Chapter 2 - The Estate on the Sound
The black sedan arrived at seven-twenty-five AM, idling quietly against the curb outside Chloe’s rundown apartment building in Queens.
Chloe walked down the creaky wooden stairs wearing her best clothes—a simple navy blue sweater, black trousers, and sensible flat shoes. She carried a small leather bag containing a notebook, a pen, and her brother Leo’s old ASL dictionary, its pages worn and dog-eared from years of use.
The driver, a quiet man named Thomas who wore a dark suit and kept his eyes on the rearview mirror, opened the door for her without a word.
The drive took nearly an hour, moving away from the cramped, exhaust-filled streets of the city toward the affluent, tree-lined roads of Long Island’s North Shore. The car turned off the main highway onto a long, private road bordered by high stone walls and wrought-iron security gates. Armed guards monitored the entrance, checking the car’s undercarriage with mirrors before waving them through.
The Costello estate was massive—a stone mansion built in the 1920s overlooking the gray, misty waters of Long Island Sound. Extensive gardens surrounding the property were meticulously kept, though the presence of men in dark suits patrolling the grounds gave the place the distinct feel of a golden fortress.
When the car pulled up to the grand front entrance, Marco was already waiting on the wide stone steps.
"Miss Mercer," Marco greeted her with a brief nod. "Follow me."
Chloe followed him through massive oak doors into a soaring foyer with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and a grand curved staircase. The house was quiet, save for the distant sound of ocean waves crashing against the cliffs below.
"Mrs. Costello is in the sunroom," Marco explained as they walked down a long, carpeted corridor lined with expensive oil paintings. "Mr. Costello is in his office meeting with the harbor bosses. He expects you to spend four hours with his mother every morning. You will translate for her, assist her with her daily tasks, and teach Mr. Costello for one hour every evening after dinner."
"And if I refuse?" Chloe asked softly.
Marco stopped and looked back at her. His expression wasn't angry; it was deadly serious. "You don't refuse Mr. Costello, Miss Mercer. But more importantly... Mrs. Costello hasn't smiled in three years. Not since her husband died and her hearing vanished completely due to illness. You gave her something back last night. Don't take it away from her."
Chloe swallowed hard, the weight of Marco’s words settling on her shoulders. "I didn't plan on it."
Marco opened a set of double glass doors at the end of the hall, stepping aside.
The sunroom was flooded with morning light. Glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the sea. Sitting in a plush armchair near a table set with silver teapots and fresh pastries was Rosa Costello.
When Rosa saw Chloe step into the room, her eyes lit up. She immediately put down her teacup, stood up, and raised her hands: You came!
Chloe smiled, feeling a sudden, unexpected warmth thaw the cold knot of anxiety in her stomach. She set her bag down and signed back: I came. Good morning, Mrs. Costello.
Call me Rosa, the older woman insisted, gesturing for Chloe to sit in the armchair across from her. Sit down. Drink tea. Tell me everything. Who taught you to sign? Why were you working in that noisy, greasy restaurant?
For the next three hours, the grand mansion seemed to disappear. Chloe sat with Rosa, translating her thoughts, her memories, and her sharp, sarcastic observations about the world. Rosa was brilliant, fiercely independent, and starved for real human connection. She talked about her youth in Sicily, her late husband’s hot temper, and her deep worry for her son, Gabriel.
He carries too much, Rosa signed, her fingers moving with sad, slow grace. His father left him a war, not just a business. Gabriel thinks he has to be made of iron to keep us safe. He forgets that iron rusts when it’s left out in the cold.
Chloe listened, taking notes in her book when Rosa introduced older Sicilian variations of certain signs.
At noon, the glass doors opened quietly.
Gabriel stepped into the room. He had taken off his suit jacket, wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tattoos winding around his wrists. He looked tired, the faint dark circles beneath his eyes speaking of long nights and heavy burdens.
Rosa instantly turned her head, her sharp eyes catching his presence. She raised her hand and signed the word Gabriel had learned the night before: Mother.
Gabriel paused. He looked at his mother, then at Chloe, who gave him a brief, encouraging nod.
Gabriel raised his right hand, his thumb touching his chin twice. His execution was smoother today, less hesitant.
Rosa clapped her hands together in delight, a bright, musical laugh escaping her lips. She quickly signed back: Good boy. Now sit down and eat lunch with us.
Gabriel looked at Chloe. "What did she say?"
"She called you a good boy," Chloe translated, suppressing a small smile, "and she ordered you to sit down and eat."
Gabriel shook his head, but a faint ghost of a smile touched his lips. He pulled out a chair beside his mother and sat down.
"Bring another plate," Gabriel ordered a servant standing near the door. "Miss Mercer is eating with us."
"Oh, no, Mr. Costello, I shouldn't—" Chloe began.
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"You're working here now, Chloe," Gabriel said, using her first name for the first time. His voice was steady, deep, and surprisingly gentle. "And my mother doesn't like eating alone. Sit."
Chloe sat back down, her heart skipping a strange beat as Gabriel’s dark eyes rested on her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She realized then that stepping into this house wasn't just a job. She was being pulled into the center of Gabriel Costello’s life—and there was no easy way out.
