Chapter 3 - The Secret Garden
The rear gardens of the Valente estate were a masterclass in aristocratic isolation—acres of manicured boxwood hedges, weeping willows that trailed their branches in dark ponds, and high, ivy-covered brick walls topped with motion-sensitive sensors. To anyone on the outside, it looked like a paradise of old money and quiet dignity. To Elena Reyes, it was a gilded cage with a very short leash.
That afternoon, the rain had cleared, leaving the air damp and smelling of wet earth and crushed pine needles. Elena sat on a stone bench near the greenhouse, her hands trembling slightly as she mended a tear in one of Luca’s silk-lined winter coats.
Beside her, sitting cross-legged on the damp grass, Mia was deep in concentration. She had a collection of flat grey stones and was arranging them in a straight line, muttering to herself in a language only three-year-olds understand.
"Mama," Mia said without looking up.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I have a suit?"
Elena stopped sewing, her needle hovering an inch above the black wool. A knot of pure dread tightened in her stomach. "Mia, we talked about this. You cannot go into Mr. Valente’s dressing room ever again."
"Not his," Mia said reasonably, looking up with large, ink-dark eyes that were far too observant for her age. "A pink one. With sparkles. So I can be important in the garden."
Elena let out a shaky breath, setting the coat aside. She reached out and pulled her daughter onto her lap, burying her face in the child's soft, sweet-smelling hair. "You don't need a suit to be important, baby. You’re already important to me."
"And to the tall man?"
Elena froze. "What tall man?"
"The one with the shiny shoes. He looked at me from the window."
Elena’s heart skipped a beat. She turned her head sharply toward the rear facade of the mansion. Second-floor windows stretched in a stately row above the gardens. From one of those tall, arched panes, the heavy velvet curtains were parted by an inch.
Up there, standing in the dim shadow of his private study, Luca Valente watched them.
He hadn't planned to look. He had been drafting a wire transfer to a Swiss account when a flash of bright red—Mia’s hair ribbon—had caught his eye through the glass. He had stood there for five minutes, motionless, watching the way Elena held the child, the fierce, desperate protectiveness in the woman's shoulders, and the way the little girl tilted her head back to laugh at something her mother whispered.
For a man whose entire life was calculated in terms of leverage, debts, and enemies, the sight of two people existing in his house purely out of affection—not fear, not obligation, not greed—was deeply disorienting.
He raised a hand slowly, his fingers resting against the cool glass of the windowpane.
Below, Elena felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine. She pulled Mia closer, standing up abruptly and gathering her sewing basket.
"Come inside, Mia. Now."
"Why, Mama? It’s pretty out here."
"Because," Elena whispered, her eyes fixed on that dark, unblinking window on the second floor, "some giants live in stone castles, and even if they smile, they are still made of stone."
They hurried back toward the staff entrance just as a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the main portico.
Julian Mercer stepped out of the car. He didn't look at Elena or the child, but as he passed them on the gravel path, his stride slowed for a fraction of a second. His cold, grey eyes swept over Mia with a look of clinical calculation—the look of a man cataloging a loose thread on an expensive garment.
Elena felt the blood drain from her face. She quickened her pace, pushing through the heavy oak service door, slamming it shut against the chilly afternoon wind.
Upstairs, Luca turned away from the window. His phone buzzed on the desk.
It was an encrypted text from an unknown number in Palermo: The package is moving. Be ready.
May you like
Luca picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. Then he looked down at the corner of his walnut desk where Mia’s smudged fingerprint still remained.
"Let them move," he muttered to the empty room.
