Chapter 5 - The Shadow at the Window
Three weeks passed in a rhythm of quiet vigilance.
Under Maeve’s care, Lia flourished. The pale, anxious child who had hidden behind her father's leg at the party began to laugh again. Maeve spent mornings tutoring her in the sunroom, afternoons reading books on the east terrace, and evenings helping her make art projects out of seashells collected from the private beach below the cliffs.
Rafaele, despite his crushing schedule running Conti International, made a point of returning to the estate every evening by six o'clock to have dinner with them.
The dinners were quiet, held in the smaller family dining room off the garden. For the first time in years, the grand house felt less like a museum and more like a home. Maeve watched as the hard edges of Rafaele’s corporate armor softened whenever he looked at his daughter. She also noticed the quiet, observant way his eyes drifted toward her when he thought she wasn't looking—not with the dismissal of an employer, but with a growing, unspoken respect that made Maeve’s heart beat a little faster in her chest.
However, the peace was an illusion.
On a rainy Thursday evening in late September, fog rolled in off the Atlantic, smothering the grounds of Villa Miramare in a thick, grey blanket.
Rafaele was detained in Manhattan for an emergency board meeting. Marco was patrolling the perimeter near the main gate, leaving Maeve and Lia alone in the second-floor nursery wing.
At eight o'clock, Maeve tucked Lia into her canopy bed, reading her a story about a narwhal who searched the ocean for a lost star.
"Miss Maeve?" Lia asked softly, her eyes heavy with sleep.
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Are we safe here?"
Maeve paused, smoothing a strand of blond hair from the girl's forehead. "You are completely safe, Lia. I'm right in the next room, and Marco is outside."
"I saw a light down by the rocks earlier," Lia whispered. "Like a flashlight. It went click-click at my window."
Maeve’s hand went still. "When was this?"
"Before bath time," Lia murmured, her eyes finally closing as sleep took her. "A red light..."
Maeve stood up slowly. She walked to the nursery window, pulling back the heavy velvet curtain just an inch. Outside, the fog was dense, obscuring the garden below.
She walked into her adjoining room, picked up the house phone, and dialed Marco’s direct line.
Static buzzed over the receiver.
She pressed the hook, tried again. Nothing. The line was dead.
A sudden, sharp instinct—the same instinct that had made her drop her tray at the pool—surged through her veins.
Maeve moved quickly. She returned to the nursery, picked up the sleeping child out of bed, wrapped her in a heavy wool blanket, and carried her through the side connecting door into her own private suite. She set Lia inside the spacious, walk-in cedar closet, pressing a soft finger to her lips.
"Stay here, Lia," Maeve whispered. "Don't make a sound until I come back for you."
Lia nodded, wide-eyed, clutching her blue bear tightly.
Maeve closed the closet door until it was almost shut, picked up a heavy brass candlestick from her mantle, and walked into the darkened hallway.
The corridor was silent. The wall sconces flickered once, twice, and then went completely dark.
The emergency back-up generator should have kicked on within three seconds. It didn't. Someone had manually cut the estate’s main power supply.
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Maeve stood in the pitch-black hallway, her back pressed against the wall, listening.
From the bottom of the east staircase came the faint, wet sound of footsteps on carpet.
