Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Servants' Quarters
Down in the rear staff wing, far away from the polished marble and crystal chandeliers of the main house, Elena Rossi sat on the edge of a narrow cot, staring at the locked door.
Mia was fast asleep across the small bed, her yellow rain boots kicked off near the door, her fingers still loosely tangled around the torn ear of her stuffed rabbit.
A soft tap sounded at the heavy oak service door.
Elena froze. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand—it was 1:15 AM.
The knock came again, softer this time. Two short raps, a pause, one long rap. The standard staff signal for Tommy, the estate’s veteran gardener who had looked out for Elena and her daughter since they arrived.
Elena slipped off the cot, tiptoed across the worn linoleum floor, and turned the heavy brass key.
Tommy slipped inside, his weather-beaten face pale under the harsh overhead bulb. He closed the door quickly behind him, locking it with a sharp click.
“You shouldn’t be back here, Tommy,” Elena whispered, her hands wringing the fabric of her apron. “If security sees you—”
“Security has bigger things to worry about tonight,” Tommy interrupted, his voice shaking. “Adrian's back. He’s already been down in the bunker with Nick. They’ve seen the tapes, Elena. They know Vivian engineered the whole thing.”
Elena’s blood ran cold. “Is… is she safe?”
“Safe?” Tommy let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Nobody in this house is safe right now, least of all Vivian. But that’s not why I came down here.”
Tommy reached into the deep pocket of his canvas utility jacket and pulled out a heavy, mud-caked object wrapped in a blue shop towel. He laid it gently on the small laminate kitchen table.
Elena stepped back, her eyes widening.
It was Bruno’s heavy leather collar.
The brass nameplate was still attached, scratched and dented, bearing the word Resta carved deep into the leather.
“Where did you find this?” Elena breathed, afraid to touch it.
“One of the local kids from the village found it down by the old abandoned fertilizer plant off Route 9,” Tommy said grimly. “About two miles past the estate limits. He brought it to my cousin at the diner, knowing I worked up here. The dog wasn't there, Elena. Just the collar. Cut off clean.”
Elena looked from the collar to her sleeping daughter.
Yesterday morning, Mia had woken up thirsty, wandered down the back hallway, pressed her face against the cold glass of the kitchen window, and watched two men carry an old, heavy dog out into the black night.
And now, the man who owned that dog—a man whose very name made hardened criminals in New York and Chicago lock their doors—was walking the halls upstairs, discovering that his world had been hollowed out from the inside.
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“What happens now, Tommy?” Elena whispered, a tear finally breaking free and tracking down her cheek.
“Now?” Tommy shook his head slowly, casting a glance toward the ceiling where heavy footsteps could faintly be heard pacing back and forth across the master suite overhead. “Now the storm hits. And heaven help anyone standing in the middle of it.”
