Chapter 3 - Belladonna had been sending me warnings
Belladonna and I had been together eighteen months.
She was not Eira’s mother.
Eira’s mother, Amelia Costello, died two years earlier from complications of a congenital heart condition.
Not murder.
Not revenge.
Not one of my enemies.
A hospital room and a heart that had been fragile since childhood.
Belladonna entered our lives almost a year later.
She was wealthy in her own right.
Real-estate investments.
Luxury event consulting.
Family money.
Elegant.
Controlled.
She never pretended to replace Amelia.
At first that was one of the reasons I trusted her.
She said:
“Eira has a mother. She doesn’t need me to rewrite that.”
Good.
Then she became useful.
She understood staff.
Schedules.
Security.
The strange logistics of a household where every delivery driver was checked twice because of who I was.
When I traveled, Belladonna stayed.
Eira liked her.
At least I thought she did.
Then the threats began.
Four months before the dining-room incident, Belladonna forwarded me a photograph.
Eira leaving preschool.
Taken from across the street.
Unknown sender.
Message:
Pretty little Costello girl.
I increased security.
Police informed.
Private security reviewed.
No suspect.
Then another photograph three weeks later.
Our playground.
Eira visible in background.
Message:
Your men watch the gates, not the sidewalks.
That frightened me.
Then a package at one of my legitimate offices.
Inside:
A child’s red ribbon.
Eira did not own it.
Message:
Protection is an illusion.
Police took it.
No usable prints beyond ordinary handling.
No DNA hit.
No explosive.
No actual kidnapping attempt.
Then a black SUV reported outside preschool two different afternoons.
License plate obscured by distance.
Security reviewed traffic footage.
Could not establish it followed Eira.
Belladonna told me:
“This is escalating.”
Maybe.
My security director, Caleb Ross, disagreed.
“We have threats. We do not have a demonstrated extraction plan.”
Belladonna hated his wording.
“She is four years old, Caleb. How much demonstration do you need?”
I sided with caution.
More guards.
Route variation handled by professionals.
School coordination.
Then Belladonna proposed:
Move Eira temporarily to a private residence outside the city.
No.
“Why?”
“She needs normal life.”
“You call this normal?”
“No. Which is why I’m not teaching her that every anonymous message changes her home.”
Then Belladonna suggested Atlas Sentinel Protective Services.
Premium child-protection firm.
Owned by her half-brother, Damian Price.
Three-year package:
$2.6 million.
Dedicated team.
Armored transport.
Secondary residence.
Travel protection.
Cyber monitoring.
Was that automatically ridiculous for my life?
No.
Costello Group already spent heavily on licensed security.
But Caleb’s team was established.
Atlas would duplicate much of it.
I declined.
Belladonna kept pressing.
Then I left for the eleven-day trip.
During it she sent me three messages:
Eira refused protocol again.
She keeps breaking secure-room rules.
She doesn’t understand that crying can get people killed.
I called.
“What secure-room rules?”
Belladonna answered:
“Dinner. Staying in one place while the perimeter changes.”
I assumed she meant ordinary security drills.
I told her:
“She’s four. Stop frightening her.”
Belladonna:
“I’m trying to keep her alive.”
May you like
That sentence had sounded protective.
Now I wondered what it had permitted.
