Chapter 3: The Man Who Believed Her
“Put the device on the table,” Dante said.
Mara obeyed, but Sienna stepped between them.
“She was tearing apart my flowers,” Sienna said.
“Then she suddenly produced that thing.
You can see what she’s trying to do.”
“Yes,” Mara said.
“I’m trying to stop whoever placed it here.”
Sienna’s eyes narrowed.
“You expect Dante to believe a servant over the woman he’s marrying?”
Dante walked past her and examined the device without touching it.
“I expect everyone in this home to answer questions,” he said.
“Including you.”
Carver’s pen stopped clicking.
Sienna folded her arms.
“Are you seriously humiliating me over the word of a housekeeper?”
“You accused her of taking something without evidence,” Dante replied.
“That was humiliation.
This is an investigation.”
Mara looked at him.
For three years, he had addressed her only to thank her, ask where something had been placed, or tell her to take a holiday she never took.
“Sir, don’t turn it off,” she said.
“If it’s transmitting, your security team may be able to trace the receiver.”
Carver reached toward it.
“Or it may be dangerous.”
Mara caught his wrist before his fingers reached the button.
“Then why were you about to touch it?”
Carver pulled away.
“You forget your position.”
“No,” Mara said.
“People like you remind me of it every day.”
Dante pressed the intercom.
“Reid, west foyer.
Bring a signal enclosure and no one else.”
Sienna stared at Mara’s hand, still raised between Carver and the device.
“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” she said.
“A chance to make yourself important.”
“I would rather be invisible than wrong.”
“That must be convenient for a woman who listens through walls.”
Dante turned slowly.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve seen her outside your office,” Sienna said.
“She watches people.
She keeps notes.”
Mara’s fingers tightened around the edge of her apron.
“I keep cleaning lists.”
“Show him.”
Mara took a small notebook from her pocket and handed it to Dante.
He turned the pages: linen counts, delivery times, staff rotations, soap brands, damaged hinges.
Then he reached Thursday.
White orchids.
Unknown male.
Gray coat.
Clean hands.
Photographed west hallway.
8:42 a.m.
Reid arrived carrying a metal-lined case.
He was broad-shouldered, silver-haired, and the only member of Dante’s security team who always greeted Mara by name.
“Don’t touch the screen,” Mara warned.
“It received a message.”
Reid leaned closer.
“That isn’t only a camera.
It’s a relay.
Someone was using it to copy signals from the security panel across the hall.”
Dante looked at Carver.
“Who authorized the florist?”
“Petra arranged it,” Carver said quickly.
Sienna lifted her chin.
“My assistant orders flowers.
Is that now suspicious?”
“Everything is suspicious until Reid clears it,” Dante said.
Reid placed the device inside the enclosure and connected a cable.
Numbers moved across his tablet.
“I’ve got the internal route,” he said.
“The message didn’t come from outside the building.”
Carver’s face remained still, but his pen clicked once.
“Which terminal?” Dante asked.
Reid turned the screen toward him.
“The household manager’s office.”
Carver’s pen slipped from his fingers and struck the marble floor.
“That proves nothing,” he said.
“Someone used my computer.”
Mara bent to retrieve the pen.
A faint green light blinked beneath its silver clip—the same green as the device in the vase.
May you like
She held it up between two fingers.
“Then why is your pen transmitting too?”
