Chapter 5 - the infirmary safe
Fay stared at the black semiautomatic pistol resting against the polished mahogany desk.
The metal looked heavy, cold, and entirely lethal. She didn't touch it.
"I'm a maid, Mr. Corso," Fay said, her voice dropping lower. "Not an assassin. If I carry that into the basement and Luca stops me, I'm dead before I can lift the barrel."
Dominic tilted his head, his dark eyes analyzing her. "Smart. Most idiots think holding iron makes them brave." He slid the weapon back into his desk drawer and clicked it shut. "Then take the keycard. If Luca corners you, scream. I’ll make sure Carmine is positioned in the south wing."
"Does Carmine know about this?"
"Carmine shoots first and asks questions after the autopsy," Dominic said coldly. "Until I know whether Carmine was too stupid to see Vance’s game or smart enough to orchestrate it, he knows nothing."
Fay swallowed hard. The web in this house was far deeper than she had realized.
Midnight arrived with a heavy silence.
The grand mansion felt like a mausoleum after dark. The chandeliers were dimmed to a low amber glow, casting long, menacing shadows across the marble hallways. Fay slipped out of the servant quarters wearing black trousers and soft sneakers, her apron left behind. The encrypted keycard was hidden inside her sock.
She moved silently down the service stairs to the basement level. The air grew colder, smelling of stone, dampness, and high-grade antiseptic. At the end of the corridor sat the private infirmary—a sterile, stainless-steel suite Dominic’s family had installed after his father had a stroke years ago.
Fay reached the heavy reinforced door. The electronic keypad blinked with a steady red light. She pulled the keycard from her sock and swiped it through the magnetic slot.
A green light flashed. The lock buzzed, and the heavy door pushed open without a sound.
The room was pitch black. Fay pulled a small flashlight from her pocket, keeping the beam pointed strictly at the floor. She stepped inside and eased the door closed behind her until it caught the latch.
The medical suite contained an examination table, surgical monitors, and a row of steel supply cabinets. In the far corner stood the digital safe Dominic had described.
Fay knelt before the keypad. She swiped the card a second time. The motorized bolts withdrew with a soft thud.
She pulled the door open. Inside were stacks of medical journals, sample vials, and a thick black binder labeled *CORSO, D. - CLINICAL NOTES.*
Fay opened the binder, flipping rapidly through the typed pages. Most of it was dense medical terminology, but clipped to the back of the folder was a handwritten carbon-copy invoice on heavy yellow paper.
It was a bank confirmation receipt for a recurring wire transfer of one hundred thousand dollars into an account in the Cayman Islands.
Fay leaned closer, shining her flashlight on the depositor's signature.
The signature didn't say Luca.
It didn't say Sal Moretti.
It read: *Helena Corso.*
Fay gasped softly. Helena Corso was Dominic's mother. But everything she had read in the newspapers when she applied for the job said Helena Corso had died in a private yacht explosion off the coast of Maine twelve years ago.
Behind her, a heavy click echoed through the dark room.
The ceiling lights snapped on, blinding Fay with intense fluorescent glare.
May you like
Fay spun around, shielding her eyes.
Standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit, was Carmine Russo. In his right hand was a heavy revolver, pointed directly at her chest.
