropping into an icy register that brooked no argument. "Nico ate dinner tonight because she sat with him. He hasn't had a nightmare in two days. Until I see proof that she is a threat to my family, she remains under my protection."
Victor’s jaw tightened. "Matteo, you're letting a pretty face cloud your judgment. Your father would never have—"
"My father is dead," Matteo cut him off coldly. "And I run this family. We're done for tonight, Victor. Get out."
Victor bowed his head stiffly, hiding his fury, and turned toward the door.
Juliet retreated silently down the carpeted hallway, hiding in the dark alcove of a linen closet until she heard Victor’s heavy footsteps fade down the stairs.
When the coast was clear, she stepped out of the alcove and walked straight into Matteo’s study, pulling the double doors shut behind her.
Matteo looked up from his desk, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw her condition—covered in dust, her hair disheveled, her dress torn.
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"Juliet?" he asked, standing up instantly. "What happened to you? Victor said you were in your room."
"Victor lied," Juliet said, her voice shaking slightly, but her eyes burning with fierce determination. She reached into her apron pocket, pulled out the worn photograph, and laid it flat on his desk. "And he's been lying to you for six months."
