Chapter 2 - THE GIRL WITH A PRICE ON HER HEAD
Norah stopped walking.
The photograph filled her screen.
She was standing beside the stove, one hand gripping a wooden spoon, her hair falling loose from its bun.
The angle was unmistakable.
Someone had photographed her through the narrow service window beside the kitchen doors.
Someone inside the estate.
Her phone vibrated again.
FRIDAY. MIDNIGHT.
BRING THE MONEY OR WE COLLECT ANOTHER WAY.
Norah locked the screen.
Her stomach turned.
She had been receiving threats for three months, ever since her younger brother, Caleb, disappeared.
At first, the messages were almost polite.
A reminder about the balance.
A suggestion that family obligations should be honored.
Then came the photographs of her apartment.
Her bus stop.
The grocery store where she shopped.
Two weeks earlier, someone had taped a broken plastic finger to her front door.
Norah had reported the threats.
The police had taken a statement.
But the sender used disposable phones, and the men collecting the debt never appeared under their real names.
She had started carrying pepper spray and taking different routes home.
Now they had found her at the Rossy estate.
And she was more frightened than ever.
“Miss Bennett?”
Norah turned.
Enzo stood at the far end of the hallway.
“You all right?”
She forced a smile.
“Fine.”
He studied her.
“You look pale.”
“Long shift.”
Enzo nodded toward the servants' dining room.
“There's food waiting.”
“I should go home.”
“Boss said you eat first.”
Norah almost laughed.
She had spent the evening afraid Vincent Rossy would kill her for making soup.
Now the most dangerous man in New York was ordering someone to feed her.
The irony was exhausting.
She followed Enzo downstairs.
The staff dining room was empty.
On the table sat a plate of roasted chicken, potatoes, and green beans.
Norah stared.
“That's for me?”
Enzo nodded.
“Eat.”
She sat.
Her hands shook as she picked up the fork.
Enzo noticed.
“Someone bothering you?”
“No.”
“You're a terrible liar.”
Norah looked up.
Enzo pulled out a chair.
“Listen, kid. I've worked for Vincent since he was nineteen. I've seen people walk into this house with guns, knives, and enough explosives to level the garage.”
He leaned forward.
“But I've never seen anyone make him finish a bowl of food.”
Norah swallowed.
“It was just soup.”
“Maybe.”
He stood.
“Whatever it was, he needed it.”
Then he left.
Norah ate slowly.
For the first time in days, she felt full.
But the threatening photograph remained on her phone.
And somewhere inside the estate, someone had been watching her.
The next morning, Vincent woke before sunrise.
He had slept five uninterrupted hours.
It was the longest stretch in weeks.
His stomach still hurt.
His hands still trembled.
But the crushing nausea that usually greeted him had eased.
Dr. Miriam Sloane, his gastroenterologist, arrived at eight.
She listened as Vincent described the previous night's meal.
Then she examined him.
His blood pressure was low.
He had lost another four pounds.
His nutritional status remained concerning.
“One tolerated meal is encouraging,” she said, “but it doesn't mean you're recovered.”
Vincent nodded.
“I know.”
“You need a supervised nutrition plan. Small portions, gradual increases, and continued treatment for the physical damage.”
He looked away.
Dr. Sloane continued.
“And we need to address the fear response. Your body survived a real poisoning. Your brain learned to associate eating with danger.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“I'm not afraid of soup.”
“No,” she said gently. “You're afraid of what happened the last time you trusted someone to feed you.”
He didn't answer.
She leaned forward.
“Vincent, accepting help isn't surrender.”
He stared at the floor.
Then nodded once.
After she left, Enzo entered.
“Boss.”
Vincent looked up.
“The cleaner?”
“Norah Bennett.”
“What about her?”
Enzo hesitated.
“Security says someone photographed her inside the kitchen last night.”
Vincent went still.
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
“Why was she photographed?”
Enzo placed a printed image on the desk.
It was the same photograph Norah had received.
Vincent studied it.
Then looked up.
“Find out who took this.”
Enzo nodded.
“And Enzo?”
“Yes?”
“Don't frighten her.”
Enzo looked surprised.
May you like
Vincent's expression hardened.
“She's done nothing wrong.”
