Prologue
“So the auction isn’t until next week?... Good. You’ll set it aside for me then?” His white-knuckled grip on the phone eased, the cruel, triumphant look Mary received making her shrink even farther into the corner by the bookcase where she cowered. “That’ll be fine,” he continued. “I’ll send someone to pick it up tomorrow.”
He hung up decisively and sneered. “Don’t ever try anything like that again or I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Mary acknowledged the threat with a defeated nod, but she knew her brother wouldn’t kill her. He needed her alive to maintain access to the family money. Her money. Because if Mary died, the entire estate would be given to charity. The greedy bastard wouldn’t risk that.
****
It irked Pietro no end that his sixty-year-old sister had been left with control of the family fortune when, at fifty-two, in the prime of his life, he’d been cut out completely. What infuriated him even more was that the money, currently in the hands of lawyers, couldn’t be tapped for huge withdrawals without Mary’s signature. According to the will, the most she could receive without special request was a sum each month just enough to sustain her and the household. It was a generous amount, but one that ran through Pietro’s fingers swiftly.
Their elderly father had known the extent of Pietro’s habits—using coke, major underworld dealing. But what had disturbed the old man most was how much Pietro hated Mary.
And rightly so, Pietro sneered to himself.
From a very young age, she’d received every bit of the approval and love he more rightly deserved. For as long as he could remember, he’d despised his ass-kissing sister, who became especially coddled after the accident. Pietro laughed out loud, which caused the bitch to cower even deeper into her corner.
Yeah. Accident.
When he was only seven, he’d tricked her into riding her bike down a path across which he’d strung a metal wire. It hadn’t cut her fucking head off, as he’d hoped, but it did irreparably damage her vocal chords, rendering her mute. At least he’d never had to hear her goody-two-shoes voice again.
Upon reviewing the old documents, Pietro found out Father had cut him out of his will directly after that incident. The old bastard believed not only would that protect Mary, but stop his money from being frittered away upon his death.
How wrong he’d been. Within days of their father’s demise, Pietro had stormed into the family home to threaten and fire all the domestic help, replacing them with thugs of his own. Once shed of her familiar domestic retainers, he was free to beat his sister if she refused him access to her money…which happened frequently.
He had told her she could be treated like a queen, if she just did what he said and gave him what he wanted. But months later, the fight still hadn’t gone out of her, which he deemed both good and bad. He got a definite high from using her as a punching bag, but occasionally got carried away…and blood was messy. He had to remember to hold back, not hurt her too badly. He couldn’t risk a doctor coming to the house.
But his fucking sister still refused to be cowed. Always resourceful, she attempted several escapes. Each time she was discovered, running, his guards dragged her back to face him…which resulted in painful blows usually guaranteed to assure future submission. Not. So he needed to up his game.
All these months, he’d benevolently let her keep her childhood bedroom, roam the grounds while accompanied by guards, and eat at the dining room table. But several days ago, after being dragged back for the second time that week, he’d slapped her around. When she’d remained defiant, he’d come up with a plan.
At dinner that night, he informed her that a crew would soon be coming to clean out one of the basement rooms. The space―previously used for storage, but outfitted with antiquated facilities installed nearly a hundred years ago for some long-dead servants―would become her new home. He wouldn’t starve her, meals would be delivered by his crew of goons, but she’d never see the light of day again.
****
Mary had watched anxiously from her bedroom window day after day for the truck and crew that would signal an end to her freedom, all the while concocting a daring, last-ditch effort to save herself. Granted, it was a long shot, but what did she have to lose?
Several days later, under the guise of selecting a book from the library, she secreted a small wooden puzzle box into the pocket of her oversized sweater. Her heart quaked, her hands slick with sweat, but she managed to do it without notice of her guards.
Once alone in her room, she penned a desperate plea for help, writing her name and address and imploring anyone who read it to come to her aid. It took only seconds for her to open the box. She knew the trick, so it wasn’t difficult. She’d tucked her note inside and closed it up, but the next step of her plan would be the most difficult.
Later, while they ate their evening meal, the box hidden in her pocket, she meekly implored her brother to let her have a look at where she would be incarcerated. Not only did he agree, he did so with a nasty satisfaction.
“We’ll head down after we eat,” he said. “I’ll take you myself. Even though it’s not cleaned out yet, I’m sure you’ll be able to envision your new home.” He’d sounded downright cheerful.
Mary, already quite familiar with the enormous basement, knew exactly what she needed to do. Once Pietro ushered her into the oversized room, ancient bathroom attached, she began running her hands over suitcases and piles of old clothing, making her way to a series of shelves she knew would hide her lower body. Surreptitiously, and shaking with trepidation, she transferred the small wooden treasure from her pocket to a box that held old cameras. She said a small prayer. The note was her last hope. When Pietro sent her into nightmarish isolation, she’d never again have an opportunity to escape.
****
From behind the curtains in her room, she watched with grim satisfaction as the auction company came to clean out the basement. She fixed her gaze on the bulkhead door below, examining every item removed. When the box of cameras made it onto the truck, she heaved a huge sigh of relief. Her little crumb would make its way into the world and would land, well… She didn’t know where, but the small flame of hope that lit in her chest would have to sustain her.
****
Her back against the bookcases, Mary wiped a small trickle of blood from her lip and felt the last of her resolve fade away. How could she have known Pietro would do a thorough inventory of all their father’s possessions? How could she imagine he’d notice the absence of one small box? But, despite his drug-addled brain, he had. He’d beaten her until he learned where it had gone and what she had planned. Now, with this phone call, his thugs would retrieve the box before it went up for auction.
All hope leached from her body, along with the blood that ran from her injuries.
Her optimistic little crumb had turned stale.