Brooke Beretta Exclusive May 2026

But here was the thing about Brooke Beretta that the house did not yet understand: she was not the kind of woman who stayed eaten.

And Silas—my Silas—is the foundation. Every stone, every beam, every nail. The house is built from his bones, and it will never let him go. brooke beretta

She stepped into the grand foyer. A staircase curved upward into darkness, its banister carved with faces—not the usual acanthus leaves or geometric patterns, but actual faces. Dozens of them, small and twisted, their expressions caught somewhere between agony and ecstasy. Brooke ran her fingers over the wood. The craftsmanship was extraordinary, but the subject matter was deeply unsettling. But here was the thing about Brooke Beretta

Brooke leaned back in her worn leather chair, the springs groaning in protest. The name Ashworth rang a distant bell—something about shipping magnates, early Seattle history, a mansion on Queen Anne Hill that had been empty for decades. "I've done a few," she said carefully. "What's the property?" The house is built from his bones, and