Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Hall
“Penelope.”
The voice came again.
Soft.
Measured.
Female.
Dominic stepped in front of Penelope.
“Stay behind me.”
“I’m getting tired of people saying that.”
“Tonight would be an excellent time to become less stubborn.”
The woman entered the study.
She appeared to be in her early sixties.
Elegant cream dress.
Pearls.
Dark hair streaked with silver.
Penelope recognized her from the dinner.
She had been sitting two seats away from Vincent.
She had watched the slap without reacting.
Now she stood in the doorway holding a pistol.
Penelope’s stomach tightened.
Dominic did not lower his weapon.
“Catherine.”
The woman smiled.
“Dominic.”
“Put it down.”
“You first.”
Neither moved.
Carlo groaned on the floor.
Penelope crouched beside him.
The wound looked bad but not immediately fatal.
“Pressure,” Carlo whispered.
She pressed both hands against his shirt.
He winced.
Catherine watched.
“You look so much like Eleanor.”
Penelope’s head snapped up.
“You knew my mother?”
“Very well.”
“Apparently half the criminal population of New York knew my mother.”
Catherine almost smiled.
“She had that effect on people.”
Dominic’s voice became harder.
“Why are you here?”
“To stop you from making another mistake.”
“The lights?”
“Not me.”
“The shooting?”
“Also not me.”
Dominic glanced toward Carlo.
“Then why are you holding a gun?”
“Because whoever cut the power killed two guards downstairs.”
Penelope stopped.
Killed.
The word changed everything.
This was no longer an ugly dinner surrounded by dangerous men.
Someone had died.
Tonight.
Because of whatever was hidden inside Room 317.
Dominic lowered his gun slightly.
“Who took the key?”
“I saw a man leaving the gallery.”
“Who?”
Catherine looked at Penelope.
“Gabriel.”
Penelope stared at her.
Dominic’s face became stone.
“That isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“My father is alive?” Penelope asked.
Catherine’s gaze softened.
“I saw a man who looked exactly like him.”
Dominic shook his head.
“Gabriel would be sixty.”
“So am I.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You think I’ve forgotten his face?”
“No.”
“Then believe me.”
Penelope stood slowly.
Her hands were covered in Carlo’s blood.
“Where did he go?”
Catherine pointed toward the rear of the house.
“Garage.”
Dominic took out his phone.
No signal.
“Jammer.”
Catherine nodded.
“Professional.”
Dominic looked toward Penelope.
“We leave now.”
“To the hotel?”
“To somewhere secure.”
“No.”
“Penelope.”
“My father may be alive.”
“Or someone wants you to believe he is.”
“Then I want to know why.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“You inherited that from both of them.”
“You can complain after we find him.”
Carlo grabbed Dominic’s trouser leg.
“Boss.”
Dominic crouched.
“Ambulance is coming.”
Carlo shook his head.
“Inside man.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“They knew cameras. Codes. Everything.”
Catherine looked toward the hall.
Dominic stood.
His face changed.
The warmth Penelope had occasionally glimpsed disappeared.
This was the man people feared.
“Who was in the security room?”
“Marco and Luis,” Catherine said.
“Where are they?”
“No idea.”
Dominic turned toward a hidden panel beside the bookshelf and pressed it.
A narrow door opened.
Penelope stared.
“You have secret passages too?”
“Tradition.”
“You’re becoming a parody.”
“Keep moving.”
They entered a service corridor behind the walls.
Catherine followed.
Dominic stopped.
“You’re not coming.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
Catherine raised one eyebrow.
“You still mistake age for obedience.”
Dominic stared.
Penelope whispered, “Were you two married or something?”
Both answered simultaneously.
“No.”
Penelope almost laughed.
Even under gunfire, that was interesting.
They moved through the passage.
Dominic explained the corridor had once been used by servants.
The house dated to 1906.
Penelope did not care.
Her thoughts remained fixed on one possibility.
Gabriel.
Her father.
Alive.
She remembered him lifting her onto his shoulders at Coney Island.
Teaching her to shuffle cards.
Burning pancakes every Sunday and insisting black edges improved flavor.
Leaving one ordinary Tuesday morning.
Never returning.
Her mother had cried behind a locked bathroom door that night.
Penelope had been eight.
For twenty years, she believed he chose another life over them.
What if he had been running?
What if he had been imprisoned?
What if—
She stopped herself.
Hope could be more dangerous than fear.
They reached the underground garage.
One vehicle was missing.
Dominic stared at the empty space.
“My Mercedes.”
Catherine pointed toward the security booth.
The guard inside was unconscious.
Alive.
Dominic checked him.
“Drugged.”
Penelope noticed something on the concrete.
A photograph.
She picked it up.
Another image of her mother.
This one older.
