Chapter 2 - The Man Outside the Daycare
Vincent did not raise his voice.
That was how I knew the situation was serious.
“Start from the beginning.”
I sat across from his desk while Renzo closed the doors.
My hands felt numb.
“Two weeks ago, I picked Mia up around five. There was a man across the street near a black SUV. I thought he was waiting for someone.”
“What made you notice him?”
“He was looking at the children, but he wasn’t smiling.”
Renzo leaned against the bookshelf.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Parents look tired. Babysitters look distracted. Grandparents wave. He just stood there.”
Vincent pushed the photograph closer.
“Same man?”
“Older now. But yes.”
His eyes became flat.
Renzo said, “Marco Bellini.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Vincent explained.
“Former driver for my uncle.”
“Why was he near the car when your niece died?”
“That’s what I intend to learn.”
I looked at the clipping again.
“Police investigated?”
“They called it retaliation from a rival family.”
“You didn’t believe them?”
“I did.”
Something in his voice changed.
“For twelve years.”
Renzo opened the folder.
“The photograph surfaced last month in an old insurance archive. Bellini claimed he left the country before Sofia’s death.”
“But he was there.”
“Yes.”
I thought of Mia leaving daycare.
Laughing because she had painted a purple sun.
The memory turned cold.
“Why would he watch Mia?”
Vincent looked at me.
“That is the question.”
I stood immediately.
“I’m taking her home.”
“No.”
I bristled.
“You don’t decide where my daughter goes.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he corrected himself.
“You’re right.”
The apology was so unexpected that Renzo glanced over.
Vincent continued.
“But I strongly recommend you don’t return to your apartment tonight.”
“Why?”
“If Bellini followed Mia because of this house, your address may already be known.”
“My sister—”
“Renzo will bring Rebecca here.”
I crossed my arms.
“You just said you don’t decide.”
Renzo covered a smile with his hand.
Vincent looked annoyed with himself.
“Would you like us to bring your sister here?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
It was the first time I saw him adjust his language because I pushed back.
That mattered later.
By six, Rebecca arrived carrying scrubs, a backpack, and enough suspicion for three people.
She looked Vincent up and down.
“So you’re the boss.”
He replied, “Apparently.”
“Mia says you make faces.”
Renzo left the room to laugh privately.
Rebecca pulled me aside.
“What exactly have you gotten us into?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s comforting.”
Mia spent dinner telling Vincent that broccoli was “tiny trees that taste sad.”
Vincent ate his without argument.
Rebecca watched him.
Later she whispered, “I expected worse.”
“That is a dangerous sentence.”
“Still true.”
The estate moved into quiet lockdown.
Security doubled at the gates.
Vincent ordered a team to watch my apartment and Mia’s daycare.
I hated needing him.
I hated even more that he understood that.
At nine, he found me standing near the guest-room window.
“You want to leave.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“I don’t know what’s waiting outside.”
He nodded.
“I know the feeling.”
That surprised me.
“You live in a mansion with armed guards.”
“That doesn’t mean I feel safe.”
For one second, the feared man disappeared.
He looked tired.
Human.
Then Mia ran into the hallway carrying Peanut.
“Mr. Vincent!”
He turned.
“What now?”
“You promised story.”
“I did not.”
“You looked like you did.”
“That is not legally binding.”
She climbed onto the sofa.
He looked at me helplessly.
I laughed before I could stop myself.
His eyes moved to me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You laughed.”
“So?”
“You work here.”
“Is laughing forbidden too?”
His mouth twitched.
“Apparently not.”
He read Mia half a story before a call interrupted him.
Renzo entered.
“We found Bellini’s SUV.”
Vincent stood.
“Where?”
“Abandoned near Flushing.”
“Prints?”
“Processing.”
“And the daycare?”
“No contact.”
Then Renzo looked at me.
“There’s more.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“A camera across from the daycare caught Bellini twice.”
“Twice?”
“One day you saw him. Another three days earlier.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“He wasn’t watching randomly.”
Renzo nodded.
“He was waiting for Mia.”
I gripped the back of the sofa.
“Why?”
“No answer yet.”
Mia looked up from her book.
“Mommy?”
I forced a smile.
“Keep reading, baby.”
She handed the book to Vincent.
He sat again.
That simple action steadied me.
Renzo placed another photograph on the table.
This one showed Bellini speaking to someone outside a deli.
The second man wore a baseball cap.
His face was partly visible.
Vincent froze.
“Impossible.”
Renzo said nothing.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Vincent stared at the photograph.
“My cousin, Luca.”
“Why is that impossible?”
“Because Luca died eleven years ago.”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
Rebecca whispered, “You people have a lot of dead relatives who aren’t staying dead.”
Vincent ignored her.
He enlarged the photograph.
The man’s face was older, scarred near the jaw.
But family resemblance was unmistakable.
Renzo sat.
“If that’s Luca, Sofia’s death wasn’t what we thought.”
Vincent looked toward Mia.
She was turning pages, unaware that adults around her had just lost certainty about the past.
I asked, “What happened to Luca?”
Vincent’s voice lowered.
“He disappeared a year after Sofia died. His car was found burned. Police found remains.”
“Identified?”
Renzo answered.
“Dental records.”
Rebecca muttered, “Those can be falsified.”
Vincent looked at her.
“You a detective?”
“Nurse. We notice bad paperwork too.”
The next morning, a manila envelope appeared inside the estate mailbox.
No stamp.
No courier record.
Inside was a photograph of Mia leaving daycare.
On the back, written in black marker:
SHE HAS HIS EYES.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Vincent.
“Whose eyes?”
He did not answer immediately.
That terrified me more than if he had.
Finally he asked, “Who was Mia’s father?”
I stiffened.
“Why?”
“Elena.”
“My ex-husband. Jason Carter.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Two years ago.”
Renzo pulled out his tablet.
I snapped, “Do not investigate me without asking.”
Vincent stopped him.
Then looked at me.
“May I?”
I hated how much fear sat inside that simple question.
“Yes.”
Renzo searched.
Within minutes his expression changed.
“There’s no current address for Jason Carter.”
“I know.”
“No tax filing in two years.”
“He left.”
“No driver’s license renewal.”
My hands became cold.
Vincent asked, “Did you ever meet his family?”
“His mother died before we met. He said his father was gone.”
“Pictures?”
“Almost none.”
Renzo turned the screen.
A photograph appeared from an old marriage-license database.
Jason.
My Jason.
Longer hair.
Clean-shaven.
Same eyes.
Vincent stared at him.
Then slowly turned the photograph of Luca around.
The resemblance was not exact.
It didn’t need to be.
Rebecca whispered, “Oh my God.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Vincent’s voice was barely audible.
“Jason Carter may not be who he told you he was.”
My heart pounded.
“What are you saying?”
He looked at Mia across the room.
May you like
Then back at me.
“I think your daughter’s father may be Luca Castalano.”
