Chapter 3 - The Code of Silence
Gabriel Moretti did not trust easily. In his line of work, trust was a luxury traded for survival, often ending in betrayal. So when he found himself spending more hours staring at the second-floor camera feeds than analyzing market reports, he told himself it was due diligence.
He needed to know who entered his home. He needed to ensure Emma Brooks was not an informant planted by the Vanguard syndicate or an ambitious reporter digging into his shipping logistics.
He called Jonathan Hail late Thursday night.
"Run her file again," Gabriel ordered, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that cut through the phone line. "Dig deeper than standard background checks. Financials, medical history, past employers. Everything."
"Gabriel, she’s a domestic worker who applied through a standard agency," Jonathan replied, sounding weary. "Her mother passed away six months ago from chronic kidney failure. Medical debt swallowed their savings. That’s why she took the live-in position."
"Verify it," Gabriel snapped, disconnecting without a polite farewell.
Yet, as he pulled up the playback logs for the west wing hallway, his suspicion clashed with what his eyes recorded. At 2:00 AM, the cameras caught Emma walking quietly down the dark corridor toward the nursery. She wasn't carrying cleaning supplies. In her arms was a warm blanket she had spent the evening mending by hand, adding soft flannel patches where the original fabric had worn thin.
Lily had woken up crying—not from pain, but from a night terror that left her shivering. The senior night nurse had been resting in the adjacent quarters, fast asleep. Emma had intercepted the cry before the monitor even beeped at the nurse's station.
Gabriel watched on infrared night-vision as Emma sat in the rocking chair, holding Lily against her shoulder. She didn't sing or bounce the child with artificial cheer. She simply hummed a low, steady melody, rocking back and forth with a rhythm so grounded it seemed to absorb the terror right out of the room. Lily’s small hands, initially clenched into tight fists, slowly relaxed, her fingers tangling into the soft fabric of Emma’s maid uniform.
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Gabriel sat back in his leather chair, the glow of the monitors painting pale blue lines across his sharp cheekbones and the intricate ink swirling up his neck.
For the first time since his wife's passing, the knot of cold dread in his chest loosened just a fraction. But the world outside his gates was ruthless, and he knew that softness invited predators. If his enemies ever discovered where his true weakness lay, they would not hesitate to exploit it.
