Chapter 2 - The Woman Wearing His Ring
Vincent had spent most of his adult life learning not to react.
Anger made men careless.
Fear made them predictable.
Surprise made them vulnerable.
But the receipt in his hand nearly broke every rule he had ever lived by.
Lauren’s signature.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Three days before someone put a bullet through his spine.
Tessa stood beside the bed.
“Mr. Corvino?”
Vincent folded the paper.
“Call Marco.”
“Your security chief?”
“Yes.”
She reached for her phone.
“From the hallway.”
Tessa looked at him.
“You don’t trust the room.”
“No.”
Her gaze shifted toward the black listening device.
Understanding settled across her face.
She left.
Vincent remained perfectly still.
Lauren had access to everything.
His bedroom.
His calendar.
His vehicles.
His security schedule.
His private meetings.
She knew which restaurant he had visited the night of the shooting.
She knew which exit he used.
She knew when his armored SUV would arrive.
But none of that proved she had ordered his death.
The note explicitly claimed she hadn’t.
Which raised a worse question.
Why had Lauren paid fifty thousand dollars?
Marco Bell arrived four minutes later.
He was forty-one, broad-shouldered, quiet, and one of the few men Vincent had trusted since childhood.
He entered with Tessa behind him.
Vincent pointed toward the table.
Marco saw the device.
His face hardened.
“Where?”
“Under my mattress.”
Marco looked at Tessa.
“She found it.”
“Who changed the bedding?”
“Housekeeping,” Tessa said.
“Who had access?”
“Half the household,” Vincent answered. “That’s the problem.”
Marco pulled on gloves.
He examined the device.
“Commercial hardware. Modified.”
“Can you trace it?”
“Maybe.”
Vincent handed him the photograph and receipt.
Marco read them.
For the first time in years, Vincent saw genuine shock on his face.
“Lauren?”
“Apparently.”
“You want me to bring her up?”
“No.”
Marco frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if she’s involved, I don’t want her knowing we found this.”
“And if she isn’t?”
“Then someone wants me to believe she is.”
Marco nodded slowly.
Vincent looked toward Tessa.
“You tell nobody.”
“I wasn’t planning to post it online.”
Marco gave her a sharp look.
Tessa didn’t flinch.
Vincent almost smiled.
“Leave us.”
She turned.
“Tessa.”
She stopped.
“Thank you.”
Her expression softened.
Then she left.
Marco waited until the door closed.
“You trust her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Vincent looked toward the door.
“But I believe her.”
“That can be more dangerous.”
“I know.”
Marco placed the photograph on the table.
“There’s another problem.”
“What?”
“This picture.”
Vincent waited.
Marco pointed to the angle.
“It wasn’t taken from across the street.”
Vincent examined it again.
“Where?”
“Your security vehicle.”
Silence.
Marco continued.
“The shooter was outside. Whoever took this picture was inside our perimeter.”
Vincent felt cold.
That changed everything.
The bullet had always been blamed on a rival crew fighting for access to lakefront construction contracts.
Two men had eventually been arrested on unrelated charges.
One disappeared.
The other died before Vincent could question him.
Vincent had assumed the attack was business.
Now he wasn’t sure.
“Get me the original security roster.”
“From that night?”
“Everyone.”
Marco nodded.
“And Dominic?”
Vincent looked at him.
“What about him?”
“He’s downstairs.”
“Why?”
“Harbor documents.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
Dominic Russo had been Vincent’s closest business partner for eleven years.
Since the shooting, Dominic had effectively managed most daily operations.
Conveniently.
“Send him up.”
Five minutes later, Dominic entered carrying a leather portfolio.
He smiled.
“Look at you.”
Vincent hated that sentence.
Dominic sat opposite him.
“Lauren said you were resting.”
“Lauren says many things.”
Dominic’s smile faded slightly.
He opened the portfolio.
“The harbor acquisition closes Friday. We need your signature.”
Vincent took the papers.
He read every page.
Dominic shifted.
“You planning to become a lawyer?”
“I’m planning to know what I sign.”
“You always did.”
Vincent looked up.
“Then why are you surprised?”
Dominic smiled again.
“Not surprised.”
Vincent signed nothing.
He closed the folder.
“I’ll review it.”
“We’re short on time.”
“Then you should have brought it sooner.”
Dominic stared at him.
Something moved between them.
Not hostility.
Not yet.
But the old balance had changed.
Before the shooting, Dominic never pressured him.
Now he did.
“Everything okay, Vince?”
“Perfect.”
Dominic stood.
At the door, he stopped.
“Oh. Lauren asked me about the wedding.”
“What about it?”
“Whether you still wanted the big ceremony.”
Vincent’s expression remained blank.
“And what did you tell her?”
“That she should ask her fiancé.”
Dominic left.
Marco stepped from the adjoining dressing room.
Vincent had asked him to listen.
“Well?” Vincent said.
“He’s nervous.”
“Dominic is never nervous.”
“Exactly.”
That afternoon, Vincent said nothing to Lauren.
He watched.
At six, she entered wearing the emerald dress from the photograph Tessa had once complimented.
Lauren adjusted an earring.
“Dinner downstairs tonight.”
“I know.”
“Do you want them to bring you down?”
The wording bothered him.
Bring you down.
As if he were luggage.
“I can take the elevator.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Do I?”
Lauren stared at him.
“Why are you acting like this?”
Vincent rolled his wheelchair closer.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Three days before I was shot, where were you?”
Her face changed.
Barely.
But Vincent saw it.
“I don’t remember.”
“You remember everything.”
“That was six months ago.”
“September fourteenth.”
Lauren turned toward the mirror.
“I probably had lunch with my mother.”
Vincent watched her reflection.
“Did you withdraw fifty thousand dollars?”
Her hand froze against her earring.
There.
That was enough.
Lauren slowly turned.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Answer.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Answer me.”
Fear appeared in her eyes.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Vincent knew the difference.
Lauren walked to the door and locked it.
That surprised him.
Then she crossed the room and crouched in front of his wheelchair.
For the first time in months, she touched his hand deliberately.
“Vince.”
“Did you withdraw fifty thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
Vincent’s anger faltered.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Lauren.”
“If I tell you, someone else gets hurt.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
Vincent gripped the armrest.
“Was the money connected to my shooting?”
Lauren began crying.
That was answer enough.
“Did you know?”
“No!”
The word came out violently.
“No. God, Vincent, no. I swear. I didn’t know what they were planning.”
“Who?”
She covered her mouth.
“Who, Lauren?”
Before she could answer, the lights went out.
The room became black.
Lauren gasped.
Vincent immediately reached beneath the wheelchair cushion where Marco had placed a panic switch after the shooting.
Nothing happened.
No alarm.
No hallway lights.
The entire security system had died.
Then came a sound from downstairs.
Glass breaking.
Lauren whispered, “Oh God.”
Vincent heard footsteps in the hallway.
Slow.
Approaching.
Tessa suddenly appeared through the adjoining bathroom door.
“Mr. Corvino.”
Vincent turned.
“How did you get in?”
“The service corridor.”
She looked terrified.
“Someone cut the power.”
“I know.”
“No,” Tessa whispered. “You don’t understand.”
She held out her phone.
On the screen was a photograph.
It showed Tessa leaving the mansion the previous evening.
Someone had taken it from across the street.
Below the picture was a message.
STOP LOOKING UNDER HIS BED.
Vincent stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
This one contained only five words.
May you like
THE MAID IS NEXT, VINCENT.
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