By Mara's fifth day at the mansion, Nicholas had stopped throwing things at her.
Mostly.
He still threw pillows.
Once, a book.
But Mara considered that progress.
Their mornings settled into an uneasy routine.
She entered after knocking three times.
Nicholas complained.
She opened the curtains.
Nicholas complained louder.
She cleaned.
He pretended she was invisible.
Then the pain came.
And Mara sang.
Not entire songs.
Sometimes only a melody.
Sometimes she counted backward slowly while tapping against the chair.
Sometimes she told ridiculous stories about customers from the diner where she had once worked.
Anything that pulled Nicholas away from the pain.
The strange part was that it worked.
Not completely.
Nothing erased what his nerves insisted was happening to a foot that no longer existed.
But the attacks shortened.
His breathing steadied.
And after several days, he allowed the physical therapist into the room again.
"You did that," Mrs. Russo whispered.
Mara shook her head.
"He did."
Nicholas heard.
"Don't make me sound courageous."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
That earned her the smallest smile.
It disappeared so quickly she wondered whether she had imagined it.
Nicholas remained difficult.
Suspicious.
Controlling.
But Mara gradually saw pieces of the man beneath the anger.
He read history books.
He hated coffee with sugar.
He secretly fed bacon to an old Labrador named Caesar despite telling everyone the dog needed a diet.
He called his sister Elena every Sunday.
And he never allowed anyone to see him learning to walk with the prosthetic leg.
Except Mara.
That happened by accident.
She entered the library one afternoon and found Nicholas gripping parallel bars.
His prosthetic leg was attached.
Sweat darkened his shirt.
His physical therapist stood nearby.
"Again," Nicholas said.
He stepped.
His artificial foot caught.
He fell.
Mara instinctively moved forward.
"Don't."
Nicholas's voice stopped her.
Humiliation burned in his eyes.
Mara remained where she was.
He pushed himself upright.
Again.
Another step.
Another.
Then three.
The therapist smiled.
Nicholas looked toward Mara.
She said nothing.
No praise.
No pity.
Exactly what he needed.
Later he found her polishing silver downstairs.
"You saw."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And the forks remain deeply concerned."
He leaned against his cane.
"You don't congratulate people much."
"Would you want me to?"
"No."
"Then we're both happy."
He stared at her.
"You're strange."
"So I've been told."
His gaze lingered.
For a moment the mansion disappeared.
There was only Nicholas standing a few feet away.
Not the Valenti boss.
Not the injured man.
Just Nicholas.
Then Adrian entered.
The moment broke.
His uncle's expression sharpened when he saw them.
"Good. You're walking."
Nicholas's face hardened.
"Was there something you needed?"
"Business."
Mara moved to leave.
Adrian stopped her.
"Stay."
Nicholas looked at him.
"She doesn't need to hear this."
"Perhaps she does."
Adrian placed a folder on the table.
Mara sensed danger immediately.
Inside were photographs.
A destroyed vehicle.
A highway.
A burned body covered by a sheet.
Nicholas's jaw tightened.
"I told you never to bring those here."
"Another man involved in the bombing disappeared yesterday."
"Who?"
"Victor Sanz."
Nicholas cursed.
Mara turned away.
Adrian continued.
"Someone is cleaning up witnesses."
Nicholas's eyes became cold.
The transformation startled Mara.
This was the man newspapers feared.
"Find him."
"We're trying."
Adrian glanced toward Mara.
"Your father knew Victor."
Mara froze.
"My father has been dead eight years."
"That doesn't change who he knew."
Nicholas slammed his palm on the table.
"Enough."
Adrian smiled.
"Did she never tell you, Nicholas?"
"Tell me what?"
Adrian faced Mara.
"Carlo Bellini worked for your father."
Silence.
Mara laughed once.
It sounded weak.
"My father repaired cars."
"Among other things."
"You're lying."
Adrian shrugged.
"Ask Nicholas."
Mara turned.
Nicholas wouldn't meet her eyes.
Her stomach dropped.
"You knew?"
"I recognized your name."
"And you said nothing."
"I didn't know what you knew."
"Apparently nothing."
Mara backed away.
Her father had been a mechanic.
A tired, quiet man who kissed his children goodnight and worked six days a week.
He had died when a truck hit his car.
At least that was what Mara had always believed.
She looked at Nicholas.
"Tell me."
Nicholas dismissed Adrian with a glare.
His uncle left.
Only then did Nicholas speak.
"Your father maintained vehicles for my family."
"Illegal ones?"
"Sometimes."
Mara felt sick.
"He wanted out."
Nicholas continued carefully.
"He had children. He didn't want that life anymore."
"How do you know?"
"Because I helped him leave."
Mara stared.
Eight years earlier Nicholas would have been twenty-eight.
"Why?"
"Because he asked."
Her throat tightened.
"What happened to him?"
Nicholas did not answer quickly enough.
Mara understood.
"No."
"Mara—"
"No."
She stepped closer.
"The truck accident."
Nicholas looked at her.
"It wasn't an accident."
The room seemed to tilt.
Mara gripped the table.
"Who killed him?"
"We never proved it."
"Who?"
Nicholas's silence told her he had suspicions.
"Adrian?"
Nicholas looked toward the doorway.
"Not here."
Fear crawled through Mara.
"My father was murdered?"
"I believe so."
"And you hired me without telling me?"
"I didn't hire you."
"Your family did."
"Mara."
She stepped back.
"You knew the second I told you my name."
"Yes."
"And you let me stay."
"I told you to leave."
She remembered.
Nothing good happens to people who stay near me.
"That's why."
"Partly."
"What's the other part?"
Nicholas looked at her.
For once, the feared Nicholas Valenti seemed uncertain.
"Because I remembered you."
Mara blinked.
"What?"
"Your father kept a photograph above his workbench. You and your brother."
He paused.
"He talked about you constantly."
Tears burned her eyes.
"My father never talked about work."
"He was trying to protect you."
Nicholas lowered his voice.
"And it may have cost him his life."
Mara walked out.
She did not sing that night.
When Nicholas's pain began, another servant came for her.
Mara refused.
She sat on her bed, staring at the wall.
Then she heard him screaming.
She lasted seven minutes.
Finally she marched upstairs.
Nicholas lay curled on the mattress.
He didn't look at her.
"I didn't call you."
"No. You just woke half the county."
She sat.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
No humming.
Nicholas whispered, "You don't owe me this."
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
Mara watched his face.
"Because pain isn't the same thing as guilt."
His eyes opened.
She began the lullaby.
Later, when he finally slept, Mara remained beside him.
She noticed a framed photograph tucked behind books on his nightstand.
Nicholas with his father.
Beside them stood another man.
Mara pulled the photograph free.
Her breath stopped.
Her father.
Carlo Bellini.
Alive.
Smiling.
On the back someone had written a date.
And beneath it four words.
CARLO KNOWS ABOUT ADRIAN.
Mara heard a floorboard creak.
She turned.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
Looking directly at the photograph in her hand.
---