Chapter 2 - The Click of the Deadbolt
“Give me a name.”
Vincent Cross did not raise his voice.
That made the words worse.
Fay stood beside the stainless-steel prep counter, clutching the cold towel with both hands.
She could hear the refrigerators humming.
Water dripping from a faucet.
Her own breathing.
“Mr. Cross, please.”
“Please what?”
“Forget you saw this.”
Vincent's expression did not change.
“That isn't going to happen.”
Fay looked toward the locked kitchen door.
Vincent noticed.
“You aren't locked in here because you're in trouble.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
“Then why did you lock it?”
“So nobody walks in while you're afraid to tell me the truth.”
The answer surprised her.
Vincent crossed toward the counter and picked up his water.
He did not approach her again.
Instead, he leaned against the opposite island, giving her space.
“Start from the beginning.”
“There isn't anything to tell.”
“Fay.”
Her name again.
She hated that it made her feel seen.
For three years, invisibility had protected her.
Now Vincent Cross was looking directly at her, and she had nowhere to hide.
“I need this job.”
Vincent's brow tightened slightly.
“What does that have to do with your face?”
“Everything.”
“How?”
“If I caused a problem—”
“You think I'm going to fire you?”
Fay said nothing.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody.”
“Then why do you believe it?”
Because this was a mafia household.
Because employees disappeared.
Because important men always mattered more than maids.
But Fay could hardly say that.
Vincent seemed to read part of the answer in her expression.
“You've worked here three years.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever stolen from me?”
“No.”
“Sold information?”
“No.”
“Disobeyed household rules?”
“No.”
“Then why would I dismiss you because someone attacked you?”
Fay's throat tightened.
“It depends who attacked me.”
That was the first real answer she had given him.
Vincent's face went completely still.
“Who?”
Fay looked down.
“Donovan.”
The refrigerator hummed.
Nothing else moved.
Vincent's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around his glass.
“Donovan Hale?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“The east corridor.”
“What happened?”
Fay hesitated.
Vincent's voice softened by a fraction.
“I need facts.”
She told him.
The order for whiskey.
The tray.
The broken glasses.
Donovan grabbing her arm.
The way he had squeezed her jaw and pushed her into the wall.
Vincent listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he asked, “Did he threaten you?”
“Not directly.”
“Did he try to take you upstairs?”
“No.”
“Has he touched you before?”
Fay hesitated.
Vincent caught it.
“Fay.”
“Not like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“He's blocked hallways. Said things. Put his hand on my lower back once.”
Vincent stared at her.
“And you reported none of it.”
“To who?”
“My house manager.”
Fay gave a tiny, humorless laugh.
“Mr. Cross, Donovan brings millions through your docks.”
Vincent's face hardened.
“And you thought that bought him permission to put his hands on you?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I thought it bought him more value than I have.”
That landed.
For the first time, Vincent looked genuinely angry.
Not at her.
At the idea.
“You are employed in my home.”
Fay flinched slightly at his tone.
He noticed immediately and lowered his voice again.
“That means you're under my protection while you're here.”
“I didn't know that.”
“You should have.”
Vincent pushed away from the counter.
Fay's pulse jumped.
“What are you going to do?”
“Verify your account.”
Fear shot through her.
“No.”
Vincent stopped.
“Why?”
“If Donovan knows I told you—”
“He won't touch you again.”
“You can't promise that.”
“I just did.”
There was something frightening about his certainty.
Vincent unlocked the door.
Fay took one involuntary step backward.
“Please don't call him down here.”
“I won't.”
That was somehow more alarming.
Vincent opened the door and spoke to someone outside.
“Marco.”
A suited man appeared almost instantly.
“Yes, boss?”
“Pull the east-corridor security footage from ten tonight. Bring me everything from nine-thirty to ten-thirty.”
Marco's eyes briefly moved toward Fay's bruised face.
His expression darkened.
“Yes, boss.”
“And find Lena.”
The man left.
Vincent closed the door again, but this time he did not lock it.
Fay stared at him.
“There are cameras?”
“Every corridor except private rooms and bathrooms.”
Her knees weakened slightly.
Evidence.
