Page 41 of The Hidden Heir

“Trouble,” I reply and run out.

There’s no time. No time to think. To fear. No time to expect the worst that’s about to happen anyway. There’s only time for me to react, to jump into my car and call Eddie while I dash through the city like a bat out of fucking hell.

Someone sent me a photo from my house.

“Son of a bitch,” I snarl as I storm into the mansion.

Eddie comes out from the kitchen at the far end of the hallway, looking downright confused. “Mr. Petrucci, are you sure about this?”

“I’m fucking sure!”

The house seems quiet. It’s flooded with sunlight and heavily guarded, just as always. The security crew has already done a sweep of the premises, but they haven’t found anything out of the ordinary. Not even a trace of a stranger anywhere. My blood boils because I understand the purpose of that message.

It was meant to scare me, and it fucking worked.

“It’s clear, Boss,” Eddie reiterates. “I checked the security footage from earlier, too. There’s nothing. It must’ve been a doctored photo. It’s someone trying to mess with your head.”

That thought did cross my mind, but in my panic, in my terror of losing Valentina and Michael, I didn’t leave any room for that particular seedling to grow. Now, however, filled with clarity, I can feel its branches stretching and reaching for a sky. I know the why. I need to figure out the how.

“Eddie,” I say, with infinitely more calm than before I came in.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s Valentina?”

“She’s upstairs in Michael’s room. I checked. They’re good. Just playing.”

I nod slowly. “Do a third sweep and check all the motion sensors. Get the tech guys to pull a complete diagnostic of the entire security network, then change all the passwords and access codes.”

“Will do, sir.”

“And have someone look through the footage of camera BY-3 for the past seventy-two hours,” I add. “I need stills of every motion-activated event in that angle, specifically.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “That’s where the photo was taken?”

“Yes. Actually, give me a seven-day footage comb-through, along with the stills, just to be sure. Someone definitely took that photo; they probably didn’t take it today.”

Once Eddie is off to do a third sweep with the rest of our crew, I make my way up the stairs and head straight for Michael’s playroom. Now that Valentina and I share the master bedroom, I had another room set up specifically for the boy right next to ours. During the day, if he isn’t outside playing in the garden, he hangs out in here—playing, learning, developing precious skills.

Today, from what I gather, he’s building a small town on a plastic tray with colored lumps of Play-Doh, while his mother assists him, giggling and adding little humans in the streets.

“There we go,” Valentina says, sitting cross-legged next to the boy. “It looks a lot livelier, don’t you think?”

“This is Gary,” Michael replies, pointing at one clay person.

“Gary?” Valentina laughs, then looks up at me. Her humor fades, quickly replaced by a pained frown, before she shifts her focus back on Michael. “What does Gary do?”

“He’s the boss,” Michael replies.

Slowly and carefully, with deep, measured breaths, I walk in and sit down on the floor with them. The Play-Doh town separates us, and I take a few moments to analyze the craftsmanship of their colorful, joyful little project.

“Gary’s the mayor,” I chime in. “Right, Michael?”

The boy gives me a bright smile. “The mayor!”

“What’s the name of the town, though?” I ask.

Michael and Valentina exchange glances. Valentina then looks at me, her gaze softer, warmer, almost welcoming me back into the fold. This cannot count as an apology on my part. I need to do better. But for now, I dare not disturb this fragile balance between us.