Chapter 4 - The Forbidden West Wing Mystery
The east wing guest suite was larger than my entire former apartment in Queens, featuring silk drapes and an antique mahogany bed.
After the housekeeper left me alone, I walked over to the tall arched window that overlooked the manicured gardens and the dark woods beyond.
Directly across the interior courtyard, a massive, ivy-covered stone wing sat completely dark, its heavy iron shutters bolted shut from the outside.
I remembered Ricardo’s explicit warning during our ride in the car: never, under any circumstances, enter the western wing of the house.
Why would a billionaire mafia boss seal off an entire section of his own home like a medieval dungeon hiding shameful family secrets?
Curiosity gnawed at my stomach, mingling uncomfortably with the lingering dread of the dangerous bargain I had just struck with the devil.
I turned away from the window, walking over to unpack my single small suitcase on top of the velvet-quilted mattress.
That was when I noticed the small, locked wooden door set discreetly into the corner paneling of my bedroom wardrobe.
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My fingers hovered over the brass keyhole, tempted to test whether the master keys left downstairs could unlock whatever was hidden inside.
I pulled my hand back quickly, reminding myself that surviving in this house required obedience, not reckless investigative journalism into mob secrets.