For the first time that night, there was proof.
Vincent looked toward her cut finger.
“You're bleeding.”
Fay glanced down.
The slice from the broken crystal had reopened.
“It's nothing.”
“You say that often.”
He opened a cabinet, found a first-aid kit, and placed it on the counter.
Fay stared.
“You don't have to—”
“I know.”
The answer silenced her.
He opened an antiseptic packet.
Then paused.
“May I?”
Fay realized he was asking permission to touch her hand.
That simple question nearly broke her more than anything else.
She nodded.
Vincent gently took her injured finger.
His hands were large, scarred in places, careful in a way she did not expect.
He cleaned the cut.
Fay winced.
“Sorry.”
“You didn't cut me.”
“No.”
Their eyes met.
Something uncomfortable passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Vincent understood she was speaking about more than the cut.
A knock sounded.
Vincent released her hand immediately.
A middle-aged woman entered.
Lena Ortiz, the estate's night supervisor.
She froze when she saw Fay.
“Oh my God.”
Fay looked away.
Vincent said, “Take her to the staff medical suite. Photograph the injuries. Have Dr. Chen examine her.”
Fay protested.
“I don't need a doctor.”
Vincent ignored that.
“Then call the hospital handling her mother's treatment.”
Fay's head snapped up.
“How do you know about my mother?”
“I know who works in my house.”
Her stomach twisted.
Vincent continued, “Confirm whatever payment is due this month.”
“No.”
Both Vincent and Lena looked at her.
Fay straightened.
“I can pay it.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
She could.
Barely.
Vincent studied her.
“Fine.”
Relief washed through her.
Then he added, “Your employment is not in danger.”
Fay's eyes burned.
“Thank you.”
“Don't thank me for doing what should have been obvious.”
Lena gently put a hand near Fay's shoulder without touching.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Fay hesitated.
“What about Donovan?”
Vincent's face changed.
The warmth disappeared.
“Donovan is my problem now.”
Fay followed Lena toward the door.
Just before she left, she turned.
“Mr. Cross.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Please don't kill him because of me.”
Marco arrived in the doorway at that exact moment holding a tablet.
Silence fell.
Vincent looked from Fay to the screen.
Then back again.
“I don't make decisions because I'm angry.”
Fay almost believed him.
Then Marco said quietly, “Boss, you need to see this.”
Vincent's eyes shifted toward the tablet.
Fay could see the security footage over Marco's shoulder.
There she was in the eastern corridor.
Donovan stepping into her path.
Grabbing her.
Forcing her face upward.
Slamming her against the wall.
Vincent watched without blinking.
The video continued.
Donovan walked away.
Fay knelt to pick up shattered glass.
Then something else appeared on the footage.
A second man stepped out of the billiards room.
He watched Fay clean.
He looked toward Donovan's retreating figure.
Then he pulled out his phone.
Vincent froze the video.
“Who is that?”
Marco leaned closer.
His face changed.
“That's Rourke.”
Fay knew the name.
Anthony Rourke.
One of Vincent's senior lieutenants.
A man far more powerful than Donovan.
Vincent replayed the final seconds.
Rourke was clearly typing a message.
Marco's phone buzzed.
He checked it.
Then looked at Vincent.
“We accessed Donovan's device.”
“And?”
Marco swallowed.
“Ten-oh-seven tonight. Message from Rourke.”
Vincent held out his hand.
Marco passed him the phone.
Fay watched Vincent read.
His expression became colder with every word.
“What does it say?” she whispered.
Vincent looked at her.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he turned the phone around.
The message contained only one sentence.
Next time, make sure she understands what happens to people who listen at doors.
Fay stopped breathing.
“I don't listen at doors.”
Vincent's gaze sharpened.
“I know.”
“Then why would he say that?”
Vincent looked back at the security footage.
Because suddenly, Fay's bruised jaw was no longer an isolated act by a drunken man.
Someone powerful inside the Cross organization believed she had heard something.
Something worth frightening her over.
And Vincent Cross realized that Donovan had not simply attacked a maid.
He had been sent to intimidate a witness.
The only problem was Fay had no idea what she had witnessed.
May you like
Yet.
---
