Chapter 2 - The Enemy's Melody
By dawn, news that the "pauper maid" had kept the Blackwood twins quiet for six unbroken hours had spread through the mansion like wildfire.
Mrs. Callahan brought June a clean uniform—a crisp charcoal-gray dress that was two sizes too big around June’s waist—and a check signed by Ethan Blackwood himself. Five thousand dollars. More money than June had seen at one time in her entire life.
She immediately endorsed the back of it, tucked it into an envelope addressed to her brother’s creditors in Queens, and handed it to Mrs. Callahan to be mailed.
"You aren't keeping a single dollar for yourself, child?" Mrs. Callahan asked, her voice softening as she noticed June’s worn, tape-mended shoes.
"I need my brother alive first," June said simply, smoothing down the front of her oversized apron. "Where are the girls?"
"In the conservatory. But Mr. Blackwood wants you in the library."
The library of Blackwood House looked like a fortress of dark mahogany and leather-bound books. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the gray Atlantic Ocean churning against the cliffs half a mile below the estate.
Ethan sat behind a massive desk carved from solid walnut. He was dressed in a sharp three-piece charcoal suit, a hot cup of black coffee sitting untouched near his elbow. He looked rested for the first time in years, though his sharp, dark eyes showed no warmth as June entered.
"They are still sleeping," Ethan said, without looking up from the security dossier on his desk.
"They were exhausted," June replied, keeping her hands folded behind her back.
Ethan finally looked up. He leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his long fingers beneath his jaw. "I ran a background check on you last night, June. Your mother died of cancer eighteen months ago, leaving two hundred thousand in unpaid medical bills. Your brother owes eighty thousand to a loan shark named Mickey Nails in South Brooklyn. You were evicted from your apartment four days ago."
June’s jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. "I didn't steal anything from your nursery, Mr. Blackwood."
"I know you didn't," Ethan said coldly. "If you had, you wouldn't be standing here. What interests me is where you learned that song."
June blinked. "My grandmother taught it to me."
Ethan stood up slowly, stepping around his desk until he was standing less than three feet from her. His presence was overwhelming, carrying the subtle scent of expensive sandalwood, cigar smoke, and underlying danger.
"That song," Ethan said, his tone dropping an octave, "is not a West Virginia folk tune, Miss Harper. It is an old Sicilian lullaby. Specifically, it is the family song of Julian Rossi."
The name hit the room like a physical blow. Even June, who knew nothing of the criminal underworld, had heard the name Julian Rossi on the evening news. He was Ethan Blackwood’s fiercest rival—a ruthless shipping tycoon and mob boss who controlled the docks of New York and New Jersey.
"I don't know who Julian Rossi is," June said, her heart hammering against her ribs. "My grandmother lived in Appalachia her whole life."
"Julian Rossi sang that exact melody to my wife three weeks before she was murdered," Ethan said, his silver-gray eyes turning to pure ice. "He sent an audio recording to this house as a threat. The night the bomb went off, that song was playing on a loop through the mansion's intercom system. That is why my daughters scream when the lights are on. That song is the sound of their mother dying."
June went pale. Her knees felt weak. "I... I didn't know. I swear to you, I didn't know."
"Then explain to me," Ethan growled, grabbing her wrist with a grip like steel, "how a penniless girl from Queens walks into my house and uses my worst enemy's murder song to put my children to sleep?"
"Because it wasn't his song first!" June cried out, refusing to let the pain in her wrist force tears from her eyes. "My grandmother’s maiden name was Rossi! She came from Palermo in 1952! She sang it to me every time the electric company turned our power off!"
Ethan stared into her eyes, searching every micro-expression on her pale, terrified face. He had spent twenty years reading liars, killers, and corrupt politicians. He looked for a flinch, a glance to the left, a pulse point fluttering with deception.
He found nothing but raw, honest terror and a stubborn refusal to break.
Slowly, his fingers loosened around her wrist.
"If you are lying to me, June," Ethan whispered, his face inches from hers, "I won't just throw you out. I will make sure you vanish."
"I'm not lying," she breathed.
The library doors clicked open.
May you like
Mrs. Callahan stood in the doorway, her face pale as snow.
"Mr. Blackwood," Mrs. Callahan said, her voice shaking violently. "A convoy has just passed through the main security gate. It’s Mr. Rossi. He claims he has come to collect his family’s property."
