Chapter 1 - THE SONG BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR
The most feared mafia boss in Westchester County had just caught me performing a private concert with a feather duster, and instead of firing me, he wanted an encore.
Or at least, that was what I thought.
“Tomorrow,” Dominic Vale repeated, his gray eyes fixed on me. “Bring your speaker.”
I blinked.
“To clean with, sir?”
“To listen with.”
That wasn't an answer.
Unfortunately, asking Dominic Vale to explain himself felt like asking a thunderstorm to provide a weather forecast.
“Yes, Mr. Vale.”
He turned toward the doorway.
Then stopped.
“One more thing, Rachel.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes?”
“Next time, don't stop singing because someone enters the room.”
I stared at him.
Behind Dominic, Marcus Cole made a suspicious coughing noise.
Dominic didn't look back.
“Marcus.”
“Yes, boss?”
“If you laugh, you're cleaning the marble floors tomorrow.”
Marcus immediately became serious.
“Beautiful floors. Very important floors.”
And with that, both men disappeared.
I stood alone in the parlor, clutching my feather duster.
Then I whispered to the marble statue, “Well, that could've gone worse.”
The statue remained unimpressed.
I spent the rest of my shift wondering what Dominic wanted me to hear.
The mansion was enormous, with forty rooms, three staircases, and an entire west wing that remained permanently locked.
The staff avoided that hallway.
Not because anyone had seen ghosts.
Because Dominic had forbidden them from entering.
His head housekeeper, Mrs. Whitmore, had warned me on my first day.
“Mr. Vale doesn't tolerate curiosity.”
I had nodded.
Curiosity didn't pay my rent.
But now the man himself was inviting me toward something mysterious.
The next afternoon, I arrived with my little blue speaker hidden inside my cleaning cart.
Dominic was waiting outside the west wing.
No jacket.
Black shirtsleeves rolled to his forearms.
An old silver watch on his wrist.
He looked less like a ruthless mafia boss and more like a man who hadn't slept properly in years.
“Come with me.”
I followed him down a long corridor.
Every door was closed.
At the end stood a carved oak door with a brass musical note above the handle.
Dominic unlocked it.
Inside was a beautiful music room.
A grand piano stood beneath tall windows.
Gold-framed photographs lined the walls.
Sheet music covered a polished desk.
And in the center of the room sat a small wooden chair.
A child's chair.
My smile faded.
“Whose room is this?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
Then he approached the piano and pressed one key.
A soft note echoed.
“My sister's.”
I looked toward the photographs.
A beautiful young woman smiled from nearly every frame.
Dark curls.
Bright green eyes.
A mischievous grin.
“She liked music?”
Dominic's expression softened.
“She loved it.”
“Where is she now?”
His hand stopped above the keys.
“That's what I want to know.”
I stared at him.
He opened a drawer and removed an old recording device.
“My sister disappeared six years ago.”
My heart tightened.
“I'm sorry.”
Dominic placed the recorder on the piano.
“Three nights before she vanished, she recorded a song.”
He pressed play.
A woman's voice filled the room.
Clear.
Beautiful.
Hauntingly familiar.
I stopped breathing.
Because I recognized the melody.
Not from the radio.
Not from a concert.
But from my childhood.
My mother used to sing that exact song while brushing my hair.
And when the recording reached its final verse, I whispered the words before the woman's voice could finish them.
Dominic turned sharply.
“How do you know that song?”
My hands began shaking.
“Because my mother wrote it.”
His face went completely pale.
May you like
Then he whispered:
“Rachel, my sister disappeared while searching for the woman who wrote that song.”
