Chapter 1 - The Maid Who Wouldn't Look Away
Before the bullet, people stood when Daniel Moretti entered a room.
After the bullet, they learned to get out of his way.
Two years had passed since a sniper fired from the roof of a parking garage and sent a round through Daniel's back.
Two years since doctors told him he would never walk again.
Two years since the most feared man in Chicago had begun living on the second floor of his own mansion because he could no longer bear looking at the staircase.
Daniel still owned clubs.
Office towers.
Warehouses.
Security companies.
Half a dozen restaurants.
Businesses respectable enough to appear in magazines and others respectable only after the accountants finished with them.
Money had never been his problem.
Power had never been his problem.
His legs were.
And lately, so was everyone who tried to help him.
"Mr. Moretti, if you don't complete the exercises—"
Daniel picked up the ceramic cup beside him.
The physical therapist stopped talking.
Luke Brennan leaned against the study wall.
"Put it down, Danny."
Daniel looked at him.
"Nobody asked you."
"The last therapist needed stitches."
"He ducked too slowly."
The therapist's face turned pale.
Daniel set the cup down.
"Get out."
"Mr. Moretti—"
"Now."
The therapist grabbed his bag.
He was gone in less than thirty seconds.
Luke watched the door close.
"That's number six."
"Seven."
"That's worse."
Daniel rolled his wheelchair toward the windows.
Rain streaked the glass.
Beyond it, Chicago glittered cold and silver.
His city.
A place that had once felt like an extension of his own body.
Now he saw most of it through windows.
Luke stepped closer.
"You can't keep doing this."
"Watch me."
"You fire everyone who tells you something you don't want to hear."
"I pay people for competence, not speeches."
"You don't want competence."
Daniel turned.
Luke's expression didn't change.
That was why Daniel had kept him close for twenty years.
Everyone else learned fear.
Luke never did.
"You want witnesses," Luke said.
"Witnesses to what?"
"Your funeral while you're still breathing."
Daniel's jaw hardened.
"Get out."
Luke sighed.
"Fine."
He walked to the door.
Then stopped.
"By the way, we hired another night cleaner."
"I don't care."
"You've fired three cleaners too."
"They stole."
"One stole towels."
"Exactly."
Luke opened the door.
"This one won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because she's too exhausted to steal anything."
Daniel frowned.
Luke left.
An hour later, Daniel heard something scraping outside his private hallway.
He hated noise.
Especially at night.
He rolled out of his study.
A young woman was kneeling near the baseboard.
Brown hair tied back.
Cheap gray uniform.
Old sneakers.
A bucket beside her.
She was scrubbing the wall with a small brush.
Daniel stopped behind her.
She didn't notice.
Or pretended not to.
"Who are you?"
She glanced over her shoulder.
"Emma."
Then returned to the wall.
Daniel waited.
Nothing.
"Emma what?"
"Carter."
"Do you normally turn your back on people when they're speaking to you?"
She sat back on her heels.
For the first time, Daniel saw her face clearly.
Twenty-six, maybe.
Pretty in a way she seemed too tired to know.
Dark circles under her eyes.
Dry skin around her knuckles.
No makeup except whatever remained from earlier in the day.
"What would you like me to do?" she asked.
"Face me."
She did.
"Happy?"
Daniel stared.
Nobody spoke to him like that.
Not employees.
Not politicians.
Not men who carried guns for a living.
"You know who I am?"
Emma looked around.
"You own the house."
"That's all?"
"I was given a staff handbook."
"And?"
"It said Mr. Moretti doesn't like unnecessary conversation."
Daniel narrowed his eyes.
"You're doing quite a lot of it."
"Because you keep asking questions."
For one remarkable second, Daniel almost smiled.
He didn't.
"Finish the hallway."
Emma picked up the brush.
"I was planning to."
Daniel rolled away.
Behind him, he heard her mutter:
"Friendly guy."
He stopped.
Emma froze.
Daniel slowly turned his head.
"What did you say?"
She stared at him.
Then apparently decided lying would take too much energy.
"I said you're friendly."
"That sounded sarcastic."
"It was."
Daniel stared.
Emma looked back.
Then he rolled away again.
She expected him to fire her.
Instead, she heard him say:
"Don't miss the corner."
That was their first conversation.
Their second was worse.
Three nights later, Daniel found Emma carrying a tray toward the staff kitchen.
"What is that?"
"Food."
"I can see that."
"Good."
"Where did it come from?"
"Dinner."
"Whose?"
"Yours."
Daniel looked at the untouched steak.
"I didn't ask for it."
"You didn't eat it."
"That doesn't make it yours."
"They were throwing it away."
"So you took it?"
Emma frowned.
"Yes."
"You steal food from my kitchen?"
"I rescue food from your trash."
"That's stealing."
