Chapter 3: What Was Inside the Envelope
Alessandro held it out to me.
My name was printed on the front.
No return address.
No stamp.
Hand-delivered.
My fingers weren't steady when I took it.
"Open it," Alessandro said.
I pulled the flap.
Inside was a single photograph and a folded piece of paper.
The photograph showed the laundry room.
Mia's corner.
The folded blanket.
The bottle warmer.
The diapers stacked behind the cleaning supplies.
Someone had been in there.
Someone had documented it.
And they had done it carefully, like a person building a case.
I unfolded the paper.
Three lines.
Typed.
No signature.
*You have until Friday.
Leave the position voluntarily or I send this to building management, child services, and every tabloid that covers the Duca family.
Your daughter will be taken.
You will have nothing.*
The hallway was very quiet.
"Elena." Alessandro's voice was controlled.
"When was Friday?"
I looked up.
"Tomorrow."
Raymond made a sound low in his throat.
Alessandro took the letter from me.
He read it once.
His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed flat.
"Raymond.
Who delivered this?"
"A courier.
Young man, maybe twenty.
Paid in cash.
He didn't give a name.
I have him on the lobby camera."
"Pull the footage."
"Already did, sir.
I have it on my phone."
Alessandro looked at the photograph again.
Then he set it face-down on the hallway table.
"Elena," he said, "did Marco ever come into the laundry room?"
"Once.
My third week.
He said he was doing a routine check.
I had Mia in the corner behind the towels.
She was asleep.
He walked past and didn't say anything." I stopped.
"I thought he hadn't seen her."
"He saw her."
The certainty in his voice made my stomach drop.
"He's been holding this for months," Alessandro said.
It wasn't a question.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why wait?"
Alessandro didn't answer immediately.
He picked up his phone again.
This time he dialed.
"Carla.
I need you to pull Marco Vitelli's access logs for the service floors.
Every entry.
Every exit.
Going back four months." A pause.
"No.
Tonight."
He ended the call.
Mia had crawled to my feet and was pulling at the hem of my uniform.
I picked her up.
She grabbed a fistful of my collar and settled against my shoulder like she had done it a thousand times.
Alessandro watched her.
"He was waiting for leverage," he said quietly.
"Not against you.
Against me."
"Against you?
I'm a housekeeper."
"You're a housekeeper who has been inside my home every day for three months.
Who knows my schedule.
My habits.
What I keep and where I keep it." His eyes met mine.
"Marco didn't want you gone.
He wanted something he could use.
And when he needed it, he decided to use you to get it."
The photograph was still face-down on the table.
I thought about every morning I had tucked Mia behind those towels.
Every time I had held my breath when footsteps passed.
Every night I had counted the days, telling myself one more week, just one more week.
"What does he want from you?" I asked.
Alessandro's expression didn't change.
But something behind it did.
"That," he said, "is what I intend to find out."
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen and went still.
He turned it toward me.
On the screen was a text from a number I didn't recognize.
May you like
Four words.
*Did she open it?*
