Chapter 5 - The Villa on the Hill
At eight o'clock the following morning, Rebecca stood before the massive wrought-iron gates of the Costa Estate in Lakeview.
The rain had cleared, leaving the air crisp, cold, and bright. Beyond the security gates sat a sprawling three-story Mediterranean villa surrounded by manicured gardens, marble fountains, and stone terraces overlooking the water. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
Two guards in black suits stepped out of the gatehouse. One held a clipboard, while the other scanned her with a hand-held metal detector.
“Rebecca Davis?” the first guard asked.
“Yes,” she said, shifting her small canvas duffel bag on her shoulder. She had resigned from the diner four hours ago, leaving her key on Gary’s counter after he refused to give her a final paycheck. This was her only option.
The gates slid open with a low hydraulic hum.
A black golf cart drove her up the long winding driveway, stopping at the grand front entrance. The massive oak double doors were opened by an elderly housekeeper in a sharp uniform.
“Miss Davis,” the housekeeper said with a polite bow. “I am Mrs. Gable. Mr. Costa is waiting for you in the conservatory.”
Rebecca followed Mrs. Gable through soaring archways, past priceless oil paintings, polished marble floors, and crystal chandeliers. The air smelled of beeswax, fresh lilies, and expensive espresso.
The conservatory was a massive glass room filled with tropical plants, sunlit marble tables, and a breakfast spread that could have fed a small army.
Roman sat at the head of a long wrought-iron table, reading a leather-bound folder. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate tattoos creeping up his wrists.
He looked up as she entered.
“You’re ten minutes early,” Roman noted, setting the folder down.
“The bus ran on time,” Rebecca replied, standing straight, refusing to look intimidated by the opulence.
Roman stood up, walking toward her. In the daylight, she could see the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes, the subtle scar cutting through his left eyebrow.
“Your background check came back clean,” Roman said casually, taking a cup of coffee from a silver tray held by a servant. “Rebecca Davis. Twenty-six years old. Born in Lafayette. Your father passed when you were twelve. Your mother died two years ago after a long illness that wiped out your family’s savings. You dropped out of community college to pay her medical bills.”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened. “Did your investigators enjoy digging through my grief?”
“I don't hire people without knowing who they are,” Roman replied smoothly. “Especially people who will be living under the same roof as my mother.”
“I’m here for Clara,” Rebecca said firmly. “Not for your money, and not to be interrogated.”
May you like
A quiet voice came from the archway. “Then let us begin, my dear.”
Clara stepped into the sunshine of the conservatory, wearing a pastel yellow silk dress, holding her white cane. She smiled broadly as she heard Rebecca’s voice. “I told you she would come, Roman.”
