Chapter 1 - The Little Girl Who Wouldn’t Let the MAFIA BOSS Die
Adeline Boudreaux was two years and ten months old when she found Vincent Castellano bleeding behind his desk.
The door to his office was half open.
She pushed it wider with the nose of the stuffed green alligator she dragged everywhere by one arm.
“Uncle Vin?”
No answer.
The office smelled wrong.
Not like the cedar cabinets Vincent kept polished or the bitter coffee his assistant carried in every morning.
Metal.
Rain.
Something sharp Adeline could not name.
Vincent was slumped sideways in his leather chair, one hand pressed hard against his left side. His white shirt had gone dark beneath his fingers.
His face looked gray.
Adeline stopped.
Most adults in the Castellano estate would later admit that what happened next frightened them almost as much as the blood.
She did not scream.
She did not run blindly through the hall.
She stared at Vincent for perhaps two seconds, her small face tightening with concentration.
Then she dropped the stuffed alligator.
Dragged the visitor’s chair across the Persian rug with both hands.
Climbed onto it.
Reached for the black desk phone.
Her fingers were too short.
Adeline stretched until one sneaker left the seat.
The receiver slipped from its cradle and hit the desk.
She caught it against her chest.
There were six buttons beneath Vincent’s private line.
One was red.
Three weeks earlier, her mother had pointed to the same kind of button in the staff kitchen.
“If somebody is very hurt and Mama isn’t there, you press this one.”
Adeline had asked why.
“Because this button brings people who know how to help.”
Now she pressed it.
Once.
A voice answered almost immediately.
“Security.”
Adeline held the receiver with both hands.
“Uncle Vincent bleeding.”
The security dispatcher went silent.
“What?”
“Uncle Vincent bleeding.”
Her voice remained solemn.
“Mama said say where.”
The man on the line suddenly sounded very awake.
“Where are you, sweetheart?”
“Office.”
“Mr. Castellano’s office?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is anyone else there?”
Adeline looked toward the open doorway.
“No.”
“Okay. Stay where you are. Do not touch anything. Help is coming.”
Adeline nodded even though he could not see her.
“Come now.”
“We’re coming now.”
She put the phone down badly, leaving it crooked across the cradle.
Then she climbed from the chair.
Vincent’s eyes opened.
Barely.
He looked toward her.
“Addie?”
She went to him but stopped two steps away.
“Mama says no touching blood.”
Even half-conscious, something changed in his face.
Maybe amusement.
Maybe disbelief.
“Your mama is smart.”
“You need doctor.”
“I think you’re right.”
His eyes closed again.
Adeline’s lower lip trembled.
For the first time, fear reached her.
She picked up her alligator and squeezed it beneath one arm.
Then she remembered the second thing Camille had taught her.
If help is coming, stay where the person can hear you.
“You gotta keep eyes.”
Vincent’s eyelids moved.
“What?”
“Keep eyes open.”
He obeyed.
Adeline sat cross-legged on the Persian rug.
She began telling him about a frog she had seen beside the pond that morning.
The frog was green.
The frog had jumped.
The frog had frightened Miss Clara from the kitchen.
Adeline repeated the story twice because she ran out of details.
Vincent listened because a two-year-old had apparently decided dying was not on his afternoon schedule.
Three minutes and forty-seven seconds after the red button was pressed, Marcus Ellery entered the office with two security men and Dr. Lena Morales, the physician who lived in the estate’s guest cottage whenever Vincent’s work became dangerous enough to justify it.
Marcus stopped so abruptly the man behind him nearly collided with his back.
The most powerful man in South Louisiana was half-conscious behind his desk.
A toddler sat on the floor beside him discussing amphibians.
“Jesus.”
Dr. Morales crossed the room.
“Vincent, can you hear me?”
His eyes opened.
“Unfortunately.”
“Good. Sarcasm means circulation.”
She cut open his shirt.
The wound was not a gunshot.
A blade had entered below his ribs.
Deep.
Clean.
Close enough to something vital that Lena’s expression changed.
“Who did this?”
Vincent’s eyes moved toward Adeline.
“Get her out.”
“No,” Addie said.
Marcus looked at her.
“Sweetheart—”
“No.”
She stood.
“Uncle Vin keep eyes.”
Vincent managed a faint smile.
“Apparently I have orders.”
Camille arrived less than a minute later.
She came running.
Housekeeping apron still tied at her waist.
Her dark curls had escaped the bun at the back of her head.
“Addie!”
The little girl ran to her.
Camille dropped to her knees and pulled her daughter tightly against her chest.
“Oh God. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Camille looked past her.
Saw Vincent.
Blood.
Doctors.
Security.
Her face drained.
“What happened?”
Marcus answered.
“We don’t know.”
