Chapter 3: The Name She Almost Said
Lorenzo stared at the phone in his hand.
The screen read: Call ended.
Duration: 9 seconds.
Nobody moved.
Mason spoke first.
"Was that her?"
Lorenzo set the phone on the desk.
Very carefully.
The way a man sets something down when his hands are not entirely reliable.
"I don't know."
"The voice—"
"I said I don't know."
Sophia was watching him.
So was Emma, still clutching her rabbit, reading the room the way children do when adults stop pretending everything is fine.
Mason picked up the phone.
"I'll run the number."
"It'll be a burner."
"Probably.
But the cell tower ping gives us a location window."
Lorenzo looked at the window.
The grounds were dark now.
The gate lights had come on automatically at dusk.
Somewhere beyond those lights, two vehicles had sat watching his home.
"She said don't trust," Sophia said quietly.
Lorenzo turned.
"Don't trust who?" she continued.
"She was going to say a name."
"Yes."
"Someone close to you."
"Yes."
Sophia looked at Emma, then back at him.
"Someone who knows this house."
The fire had burned low.
Lorenzo crossed to it and added a log without thinking.
An old habit.
Isabella used to say he tended fires the way other men tended grudges — patiently, and with total commitment.
His chest tightened.
Mason returned from the corner of the room where he'd been on his own phone.
"Burner.
Purchased in cash at a convenience store in Queens six days ago.
Tower ping puts the call origin within a half-mile radius of the freight district."
"She's still there."
"Or was, twenty minutes ago."
Lorenzo turned.
"I want a team at the warehouse.
Plainclothes.
No vehicles that look like ours."
"Already thinking it."
"And I want the sedan identified.
Pull every camera between the estate gate and the freight district.
Traffic, commercial, residential — everything."
"That'll take hours."
"Then start now."
Mason left the room again.
Lorenzo looked at Sophia.
"You and Emma are staying here tonight."
"Mr.
DeLuca—"
"Not a request."
Sophia closed her mouth.
She looked at Emma, who was now sitting on the edge of the leather chair nearest the fire, the stuffed rabbit balanced on her knees.
"Emma." Lorenzo crouched to her level again.
"You did something very brave today."
Emma considered this.
"I just told you what I saw."
"That's exactly what brave is."
She seemed unconvinced.
"Mama says brave is when you're scared but you do it anyway."
"Were you scared?"
She glanced at the door.
Then back.
"A little.
Everyone says not to come in here."
"They're right.
You shouldn't."
"But you needed to know."
Lorenzo looked at her for a moment.
Then stood.
"Yes.
I did."
He walked to his desk.
The silver-framed photograph was still there.
Isabella laughing.
Green eyes.
One hand against the sun.
He turned it face-down.
Not because he was giving up.
Because he could not think clearly with her looking at him.
His private line rang.
The estate landline.
Only four people had that number.
He answered.
"Lorenzo." The voice was warm.
Familiar.
Slightly concerned in the way of a man who has practiced concern until it sounds natural.
"I heard there was some kind of disturbance at the gate.
One of the staff mentioned police contacts being made.
Is everything all right?"
Vincent Moreau.
Chief operating officer.
Twenty-two years.
The man who had stood beside Lorenzo at the funeral and said: *You have to keep living.*
Lorenzo's grip on the phone did not change.
"Everything is fine, Vincent."
"You're sure?
Because if there's a security issue I should know about—"
"I said everything is fine."
A pause.
Shorter than it should have been.
"Of course.
I'm sorry to bother you.
I just — after everything that's happened, I worry."
"I know you do."
"Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
Lorenzo ended the call.
He stood with his hand still on the receiver.
*Don't trust—*
The call had cut off before the name.
But Vincent had just called the estate landline within forty minutes of those two vehicles being photographed outside the gate.
Lorenzo had not told anyone about the vehicles.
He had not told anyone about Emma.
He had not told anyone about the phone call.
He picked up his mobile and typed one message to Mason: *Do not use estate comms for anything related to this.
Personal phones only.
Now.*
Three seconds later: *Understood.
Already switched.*
Good man.
Lorenzo looked at Sophia.
"Does Vincent Moreau know your name?"
Sophia blinked.
"He's met me.
At the holiday staff gathering two years ago."
"Does he know Emma?"
Her face changed.
Very slightly.
The way a face changes when a fear that has been formless suddenly takes a shape.
"He brought her a chocolate from the dessert table," she said.
"He said she had her mother's eyes."
The fire crackled.
Emma looked up from her rabbit.
May you like
"Who's Vincent?"
Neither adult answered her.
