Chapter 2 - Three Rapid Taps
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In the front passenger seat of the SUV, Carlo Conti, Dominic’s head of security for the past twelve years, turned his head at the sudden change in the cabin’s atmosphere. Dominic raised a single gloved finger, demanding total silence, while tapping the screen to route the audio into the vehicle’s encrypted recorder.
Over the line, Marin did not answer the question. Her breathing sounded shallow against the rhythmic whirr of the oxygen machine.
"He carries a navy-blue canvas backpack, doesn't he?" Vivien continued, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. "With a little red asthma inhaler clipped right inside the front mesh pocket. St. Francis Academy on Elm Street. Every Tuesday and Thursday when the afternoon bus is delayed, he sits on the low stone wall near the side wrought-iron gate, waiting for you to get off your shift."
The air inside the SUV seemed to vanish completely. Beside the steering wheel, Carlo’s hand went straight to his encrypted secondary phone.
"Do not talk about my son," Marin whispered, her voice fracturing.
"Then don't force my hand," Vivien replied, sounding almost bored as she paced across the bedroom rug. "A single mother working sixty hours a week should understand leverage better than anyone in Newport. Tomorrow night, you give me Isabella’s blessing in front of the family."
"And if I tell Mr. Varelli what you just said to me?" Marin asked shakily.
Vivien let out a cold, dismissive chuckle.
"Who is Dominic going to believe, Marin? The woman wearing his grandmother’s four-carat diamond, or the hired help? If you decide to grow a sudden conscience tonight, I will tell Dominic that you've developed an unhealthy, pathetic obsession with him and this estate. I’ll tell him you've been forging his mother’s messages on that little wooden board to drive a wedge between us. By Saturday morning, you will be blacklisted from every care agency in New England, and child services will be auditing whether you can even afford Eli’s inhalers."
"You don't know Dominic at all," Marin said, her voice trembling.
"Neither do you, sweetheart," Vivien snapped. "He’s a Varelli. He cares about power and appearances."
Suddenly, three weak, distinct raps sounded against the wooden armrest of a wheelchair.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Dominic closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Five years ago, a massive stroke had stolen his mother’s speech and paralyzed her left side, leaving only three fingers on her right hand mobile. Isabella Varelli tapped twice for yes. Once for no.
Three rapid taps meant only one thing.
Enough.
"Stop that irritating noise, old woman," Vivien hissed over the line.
A sharp crash echoed through the speaker as the cedar letter board struck the side of the oxygen cart and hit the floorboards.
"Dominic?" Vivien gasped suddenly, her footsteps freezing as she glanced down at the glowing screen on the mahogany table and noticed the active call timer ticking past four minutes. "Dominic, are you there?"
Dominic pressed the disconnect button without uttering a single breath. No accusation. No warning.
"Boss?" Carlo asked, his hand already poised over his keypad.
Dominic handed his phone forward, his face devoid of all emotion.
"Preserve that audio file on three separate air-gapped drives and send a certified copy to our chief counsel," Dominic ordered, his voice deadly calm. "Then pull every traffic and exterior surveillance camera within four blocks of St. Francis Academy for the past seventy-two hours."
"And the boy?" Carlo asked. "Eli?"
"Nine years old. St. Francis Academy. Blue backpack, red inhaler," Dominic said, looking straight ahead at the storm. "Have our family attorney call the principal immediately and report a documented security threat against the student so they hold him inside the main office. Dispatch local police and two of our own cars to the side gate. No improvisation, Carlo. Nobody scares that child."
"On it," Carlo said, already dialing.
Dominic looked at his driver in the rearview mirror.
"Take us to the estate."
As the heavy SUV surged onto the coastal highway, Dominic’s phone vibrated on the leather console with an incoming text message from Vivien.
May you like
Sorry, darling! My phone slipped off the table and the call dropped. Your mother is resting peacefully now. Tomorrow night is going to be absolute perfection.
Dominic read the message once, then turned the screen facedown against the console. Tomorrow night would be perfection—just not for Vivien Morrow.
