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Chapter 6 - The Watchers

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The first black car appeared outside St. Anne's on a Tuesday.

Marin noticed it when she picked Eli up. A matte-black sedan with Rhode Island plates. A man wearing sunglasses sat inside even though the sky was cloudy. He watched the school gate with the lazy patience of someone paid not to look away.

Marin held Eli's hand too tightly.

“Ow, Mom.”

“Sorry, baby.”

“Are you mad?”

“No.”

That was the first lie.

By Thursday, the car had appeared twice more. By Thursday afternoon, Vivien had said Eli's name.

Now, as Dominic entered the mansion through the front doors, Marin remained upstairs in Isabella's room, trying not to shake.

Vivien had left twenty minutes earlier after discovering the call. She had not screamed. That frightened Marin more. Screaming meant panic. Silence meant planning.

Isabella sat beside the window with her writing board returned to her lap. Her hands trembled as she wrote one word.

Eli.

Marin knelt beside her chair. “I don't know,” she whispered.

Isabella's face changed, not with pity, but with rage so pure it seemed to give strength to her frail body. She tapped once against the board.

“No, I know,” Marin said, her voice breaking. “I know I should have told him.”

Isabella lifted a trembling hand and touched Marin's cheek. Then she wrote slowly.

Good mother afraid.

Marin covered her mouth. For days she had hated herself for being afraid. Afraid women always looked weak from the outside. She hadn't realized Isabella saw the strength it took just to stand there.

The heavy oak door of the bedroom clicked open.

Marin spun around, instantly placing herself between Isabella and the door. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She half-expected Vivien to return with men.

Instead, Dominic stood in the doorway.

He had removed his suit jacket, but the aura of suppressed violence clung to him like a second skin. His dark eyes swept over the room, taking in Marin’s defensive posture and Isabella’s trembling hands.

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“Carlo has Eli,” Dominic said. His voice was a low, steady rumble that commanded the space. “He is safe. He is being brought here.”

Marin’s knees buckled. She caught herself on the arm of Isabella’s chair, a harsh, ragged sob tearing from her throat.

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