Standing beside Vincent’s father, Anthony Costa.
On the back, someone had written:
MIDNIGHT.
Belladonna.
Penelope showed Dominic.
His face tightened.
“They want us there.”
“Obviously.”
“So we don’t go.”
Penelope stared at him.
“You cannot possibly believe I’m walking away now.”
“I believe someone staged an attack on my home, stole a key, impersonated your dead father, and left directions leading to an abandoned hotel.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds suspicious.”
Catherine sighed.
“You really are Eleanor’s daughter.”
Dominic looked at Catherine.
“You stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
He ignored her and unlocked a black SUV.
Penelope climbed into the passenger seat.
Dominic looked at her.
“You’re sitting in back.”
“Why?”
“Safer.”
“No.”
“This is not a taxi.”
“Then stop behaving like a driver.”
For one second he stared at her.
Then he shut the door.
Catherine climbed into the back seat before Dominic could object.
They pulled out through a private exit.
Manhattan glittered beyond tinted windows.
Penelope looked down at her bloody hands.
Dominic noticed.
He handed her a cloth from the center console.
“Carlo will live.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
She wiped her hands.
“Does violence always follow you?”
“Frequently.”
“Good to know before the wedding.”
Dominic looked at her.
“What?”
“The future wife announcement.”
Catherine made a small sound from the back seat that suspiciously resembled laughter.
Dominic kept his eyes on the road.
“It stopped Vincent.”
“Temporarily.”
“Yes.”
“You could’ve said business partner.”
“He would not have believed that gave you protection.”
“Fiancée?”
“Same problem.”
“So you jumped directly to future wife.”
“Yes.”
Penelope folded the cloth.
“You’re insane.”
“That assessment has been made.”
“For the record, I am not marrying you.”
“I did not propose.”
“Excellent.”
“Excellent.”
Catherine finally laughed.
“You two are exhausting.”
Penelope turned.
“How did you know my mother?”
Catherine’s laughter disappeared.
“We were friends.”
“What kind?”
“The kind who kept each other alive.”
Penelope waited.
Catherine looked out the window.
“Your mother was not helpless, Penelope.”
“I never thought she was.”
“No. You thought she was ordinary.”
That hurt because it was true.
“She wanted you to think that.”
“Why?”
“Because ordinary was the one thing none of us could give you.”
Dominic changed lanes.
“Enough.”
Catherine looked at him.
“She deserves the truth.”
“She deserves to survive the night first.”
Penelope looked between them.
“What did my mother do?”
Catherine did not answer.
They reached Midtown at 11:41.
The Belladonna rose between newer towers like a ghost from another century.
Dark windows.
Boarded entrance.
Stone angels blackened by decades of pollution.
Dominic parked in the alley.
“No guards?” Penelope asked.
“Sending men ahead would announce our arrival.”
“To people who already know we’re coming.”
“Exactly.”
They entered through a service door Dominic still had keys for.
Inside, dust covered everything.
Old chandeliers hung above sheets draped across furniture.
Their footsteps echoed.
The elevators were dead.
They climbed the stairs.
Second floor.
Third.
Penelope’s breathing quickened.
Room 317 stood at the far end of the corridor.
The door was open.
Dominic immediately drew his pistol.
Catherine did the same.
Penelope whispered, “I feel underdressed without a gun.”
Dominic almost smiled.
They approached.
Inside, the room was nearly empty.
One chair.
One table.
One lamp connected to a portable battery.
And on the table sat the silver key.
Penelope walked toward it.
Dominic caught her arm.
“Wait.”
A tape recorder sat beside the key.
Old-fashioned.
A cassette inside.
Penelope stared.
“Is that from the nineties?”
Dominic nodded.
On top of the recorder lay a handwritten note.
PLAY ME, PENNY.
Her father’s handwriting.
Penelope knew it instantly.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Dominic looked at her.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes.”
She pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then a man’s voice.
Older than she remembered.
But unmistakable.
Her father.
“Penny, if you’re hearing this, then I failed to keep you out of this world.”
Penelope covered her mouth.
Dominic went rigid.
The recording continued.
“I need you to understand something before you trust anyone in that room.”
Penelope slowly turned toward Dominic and Catherine.
Her father’s voice crackled.
“One of them betrayed me.”
Catherine’s face drained.
Dominic stared at the recorder.
Then the tape clicked.
Another voice appeared.
A woman.
Penelope’s mother.
“Gabriel, someone’s coming.”
A door slammed in the recording.
There was shouting.
Then Gabriel spoke one final sentence.
“If Dominic tells her I’m dead, don’t believe him.”
The tape stopped.
Penelope turned.
Dominic had already raised his gun.
But not at her.
May you like
At Catherine.
And Catherine’s gun was pointed directly at Dominic.
