Page 86 of The Hidden Heir

But it’s not. A luxury-edition Mercedes is parked in the driveway, and there is movement in the house through the ground floor and the upper floor windows.

“Go through the glove compartment. There should be a pair of binoculars,” I tell Victor. Once he gets them for me, I set the zoom lenses to give me a better view of the upper-floor windows.

Victor keeps an eye on the mailman as he stops to deliver an envelope to their mailbox.

“What are you looking for exactly?” he asks me.

“I’m hoping to see a familiar face or at least get a clearer idea about their movements inside the house before I consider breaching it,” I reply. “I’ll have Solomon take over later with a team of his own. I want an overnight stakeout so we can build a full pattern first.”

“So far, no one’s come in or out, and we’ve been here for almost an hour.”

The lights come on in one of the bedrooms. It’s late afternoon, and the sun is already dropping beyond the western skyline, turning it vivid shades of red and pink. A figure moves behind a lacy curtain.

“There are at least two people inside,” I tell him, moving the view over to the other windows. “Three. One’s on the ground floor, watching TV. I can see the lights from the screen flashing. There’s another one moving between floors at regular intervals, likely patrol. The third one’s in the northwestern bedroom.”

“We’ve got movement,” Victor says. “Front door.”

I check the living room first and notice the man I saw in there earlier is gone. It has to be the one stepping out. He’s a big, burly guy, wearing a black turtleneck and loose-fitting jeans. He has a square jaw and a thick neck. His crew cut tells me everything I need to know about him.

“Security detail,” I reply.

We both watch him as he walks to the mailbox, carefully looking left and right before opening it. He can’t see us where we’re positioned, given my choice of a more neighborhood-friendly luxury vehicle with tinted windows for this particular mission. His gaze lingers on my car for a moment, but I trust that the baby-on-board sticker will dispel any suspicion.

Indeed it does, and he opens the mailbox. He takes out an envelope, checks it, then takes it back into the house.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I use the binoculars again to analyze the situation.

“The guy in the bedroom’s coming downstairs. They’re all in the living room now.”

“The letter must be how they’re communicating with the outside,” Victor surmises. “It’s one way to stay off the radar, especially if the mailman is paid off.”

“Didn’t we have someone working at the USPS?”

“Donny. Yes.”

“Have him look into it. Get us details on the mailman assigned to this neighborhood. Have him check his financials and whatnot,” I reply, then pause when someone pulls the window curtain aside to look out into the street. “Shit.”

My stomach drops.

His face is clear, so painfully clear. It’s impossible to confuse him with anyone else. I could lie to myself and say I’m imagining it, but I’m not. It’s real. He’s real. The jawline, the hazel eyes, the dark hair and the suspicious eyebrow. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt, which gives him a boyish appearance despite his age, but it’s him.

“What is it?” Victor asks.

“It’s him,” I whisper. “Stefano.”

“You’re serious?”

I wish I could tell him it’s just a bad joke. It’s not.

That is definitely my brother hiding in one of Mancuso’s secret safe houses, smack in the heart of Mayfair, accompanied by a security detail of his own. He looks worried and stressed, but it’s Stefano alright, and the realization hits me like a punch in the gut.

I feel anguish and relief at the same time. Anguish that he’s been hiding from me, yet relief that he’s still alive.

“Luca, you need to calm down first,” Victor begs me before I storm into the Dandelion Spa & Massage Therapy Center, furious and determined to find Caroline and confront her about this. But he’s too late.

My blood boils and my heart races for a finish line that yields nothing but misery and confusion. Every muscle in my body feels rigid with tension.

I need to punch a wall or break somebody’s face.