Chapter 1 - THE DOG WHO HEARD THE WALLS
Nero barked three times.
Pause.
Three more.
Olivia Carter opened her eyes in the dark.
1:30 a.m.
Again.
For twelve nights, Gabriel Duca’s massive black Cane Corso had performed the same ritual. He left his mat near the security office, crossed two marble corridors, climbed the east staircase, entered Guest Room 7, and barked at nothing.
Security had searched the room repeatedly.
Closet. Fireplace. Windows. Mattress. Walls.
Nothing.
The bedroom had been unused for nearly four years.
Olivia had no intention of becoming curious. Curiosity was expensive in Gabriel Duca’s house.
At thirty-two, she had reasons to protect her job: a seven-year-old daughter named Lily, a widowed mother in Oak Park, health insurance, school tuition, and a schedule that let her spend three days a week with her child.
Mysteries could belong to rich men.
Then Nero barked again.
Olivia got up.
She found him standing rigid in the middle of Guest Room 7, moonlight cutting across his black coat.
He wasn’t staring at the bed.
He was looking up.
At the air vent.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Nero didn’t blink.
Olivia dragged the writing chair beneath the vent and climbed carefully.
The brass grille was dusty.
The screws were not.
That bothered her.
Housekeeping teaches you which dust is old and which has been disturbed.
She found a narrow key in the desk drawer and loosened the first screw.
A voice came from the doorway.
“Mrs. Carter.”
Olivia nearly fell.
Gabriel Duca stood barefoot on the threshold in black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
No guards.
No jacket.
Somehow, that made him more intimidating.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking where Nero is looking.”
Gabriel’s eyes shifted to the dog.
Then the vent.
“Get down.”
“Almost.”
“Olivia.”
It was the first time he had used her first name.
Her hand stopped.
Then she removed the grille.
Dust lined the metal shaft.
Except for one circle near the upper corner.
Clean.
Perfectly clean.
About the size of a quarter.
Olivia stared.
“Mr. Duca.”
Gabriel stepped beneath her.
“What?”
“Something was attached here.”
The stillness that came over his face frightened her.
His hand lifted toward her waist as she stepped off the chair.
He stopped himself before touching her.
Then he took out his phone.
One call.
“Matteo.”
A pause.
“Lock the estate.”
Everything changed.
Steel gates slammed shut outside.
Security lights flooded the grounds.
Two armed men appeared at the corridor entrance.
Elevators froze.
Staff doors locked.
Nero stopped barking.
Gabriel stared into the open vent.
“Everyone stays inside.”
Olivia felt cold move through her.
Whatever Nero had been hearing was not a ghost.
Someone had been inside Gabriel Duca’s walls.
And whoever they were had believed the most dangerous man in Chicago would never know they were listening.
By 2:17 a.m., Guest Room 7 no longer looked abandoned.
A portable work light flooded the ceiling. Two security technicians stood on ladders. Sections of ductwork had been opened. Dust covered the carpet.
Nero lay near the doorway watching everyone as if deeply offended that it had taken human beings twelve nights to understand him.
Olivia stood against the wall wearing a gray robe over her nightclothes.
Gabriel had ordered her to remain.
She had asked why.
His answer had been simple.
“You found it.”
As though that explained everything.
Matteo Rizzo arrived twenty minutes after the lockdown.
He was Gabriel’s chief of security, forty-six, lean, controlled, and usually impossible to surprise.
Tonight he looked furious.
A technician lowered himself from the ladder carrying a black plastic unit inside an evidence sleeve.
“Relay.”
Matteo took it.
“How deep?”
“Mounted about five feet into the branch.”
“Power?”
“Tapped off the thermostat line.”
“Transmission?”
“We’re tracing.”
The technician looked toward Gabriel.
“This room wasn’t the listening point.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“What was it?”
“Distribution.”
They opened more ducts.
The first microphone was found behind a vent in Gabriel’s office.
The second near the private dining room.
The third in the west study.
Then a fourth beside the conference room.
By three, Matteo placed six photographs across the library desk.
Olivia stared at them.
Four microphones.
One relay.
And a sixth photograph showing something she recognized immediately.
A small brass screw.
Its head had been marked with blue paint.
“Where did you find that?” she asked.
Matteo looked up.
“Inside the conference-room grille.”
Olivia stepped closer.
“That isn't from the original fittings.”
Gabriel watched her.
“How do you know?”
“Because I cleaned those grilles last month. The screws were silver. Every single one.”
Matteo exchanged a glance with Gabriel.
Olivia wished she had kept quiet.
Instead, she heard herself add, “And the maintenance company was here eleven days ago.”
The room went still.
Eleven days.
Nero had started barking twelve nights earlier.
Gabriel slowly turned toward Matteo.
“Who authorized the maintenance visit?”
Matteo reached for his tablet.
His fingers moved across the screen.
Then stopped.
“According to the log,” he said, “you did.”
Gabriel's expression hardened.
“I authorized no such visit.”
A silence settled over the library.
Then the technician's phone vibrated.
He checked it.
The color drained from his face.
“Sir,” he said, “we found the transmission destination.”
Gabriel waited.
The technician swallowed.
“It isn't outside the estate.”
Olivia felt her stomach tighten.
“Where is it?” Gabriel asked.
The technician looked toward the ceiling.
May you like
“Inside the house.”
And from somewhere above them, Nero began barking again.
