Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Dark
The improvement in Noah and Lily over the next ten days was nothing short of miraculous, though agonizingly slow. Lily’s color began to return, a delicate rose blooming on her pale cheeks. Noah was sitting up without help, demanding that Grace read him chapters from adventure novels he was supposed to be too young for.
Grace lived in a small guest room on the third floor of the mansion. She worked sixteen hours a day, refusing to leave the children’s side until they fell into deep, undisturbed sleep.
However, life outside the bedroom was escalating.
The Callahan family had enemies—chief among them the Moretti syndicate, who had been trying to reclaim territory along the Chicago riverfront. Sensing Vincent’s distraction over his children’s illness, Victor Moretti had begun pushing into Callahan territory, hijacking shipments and bribing city officials.
One evening, past midnight, Grace walked down to the estate’s industrial kitchen to fetch a warm glass of milk for Lily, who had woken up from a nightmare.
The mansion was dark, save for the low amber glow of the wall sconces. As she turned down the main gallery floor, she heard low, urgent voices echoing from Vincent’s study.
"...It's a rat inside the house, boss," Mason’s harsh voice carried through the crack in the door. "Moretti knew exact details about the convoy schedule on Route 41. Only five people had that blueprint."
"Find the leak," Vincent’s voice was like grinding iron. "And when you do, take them to the docks. Do not bring them back."
"What about the maid?" Mason asked suddenly.
Grace froze in the hallway, her fingers tightening around the glass pitcher in her hands.
"What about her?" Vincent demanded.
"She arrived right when the kids were at their worst. Suddenly she’s the center of the household. The kids trust her. You’re letting her rule the second floor. Moretti’s people have been sniffing around her old apartment in Evanston."
A long pause followed. Grace’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Grace Miller is clean," Vincent said flatly. "I ran her myself."
"Clean people can be bought, Vincent," Mason insisted. "Her debts... she owed ninety thousand dollars to Evanston General Hospital. Three days after she started working here, forty thousand of that debt was mysteriously cleared from an off-shore account."
Grace gasped softly, pulling back into the shadows. Forty thousand dollars? She hadn't paid a dime. She didn't have forty dollars, let alone forty thousand. Someone was setting her up.
Inside the room, Vincent was silent for a terrifyingly long ten seconds.
"Keep two men on her," Vincent finally ordered. "If she steps one foot out of line, if she speaks to anyone outside this house without my permission... clear the floor."
Grace silently backed away, her mind racing. She returned to the twins' room, her hands shaking as she poured Lily’s milk.
"Miss Grace?" Lily murmured, rubbing her eyes with a small fist. "Are you scared?"
Grace sat down on the edge of the plush mattress, forcing a gentle smile onto her face despite the icy terror running through her veins. She smoothed Lily’s dark curls—so like her father’s.
"No, sweetie," Grace whispered. "Just tired."
"Dad looked scary today," Lily offered softly. "He had his dark face on. But I told him you were going to teach us how to make chocolate chip pancakes tomorrow."
Grace kissed Lily’s forehead. "He’s just trying to protect you, Lily. In his own way."
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"He doesn't know how to play," Noah called out sleepily from his bed. "He only knows how to look angry."
"He forgets how," Grace said, her heart aching for the scarred, cold man who stood guard over a life he didn't know how to enjoy. "Sometimes adults forget how to play when they carry too many heavy things."
