Chapter 2
The clatter of fine porcelain and polished silverware filled the room as the first course was cleared and the main dishes were brought to the table. Audrey moved seamlessly through the crowd, her delicate features set in a mask of professional composure. Despite the bright, airy lighting of the ballroom, a heavy sense of unease had settled in her chest. She kept her eyes averted from the mafia capos, focusing entirely on her duties, but her mind raced with the absence of the boss's daughter.
"Audrey, take the silver water pitcher to the head table," the head butler instructed in a hushed tone as they crossed paths near the kitchen doors. "Mr. Vale prefers his glass full."
"Yes, sir. Right away," Audrey replied softly, her American accent carrying a gentle, melodic cadence.
She took the heavy silver pitcher from the serving cart, the condensation cold against her fair skin. She navigated the velvet dining chairs with practiced grace, approaching the head of the table where Tristan and Veronica sat holding court. As she neared the tall Christmas tree, her expressive eyes drifted toward the oversized wooden gift chest sitting on the marble floor beside the evergreen branches. It was a massive, heavy antique, usually used for storing extra winter blankets, but tonight it had been placed under the tree as a decorative prop.
Audrey stepped beside Tristan’s chair, carefully pouring the iced water into his crystal glass without spilling a drop. The proximity to the mafia boss was always intimidating; his sheer physical presence and the artistic tattoos covering his hands commanded a terrifying level of respect.
As she finished pouring and placed the silver water pitcher down on the nearby mahogany sideboard, a sound cut through the ambient chatter of the room.
Thump. Thump.
It was faint, muffled by the heavy wood, but distinct. Two small knocks came directly from inside the oversized wooden gift chest.
Audrey froze. Her breath caught in her throat. She paused, her hands still resting on the handle of the silver pitcher. Slowly, she turned her head and looked down at the heavy wooden box sitting just a few feet away.
Her expressive eyes scanned the exterior of the chest, landing instantly on the thick brass bolt fixed to the front. It was visibly fastened, pushed securely into the locking mechanism. The chest could not be opened from the inside.
"Did someone bring a dog into the house?" one of the guests laughed, hearing the faint noise but unable to pinpoint its origin over the music.
"I certainly hope not," Veronica replied with a light, musical laugh, taking a sip of her wine. "I have no patience for animals on the furniture."
Audrey’s heart began to hammer violently against her ribs. She looked at the fastened brass bolt, and then her eyes darted toward Veronica. The polished, perfect smile on the fiancée's face didn't reach her eyes.
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Thump. Thump.
The sound came again, a little weaker this time. Audrey’s hands began to tremble. She knew she was just a maid. She knew the rules of the syndicate house—never interrupt the boss, never cause a scene, never question the family. But the agonizing reality of that fastened bolt tore through her training. She didn't move away from the sideboard. She stood completely still, staring at the chest, her gentle face pale with realization.
