Chapter 3 - THE HOUSEKEEPER’S SECRET
The private office of the Cross estate was a heavy, windowless room panelled in dark walnut and lined with thousands of leather-bound books. It smelled of tobacco, old paper, and polished brass.
When Adrian pushed the heavy door open, Grace Carter was sitting on the edge of a deep leather sofa, holding a cup of untouched tea. Lily was curled up beside her, fast asleep, her small head resting on Grace’s lap, her tiny hand clutching her mother’s gray apron.
Grace instantly tried to stand, her face pale with worry. “Mr. Cross—”
“Stay sitting, Grace,” Adrian said softly, closing the door behind him.
He walked across the Persian rug and sat in the armchair opposite the sofa. For a long moment, he simply observed her.
Grace had worked at Hawthorne Estate for four years. She was thirty-one, quiet, infinitely polite, and remarkably efficient. She managed the estate’s cleaning staff without drama, never asked for advances on her pay, and kept her daughter tucked away in the staff quarters whenever possible. She was an invisible gear in the massive machine of his life.
Yet looking at her now, sitting beneath the warm glow of the desk lamp, Adrian felt a strange, nagging sensation in his chest—a feeling he had buried deep beneath years of violence and corporate warfare.
“Lily is asleep,” Adrian noted quietly.
“She was exhausted,” Grace whispered, gently stroking her daughter’s hair. “She didn't mean to touch the dress, Mr. Cross. She loves pretty fabrics. I should have kept a closer eye on her. Please... don't fire us. I have nowhere else to take her.”
“I’m not going to fire you, Grace,” Adrian said.
Grace let out a slow, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging. “Thank you.”
“I want you to tell me about the man with the shiny watch,” Adrian said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. “The one Lily mentioned before you walked out.”
Grace hesitated, her fingers pausing in Lily’s hair. Her eyes darted away, fixing on the dark wood of his desk.
“Lily is four, Mr. Cross. She makes up stories all the time—”
“Grace,” Adrian interrupted. His voice wasn't harsh, but it possessed a weight that made her look straight back at him. “A suppressed firearm was hidden inside Miss DeLuca’s wedding dress. Someone in this house put it there today. Lily saw him.”
Grace turned even paler. Her chest heaved beneath her linen uniform. “She... she said she saw a man in the dressing room while the bridesmaids were downstairs taking photos.”
“Did she describe him to you?”
“She said he was wearing a black suit like your guards,” Grace whispered, her voice trembling. “And he had a bright gold watch with a dark blue face. She said he smiled at her, touched his lips to tell her to be quiet, and put something inside the train of the gown.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed into slits of dark, lethal focus.
A gold watch with a blue face.
There were only three men in his entire organization who wore watches like that. Custom Rolex Submariners—gifts Adrian had personally bought for his inner circle three years ago to mark the takeover of the Northside docks.
One belonged to Marcus Hale.
One belonged to Dominic Vance, his head of street operations.
And the third belonged to Thomas DeLuca—Vivian’s younger brother.
“Grace,” Adrian said softly, watching her face intently. “You’ve worked here for four years. You never talk about your life before this house. Where did you live before Chicago?”
Grace froze. Her hands clenched tightly around her apron. “Milwaukee,” she whispered.
“Did you know Thomas DeLuca?”
Grace’s head snapped up, pure terror flashing in her eyes. “No! I... I don't know any of those people!”
“You’re lying to me, Grace,” Adrian said gently. “You’re a terrible liar. Your voice jumps an octave when you’re scared.”
He stood up slowly, stepping closer to the sofa. He looked down at the sleeping child, studying the soft shape of Lily’s jaw, the curve of her nose, and the dark brown wave of her hair.
A sudden, violent realization struck Adrian Cross like a physical blow to the sternum.
He stared at Lily’s small face, then at Grace’s terrified, tear-filled eyes.
Twelve years ago, before his father died, before the war burned out of control, Adrian had spent two months in hiding in a secluded cabin near Lake Geneva after taking a bullet to his shoulder. A young nursing student had been hired to tend to his wounds in secret.
Her name had been Grace.
They had spent seven quiet, intense days together in the dark before his father’s men relocated him. When Adrian returned to Lake Geneva two months later to find her, she had completely vanished. Her apartment was empty. Her phone disconnected. He had spent years assuming her father or his enemies had erased her.
He had never forgotten her face. But after twelve years of blood, power, and death, he had forgotten her name.
“Grace...” Adrian breathed, his voice cracking for the first time in a decade.
May you like
Grace covered her face with her hands, silent, heartbreaking sobs shaking her entire body.
“It was you,” Adrian whispered, kneeling beside the sofa. “You were the girl at the lake.”
