Chapter 1 - The Midnight Surveillance and the Cane Corso’s Secret
The sound was as rhythmic as a ticking metronome, yet it carried an underlying menace that had kept Olivia Carter awake for nearly two weeks. Three short, deliberate thuds against the wooden floorboards. Then a heavy, calculated pause. Followed immediately by three more.
Nero, Gabriel Duca’s massive, ninety-pound black Cane Corso, was at it again.
Olivia forced her eyelids open in the suffocating darkness of her basement quarters, blinking against the red glow of her alarm clock: 1:30 a.m. Exactly on schedule. For twelve consecutive nights, the formidable beast had executed the exact same ritual. He would abandon his designated heavy-duty mat near the security dispatch office, pad silently across two sprawling marble corridors, ascend the east staircase with the stealth of a ghost, push open the unlocked door of Guest Room 7, and bark three times at absolute nothingness.
Security guards had searched that room half a dozen times under Matteo Rizzo's strict orders. They had inspected the master closet, peered up the masonry fireplace, tapped on the double-paned windows, probed the plush mattress, and even scanned the plaster walls with thermal cameras.
They had found nothing.
Guest Room 7 had been sealed off and left entirely unused for nearly four years, ever since the tragic passing of Gabriel’s younger brother. It was a tomb of velvet drapes and accumulated dust, untouched by housekeeping and avoided by the staff.
Olivia had sworn to herself that she would never become curious about it. In the high-stakes, terrifyingly enclosed world of Gabriel Duca’s Chicago estate, curiosity was a luxury item that carried a lethal price tag. At thirty-two years old, Olivia had too many responsibilities anchoring her to reality. She was a single mother fighting tooth and nail to raise her seven-year-old daughter, Lily. She carried the financial burden of supporting her widowed mother in Oak Park, funding Lily’s private school tuition, and maintaining a grueling work schedule that allowed her just enough flexibility to spend three precious days a week with her child.
Mysteries, secrets, and underground syndicate power struggles could belong to the obscenely rich men who ruled the city from the shadows. Olivia just wanted her paycheck, her health insurance, and her quiet life.
Then Nero barked again.
The vibration rattled through the floorboards above. A wave of frustration overcame her caution. Throwing off her thin cotton blanket, Olivia swung her legs out of bed, pulled on a worn gray fleece robe over her pajamas, and slipped her bare feet into her slippers.
When she reached Guest Room 7, the door stood ajar.
She found the massive Cane Corso standing stock-still in the dead center of the decaying guest room, a stripe of pale moonlight cutting sharply across his midnight-black coat. He wasn't staring at the shrouded bed or the shadowy corners of the armoire.
His head was tilted sharply upward.
He was staring directly at the ceiling air vent.
Olivia let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing her temples. “You’ve got to be kidding me, big guy. There are no mice up there. Go back to sleep.”
Nero didn't blink. He let out a low, vibrating rumble in his chest that told her he wasn't going to budge.
Grumbling under her breath, Olivia dragged a heavy velvet-upholstered writing chair across the dusty Persian rug beneath the wall vent. She climbed up carefully, balancing on the edge of the seat, and raised her hands to the metal grating.
The brass grille was coated in a thick, uniform layer of dust.
Except for the screws.
A cold shiver raced down her spine. Housekeeping training taught you early to recognize the subtle signatures of human interference—the way old dust settled versus how newly disturbed particulate matter clung to metal threads. Someone had recently laid tools against these fixtures.
Spotting a narrow, antique skeleton key lying forgotten inside the mahogany desk drawer across the room, she retrieved it, climbed back up, and managed to loosen the first stubborn screw.
“Mrs. Carter.”
The low, velvet-smooth baritone sliced through the dark quiet of the room like a razor blade.
Olivia gasped, her foot slipping off the edge of the chair. She would have hit the floor hard if a pair of impossibly strong hands hadn't caught her waist, setting her gently and firmly back onto the rug.
She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Gabriel Duca stood barefoot on the threshold. He wore black wool trousers and a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled casually up to his muscular forearms, exposing the intricate, dark tattoos wrapping around his skin. There were no armed guards flanking him. No tailored suit jacket hiding a shoulder holster.
Somehow, seeing the undisputed king of the Chicago underworld dressed down in the middle of the night made him ten times more terrifying.
“What are you doing?” Gabriel asked, his dark eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made it difficult to draw breath.
“Looking at what Nero is looking at,” Olivia whispered, her throat suddenly dry.
Gabriel’s gaze flicked away from her face, sliding over to the black Cane Corso, and then rising slowly to the open-faced vent above the chair.
“Get down from there, Olivia.”
“Almost—”
“Olivia.”
It was the first time in the six months she had worked on the estate that he had used her first name instead of addressing her as a paid employee. The casual intimacy of it hit her with unexpected force. Her hand froze against the brass screw.
Then she turned her wrist, giving it one final twist, and pulled the grille free from the wall.
A shaft of rusted metal extended into darkness. Fine gray dust lined the interior floor of the ductwork—except for one distinct, circular patch near the upper right-hand corner.
It was scrubbed clean. Impeccably clean.
Roughly the size of a quarter.
Olivia stared at the void, her stomach dropping. “Mr. Duca...”
Gabriel stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “What?”
“Something was attached right here.”
The absolute stillness that swept across Gabriel’s sharp, handsome features was more frightening than any burst of anger could ever be. His right hand twitched, lifting slightly toward her waist as if he intended to pull her entirely out of harm's way, but he checked himself mid-motion, letting his arm drop to his side.
Without breaking eye contact with her, he pulled his heavy-duty burner smartphone from his trouser pocket.
He hit a single speed-dial button.
“Matteo.”
May you like
A brief, silent pause stretched across the room.
“Lock the estate down. Now.”
