Chapter 2 - The Name Inside the Folder
Mara did not sleep that night.
She locked the three locks on her apartment door, checked them twice, then sat at her tiny kitchen table staring at the photograph.
O’Leary Family Bakery.
The faded green awning.
The old brass number above the door.
The window where her father used to arrange cinnamon rolls every morning before sunrise.
She could almost smell sugar and coffee.
Her father had died four years earlier.
Cancer.
Fast and unfair.
Afterward, Mara had promised her mother she would keep the bakery alive.
She had believed hard work could fix anything.
She was wrong.
Sometimes hard work simply made you tired while the ship sank.
Her phone rang.
Patrick.
She answered immediately.
“You okay?”
Mara hesitated.
“Why?”
“You texted me ‘call when you can,’ which usually means something exploded.”
“Nothing exploded.”
“So something is on fire.”
She smiled despite herself.
Patrick always knew.
“I got something weird today.”
She told him about the photograph.
Silence.
“Mara, call the police.”
“And tell them someone mailed me a picture of an empty bakery?”
“With a threat.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell your boss?”
“No.”
Patrick exhaled loudly.
“This is the mansion job, right?”
“Yes.”
“The Castellano mansion?”
She closed her eyes.
“Patrick.”
“You told me the owner was a businessman.”
“He is.”
“You left out that half of New York thinks he has people buried beneath parking garages.”
“That seems like gossip.”
“Mara.”
“I’m fine.”
“Come to Ohio.”
“I’m not running away.”
“You’re not running. You’re visiting your handsome older brother.”
“You’re thirteen months older.”
“Still older.”
The conversation ended with Mara promising to contact him the next morning.
She did not tell him the most unsettling part.
Dominic had seen the photograph.
She had noticed him watching from the staircase.
Yet he had said nothing.
At six the following morning, a black SUV was waiting outside Mara’s apartment.
A man in a dark suit stood beside it.
Mara stopped.
“Nope.”
The man blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t get into mysterious black vehicles before coffee.”
“Ms. O’Leary, Mr. Castellano sent me.”
“That does not improve the sentence.”
The driver almost smiled.
“He asked that you be transported safely.”
“Why?”
“I was not told.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“Then please tell Mr. Castellano I’m capable of taking the subway.”
A voice came from the back seat.
“I already know.”
The window lowered.
Dominic sat inside.
Mara stared.
He looked different outside the mansion.
Still immaculate.
Still intimidating.
But without guards surrounding him, he seemed less like a legend and more like a man who had slept very little.
“What are you doing here?”
“Preventing an argument between you and my driver.”
“I was winning.”
“I noticed.”
He opened the door.
“Get in.”
Mara stayed where she was.
“Why?”
Dominic held up the photograph she had received.
Her stomach dropped.
“How did you get that?”
“Evelyn gave it to security.”
“She had no right.”
“She had every right if someone is threatening a member of my staff.”
“I’m temporary staff.”
“Still staff.”
Mara stared at him.
“Do you know who sent it?”
“Not yet.”
The answer was too precise.
“You know something.”
Dominic’s face gave nothing away.
“Get in.”
“No.”
That surprised the driver.
Possibly Dominic too.
Mara stepped closer.
“I’m grateful you didn’t fire me yesterday. I’m grateful you care about security. But I am not getting into a car with you until you explain why someone photographed my bakery.”
Dominic looked at her for several seconds.
“Samuel Price.”
The name hit like a slap.
Mara’s expression hardened.
“What about him?”
“He may be involved.”
“Involved with what?”
“Get in, Mara.”
This time she did.
During the forty-minute drive, Dominic told her only part of the truth.
Several Castellano-owned companies were legitimate businesses: construction, hospitality, logistics, commercial real estate.
Money had gone missing.
The accountants traced transactions through companies associated with Samuel Price.
“He stole from you?” Mara asked.
“Possibly.”
“He definitely stole from us.”
Dominic looked toward her.
Mara laughed bitterly.
“We thought we were refinancing the bakery. Samuel said he could restructure our debt. He convinced my brother to sign an agreement. Three months later, payments disappeared from the operating account.”
“Did you sue?”
“With what money?”
“Police?”
“We reported it. Samuel vanished.”
Dominic was silent.
Mara stared out the window.
“You think he used our business to move your money.”
“Yes.”
“And now he thinks I know something.”
“Possibly.”
“I don’t.”
“That may not matter.”
The car entered the estate gates.
Mara turned toward him.
“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
“Because yesterday I wasn’t certain.”
“And today?”
“Today someone threatened you.”
For the first time, there was no amusement in his voice.
Only cold certainty.
“Until we know who sent that photograph, you don’t travel alone.”
Mara shook her head.
“I can’t have bodyguards.”
