Chapter 5
Lily’s sharp, escalating cries filled the vast study, echoing off the mahogany walls. The infant squirmed violently inside the pink cloth carrier, her tiny hands grasping at Mia’s pale blue floral dress. Mia immediately reached back, awkwardly trying to pat her sister’s back to soothe her, but her own terror was amplifying the baby's distress.
Mr. Duca reacted with the explosive speed of a man accustomed to sudden violence. He didn't hesitate to investigate the wall further. Instead, he grabbed Mia gently but firmly by the shoulders and rapidly guided her away from the bookcase, retreating to the far side of the room near the heavy double doors.
"It's okay, you're safe, I have you," Mr. Duca said rapidly, his voice a low, commanding rumble designed to project absolute security. He positioned himself between the children and the wall, his tattooed chest heaving slightly beneath his open-collar shirt.
He reached into his tailored trousers and pulled out his phone, bypassing the lock screen with a quick swipe of his thumb. He hit a single speed-dial number and pressed the device to his ear.
"Elias," Mr. Duca barked, abandoning all polite formalities. "I need you in the west wing, private study. Now. Bring your sidearm and do not announce your approach over the radios."
"On my way, boss," Elias’s voice crackled back instantly, carrying the sharp, professional edge of a former military operative. "Is there a breach?"
"Just get here," Mr. Duca ordered, ending the call. He slipped the phone away and crouched down in front of Mia.
Lily’s crying had subsided into a series of wet, distressed hiccups. Mia was bouncing slightly on her scuffed shoes, trying to rock the baby to sleep again, though her wide eyes remained locked on the far wall.
"Mia, look at me," Mr. Duca said, snapping his fingers lightly to draw her attention away from the bookcase. When her frightened gaze met his, he kept his expression calm and steady. "You are perfectly safe. But I need you to be very brave and answer a few questions for me. Can you do that?"
Mia sniffled, her rosy cheeks stained with tears, and nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
"How long have you been in this room tonight?" Mr. Duca asked, keeping his voice incredibly soft.
"A long time," Mia whispered. "Since the big clock in the hallway chimed ten times."
Mr. Duca checked his luxury wristwatch. It was just past midnight. She had been in the study for over two hours. "And when did you first hear the knocking from the wall?"
Mia bit her lower lip, thinking hard. "It started when I turned off the vacuum the first time, to move the cord. It was quiet, like scratching. But then, when I turned the vacuum off when you came in... it got loud. Like they knew the loud noise was gone."
A cold chill ran down Mr. Duca’s spine. Whoever was trapped inside the architecture of his home was actively listening to the environment. They had waited for the mechanical roar of the vacuum to cease before making a desperate bid for attention.
"Did you tell anyone else about this?" Mr. Duca asked. "Did you tell Grace?"
"No," Mia shook her head frantically. "Mama was asleep. I didn't want to wake her up. I just wanted to clean the desk."
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Before Mr. Duca could ask another question, the heavy mahogany doors of the study opened silently. Elias stepped into the room, a tall, imposing white American man in a dark suit, his hand resting casually but purposefully over the concealed holster at his hip.
"I'm here, sir," Elias said, quickly scanning the room, his eyes lingering in confusion on the six-year-old girl and the baby. "What is the situation?"