"No, stealing is taking something somebody wants."
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
Emma shifted the tray.
"If you want the steak, take it."
He looked at the plate.
Then at her.
"Why do you need leftovers?"
The question was too direct.
Emma's face changed.
"None of your business."
"Everything in this house is my business."
"Not my bank account."
Daniel hated the answer.
Mostly because she was right.
"How much do you make here?"
Emma laughed once.
"No."
"What?"
"You don't get to interrogate the cleaning staff because you're bored."
Daniel's expression darkened.
"Bored?"
"Yes."
"You think I'm bored?"
"I think you spend a lot of time looking for reasons to be angry."
That hit harder than she knew.
Daniel's hand tightened around the wheel.
Emma saw it.
For the first time, she looked uncertain.
But she didn't apologize.
Daniel said quietly:
"Go eat your stolen steak."
She walked away.
He watched her until she disappeared.
The next morning, he asked Luke about her.
Casually.
Or as casually as Daniel Moretti could ask about anyone.
"Carter."
Luke looked up from his tablet.
"What about her?"
"Background."
Luke smiled.
"You're interested?"
"No."
"Of course."
"Luke."
"Emma Carter. Twenty-six. No criminal record. Lives in Avondale."
"Family?"
Luke's smile faded.
"Mother in memory care."
Daniel said nothing.
"Her father died when she was a kid. Mother developed early-onset dementia a few years ago."
"How much is the facility?"
Luke named the figure.
Daniel looked at him.
"Per month?"
"Yes."
"She can't afford that."
"That's why she has two jobs."
"Two?"
"Diner from seven in the morning to four. Here from seven at night to four."
Daniel frowned.
"She sleeps when?"
"I assume during traffic."
Something unpleasant settled in Daniel's chest.
He remembered her taking the steak.
Her cracked hands.
The shadows beneath her eyes.
"If she's working eighteen hours a day, she'll make mistakes."
Luke stared.
"Is that concern?"
"It's liability."
"Sure."
Daniel returned to his paperwork.
That night, Emma nearly dropped a vase.
Daniel saw.
"You okay?"
She caught it against her chest.
"Fine."
"You're shaking."
"Coffee."
"You drink too much."
"You threaten people before breakfast."
"Different problem."
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Something strange had begun happening.
Their conversations no longer felt like arguments.
Not entirely.
Emma adjusted the vase.
"Do you need anything?"
"No."
"Then I'll keep working."
Daniel rolled away.
At two seventeen that morning, the pain arrived.
It started behind his hips.
Fire without heat.
Pressure without touch.
His legs had been numb for two years, yet somehow they still knew how to torture him.
Daniel sat alone in the library, gripping his thighs.
His breathing became shallow.
He hated calling for help.
So he didn't.
He reached for the medication bottle on the side table.
Empty.
"Damn it."
A voice came from the doorway.
"What happened?"
Emma.
"Leave."
She came closer.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"Where are your pills?"
"Kitchen."
"I'll get them."
"No."
She ignored him.
Five minutes later, she returned with water and the bottle.
She read the label.
"One tablet."
"Two."
She shook one into her palm.
"One."
Daniel looked at her.
"I said two."
"I heard you."
"Then give me two."
"No."
The pain sharpened.
His voice dropped.
"Emma."
She didn't flinch.
"This says one every six hours."
"I know what it says."
"So why are we arguing?"
"Because I know my own body."
"And apparently your body needs you unconscious."
Daniel stared.
She held out one tablet.
"Take it."
He could have fired her.
He could have called security.
He could have taken the bottle.
Instead, after several seconds, he accepted one pill.
Emma handed him the water.
"When did you eat?"
"Stop."
"That's a no."
"Emma."
"I'll make you something."
"You're not my nurse."
"No."
She walked toward the door.
"But your nurse quit."
Daniel almost told her to stay out.
Instead he watched her disappear.
Twenty minutes later, Emma returned with eggs and toast.
She placed the plate beside him.
"I didn't ask."
"I know."
Daniel took one bite.
Then another.
Emma began cleaning the bookshelves.
She didn't stare at him.
Didn't ask if the pain was better.
Didn't treat him like a patient.
For some reason, that made it easier to breathe.
When he finished, she collected the plate.
"Better?"
"A little."
"Good."
She left.
Daniel remained alone in the library.
But for the first time in a long time, the house didn't feel quite as empty.
He didn't know yet that Emma Carter had already changed his life.
He didn't know that within weeks she would be sleeping beside him.
He didn't know that she was carrying a secret connected to the bullet in his spine.
And he certainly didn't know that someone inside his own home had already noticed them getting closer.
From the security room downstairs, a man watched the camera feed.
Daniel and Emma appeared on the screen.
The man picked up his phone.
May you like
And sent one message.
The girl is getting too close to him.