“You can.”
“I take three buses to visit my mother.”
“Then the bodyguard can enjoy public transportation.”
She stared at him.
“Do people ever tell you no?”
“Yes.”
“What happens?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“How attached they are to the word.”
Against her will, Mara laughed.
Dominic looked toward her.
The corner of his mouth moved.
It was strange.
She had worked in the mansion less than a week, yet there were moments when she saw something beneath the reputation.
Not softness exactly.
Something buried deeper.
Grief, perhaps.
That afternoon, Mara was cleaning the mansion library when Bruno appeared.
He dropped a tennis ball at her feet.
“No.”
He wagged.
“I have responsibilities.”
More wagging.
Mara sighed.
“One throw.”
She tossed the ball.
Bruno raced down the aisle.
He disappeared behind a bookcase.
A crash followed.
“Oh, fantastic.”
Mara hurried after him.
The puppy sat proudly beside a small wooden box that had fallen from a low shelf.
The lid had opened.
Inside were photographs.
Mara crouched to gather them.
Then she stopped.
A woman appeared in almost every picture.
Dark hair.
Bright eyes.
Elegant smile.
In several photographs, she stood beside a much younger Dominic.
And he was smiling.
Really smiling.
In one, Dominic held a newborn baby.
Mara’s chest tightened.
“That’s Isabella.”
She spun.
Dominic stood behind her.
“I’m sorry.”
She immediately returned the photos to the box.
“Bruno knocked it over.”
“I know.”
Dominic crouched and picked up one photograph.
His expression changed.
“Your wife?”
“Yes.”
Mara waited.
“And the baby?”
Dominic looked at the photograph for a long time.
“My son.”
Something in his voice warned her.
“Where are they?”
“Gone.”
Mara’s stomach dropped.
“I’m sorry.”
He gave a small nod.
Nine years.
Sofia had said Dominic hadn’t laughed since Isabella.
Mara suddenly understood.
She stood.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No.”
Dominic returned the photograph to the box.
“You didn’t know.”
He started walking away.
Mara looked at Bruno.
The puppy watched him too.
Then Dominic stopped.
“Isabella died during a car bombing meant for me.”
Mara went still.
“Our son was with her.”
He continued without turning.
“He was three.”
Mara’s throat tightened.
There was nothing useful to say.
No sentence could reach that kind of loss.
So she said the only thing that felt honest.
“That must have broken everything.”
Dominic turned.
Most people probably told him they were sorry.
Or that time healed.
Mara offered neither lie.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“Yes.”
Later that evening, Dominic summoned Luca into his office.
“We found Price,” Luca said.
“Where?”
“Not him directly. One of his companies.”
Luca placed documents on the desk.
“Storage facility in Brooklyn. Rented under a shell corporation.”
“Search it.”
“We’ll need discretion.”
“Use it.”
Luca hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
He handed Dominic a printed transaction record.
Dominic read the name.
His face hardened.
EVELYN PRICE.
“She’s related?” Dominic asked.
“We’re checking.”
Across the mansion, Mara was helping Evelyn inventory linens.
The older woman seemed tense.
“Mara,” Evelyn said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“If anyone asks you about Samuel Price, what will you tell them?”
Mara looked up.
“That he ruined my family’s business.”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around the clipboard.
“Did he ever give you anything?”
“What?”
“Documents. Keys. A flash drive. Anything.”
“No.”
Evelyn looked almost relieved.
Then Mara noticed something she had never seen before.
Fear.
“Why are you asking?”
Evelyn forced a smile.
“No reason.”
That night, Mara returned to her apartment accompanied by one of Dominic’s drivers.
She unlocked the door.
Everything looked normal.
Then she noticed the kitchen drawer.
Open.
She had closed it that morning.
Mara slowly stepped inside.
Her bedroom had been searched.
Closet doors open.
Mattress shifted.
Boxes overturned.
Nothing appeared stolen.
Except one item.
A small brass key that had belonged to her father.
Mara had never known what it opened.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
“You should have stayed out of it, Mara.”
Her blood turned cold.
“Samuel?”
A quiet laugh.
“You still have your father’s recipe book?”
The call ended.
Mara stood frozen.
She had never told Samuel about her father’s recipe book.
Almost nobody knew it existed.
Across town, Dominic’s security team entered the Brooklyn storage facility.
They found no Samuel Price.
But they found boxes of records.
And on a wall above a desk, they found dozens of photographs.
Dominic.
His businesses.
His guards.
And Mara O’Leary.
Photographs taken months before she ever applied for the job.
Dominic stared at the images.
Then at the oldest photograph.
Mara leaving her family bakery nearly a year earlier.
May you like
This was no random threat.
Samuel Price had been watching Mara long before Dominic ever knew her name.
