Chapter 8
Ruby was not taken outside the estate.
That was my first conclusion.
The gates had been locked the moment Milo exposed Victor. Every vehicle had been checked. Every exit covered.
Which meant whoever moved her intended to hide her inside my own house.
Old Ferraro house.
Old Ferraro tunnels.
Dominic knew them all.
So did Victor.
I looked at my brother.
“Where?”
He shook his head.
“I swear.”
I believed him.
Not because he deserved trust.
Because fear like that is hard to fake when a child disappears inside a plan you only half-understood.
Dana suddenly spoke.
“The pantry lift.”
Thomas turned.
“What?”
She pointed toward the kitchen.
“There’s an old service lift behind the dry storage shelves. It hasn’t been used in years.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
Good.
She had surprised him.
We moved.
Behind the pantry shelving was a narrow hand-operated service platform built when servants moved food between floors without crossing family spaces.
The mechanism had fresh grease.
Someone used it recently.
Thomas found Ruby’s cardigan button on the wooden edge.
My chest tightened.
“Down.”
The shaft led below the kitchen.
Not cellar.
Older.
An underground corridor running beneath the east side of the house.
Victor followed despite my guards.
I let him.
If this ended badly, I wanted him close enough to see exactly what his resentment purchased.
Halfway through the tunnel, we heard Ruby.
Not crying.
Talking.
“Milo says bad words.”
My knees almost weakened.
Alive.
I moved faster.
The corridor opened into an old wine room.
Ruby sat on a folded blanket beside a woman I recognized.
Celia Ferraro.
My father’s sister.
Seventy years old.
Retired from family life after his death.
Apparently not retired enough.
She looked at me calmly.
“Julian.”
I crossed the room and lifted Ruby into my arms before I answered.
She clung to my neck.
“Daddy, Aunt Celia said we’re playing quiet.”
I closed my eyes.
One second.
Then I looked at Celia.
“What the hell is this?”
She sighed.
“Language.”
I almost laughed.
Older Ferraros could kidnap a child and still correct vocabulary.
Victor stepped into the room.
Celia looked at him with disappointment.
“You were not supposed to come down here.”
Victor stared.
“You knew?”
She ignored him.
Of course.
Another hierarchy.
I looked at Celia.
“Dominic works for you.”
“No.”
She adjusted her sleeve.
“We work for the same memory.”
My father.
There it was.
Not ambition.
Not greed.
A cult built around a dead man’s version of family.
Celia looked at Ruby.
“Your father understood children belong to continuity.”
I held my daughter tighter.
“No.”
I looked at her.
May you like
“He understood control.”
And apparently death had not ended his reach.