Camille looked toward Vincent.
His eyes were open.
Watching her.
Not accusing.
Assessing.
The same way he assessed every room.
Every voice.
Every lie.
Then Adeline whispered into her mother’s neck.
“The lady hurt him.”
Everything stopped.
Vincent’s eyes sharpened.
Camille slowly pulled back.
“What lady?”
Addie pointed toward the office doorway.
“The pretty lady.”
Marcus crouched.
“What pretty lady?”
“Red shoes.”
Camille’s face changed.
Vincent saw it.
“You know who she means.”
“No.”
Too fast.
Vincent had built an empire by hearing what people tried to hide between words.
He knew fear.
Camille was afraid.
Not of blood.
Not of him.
Of the description.
“Camille.”
She stood.
“Sir, you need a hospital.”
“Lena is handling that.”
Dr. Morales pressed gauze against the wound.
“I would prefer an actual surgical suite, personally.”
Vincent ignored her.
“What woman wears red shoes?”
Camille shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Adeline corrected her.
“Mama knows.”
The room became very quiet.
Camille closed her eyes.
Children were cruel witnesses because they had no understanding of strategic silence.
Vincent’s breathing grew shallower.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Lock the estate.”
Marcus looked at him.
“No one leaves?”
“No one.”
“What about ambulance access?”
“Medical only.”
Camille tightened her grip on Adeline.
Vincent noticed.
“Camille.”
She looked at him.
“Who wears red shoes?”
Her eyes filled.
“It could be anyone.”
“No.”
His voice remained weak.
Still frightening.
“You reacted before she finished.”
Camille looked toward her daughter.
Then toward Marcus.
Then back at Vincent.
Finally she whispered:
“Your sister.”
Marcus stared.
“Isabella?”
Camille nodded.
Vincent’s expression did not change.
That frightened Marcus more than rage would have.
Isabella Castellano.
Vincent’s younger sister.
Board member.
Public face of the Castellano Foundation.
The woman who had kissed Vincent on the cheek at breakfast less than two hours earlier.
Marcus spoke carefully.
“Where is she?”
Nobody knew.
Security began searching the estate.
Adeline looked confused.
“Red-shoe lady mad.”
Vincent’s hand tightened against Lena’s arm.
“What did you see?”
Camille immediately shook her head.
“No. She’s done.”
Vincent looked at her.
“She may be the only witness.”
“She is two.”
“She is also the reason I am conscious.”
“That doesn’t make her an investigator.”
For the first time since she started working in his home, Camille spoke to Vincent Castellano as if he were only a man.
Not her employer.
Not a feared businessman.
Not the head of a family people whispered about.
A wounded man asking too much of her child.
Vincent respected it.
“Fine.”
Lena motioned toward the stretcher.
“We move him now.”
As the medical team prepared Vincent, Marcus received a call.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Marcus lowered the phone.
“Isabella’s car is gone.”
“When?”
“Fourteen minutes ago.”
“Gate?”
“Opened with executive authorization.”
“Whose?”
Marcus hesitated.
Vincent already knew the answer.
“Mine.”
Marcus nodded.
Someone had used Vincent’s credentials.
Again, the air shifted.
This was not a family argument.
Not a spontaneous attack.
Someone had planned access.
Timing.
Escape.
Vincent looked toward Camille.
She still held Adeline.
The child’s little face rested against her shoulder.
Vincent thought of the red emergency button.
The frog story.
The command to keep his eyes open.
Then he looked at Marcus.
“Find Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“Alive.”
Marcus nodded.
Vincent turned his gaze toward Camille.
“And until I know why my daughter’s nanny knew exactly which emergency button to teach a toddler to press…”
Camille stiffened.
“…no one takes those two out of this house.”
Her expression hardened.
“I’m her mother, not her nanny.”
Vincent’s eyes closed briefly.
“My mistake.”
It was the first apology Marcus had heard from Vincent that week.
Maybe that year.
Then Adeline spoke again.
“Uncle Vin?”
He opened his eyes.
“Yes?”
She pointed toward the floor beside his desk.
Something had rolled underneath the cabinet.
Small.
Silver.
Vincent followed her finger.
Marcus retrieved it.
A cufflink.
Black enamel.
Silver border.
Initials engraved on the back.
RC.
Marcus stared.
Vincent stared harder.
There was only one man in the Castellano family who wore cufflinks engraved RC.
Vincent’s uncle.
Rafael Castellano.
The family patriarch before Vincent took control.
The man who had supposedly been in Houston for three days.
Adeline had seen a woman.
The floor held a man’s cufflink.
And Vincent had been attacked inside the most secure room in the estate.
May you like
Someone had not simply tried to kill him.
Someone had wanted the entire Castellano family looking in the wrong direction.
