PART 1 — “LOCK THE DOOR”

“Will you stay?”

Those three words stopped me colder than any threat ever could.

They came from Emilio Corsaro, the mafia boss half of New Orleans feared, and a man who was now too weak to stand without a cane.

He sat on the edge of his enormous bed, one hand gripping the silver handle of his cane, his expensive three-piece suit hanging loosely from his shoulders.

His face had changed so much since I first started working at Corsaro House that sometimes I barely recognized him.

At thirty-four, I had spent nineteen months cleaning his mansion.

Nineteen months of polished floors, silent hallways, locked rooms, expensive furniture, and people who lowered their voices whenever Emilio’s name was mentioned.

Almost nobody inside the house knew my last name.

To them, I was simply Etta.

The cleaner.

The woman who arrived three evenings a week, worked quietly, and left before midnight.

But that night, Emilio looked at me differently.

“Let me hold you once,” he whispered.

I stared at him.

“No.”

His expression hardened.

“I’ll pay you.”

“That makes it worse.”

His eyes narrowed.

[“Why?”]

“Because tomorrow morning, I still have to work here. Mrs. Tunney will know by breakfast, the kitchen by noon, and your brother before supper.”