Chapter 10 - THE WOODEN DESK
Six months later.
The Moretti mansion was unrecognizable. The dark, brooding mahogany walls had been painted bright white. The heavy, intimidating furniture was gone, replaced by soft linens and the chaotic, beautiful sound of a baby’s laughter.
I stood in the grand foyer, holding a silver clipboard.
I wasn't wearing a maid’s uniform anymore. I was wearing a tailored navy suit. Luca had promoted me to Estate Manager the week after my mother was discharged from his private medical facility. She was currently living in a beautiful guest house on the property, receiving the best care money could buy.
“Emily, are the caterers ready for the christening party?” Catherine asked, walking down the grand staircase.
She looked radiant. The heavy sorrow that had defined her for twenty years was completely gone. She wore a bright floral dress, and resting comfortably on her hip was six-month-old little Leo, chewing happily on his fist.
“Everything is set, Mrs. Moretti,” I smiled, checking my list. “The Archbishop arrives in an hour, and Mr. Moretti is already setting up the backyard tent.”
Catherine smiled softly. “Call me Catherine, Emily. You’re godmother today. You’re family.”
My heart swelled. I reached out and let little Leo grab my finger. He giggled, a bright, pure sound that healed every dark memory in this house.
“I’ll go check on the floral arrangements,” I said, turning toward the west wing.
“Actually, Emily, could you do me a favor first?” Catherine asked. “I want to put Sabrina’s old things in the charity donation bins before the guests arrive. They’re boxed up in the study.”
“Of course,” I nodded.
I walked down the sunlit hallway to the large study. Luca had ordered all of Sabrina’s belongings boxed up months ago, but they had been sitting in the corner, gathering dust.
I picked up the first heavy cardboard box and carried it toward the door.
As I lifted it, the bottom gave out.
Books, designer shoes, and expensive perfumes crashed onto the hardwood floor.
“Shoot,” I muttered, dropping to my knees to clean up the mess.
As I gathered the books, my hand brushed against something strange.
It was a false bottom from the cardboard box. Hidden beneath it was a small, ornate wooden box, locked with a tiny brass latch.
I frowned, picking it up. The wood was incredibly old, covered in intricate carvings of wolves. The Rossi family crest.
I probably should have taken it straight to Catherine. But my curiosity got the better of me. The brass latch was fragile and rusted. I used the edge of a letter opener from the desk to gently pry it open.
The latch snapped.
I lifted the lid.
Inside the box wasn't a weapon or blackmail photos.
It was a stack of yellowed, fragile letters, tied together with a faded black ribbon. And resting on top of the letters was a heavy, diamond brooch.
I picked up the top letter. It was dated twenty-three years ago. One year before the fire that killed Catherine’s father.
The handwriting was elegant but hurried.
I unfolded the delicate paper and began to read.
“My dearest Sabrina. If you are reading this, it means the worst has happened, and the Moretti family has made their move.”
My breath hitched. The letter was written by Catherine and Sabrina’s mother.
“You are so young, my sweet girl. But you must know the truth. The Moretti empire was not built by Luca’s father. It was stolen from ours.”
I sank back onto my heels, my eyes wide.
“Luca’s father was our accountant,” the letter continued. “He embezzled millions from the Rossi syndicate, and when your father found out, Moretti orchestrated a hostile takeover. Your father is trying to gather the remaining loyal captains to fight back, but I fear it is too late.”
I stared at the paper.
Catherine had told Sabrina that their father started the fire. She believed her father was the monster.
But this letter… this letter said the exact opposite.
“Luca Moretti is young and ambitious,” the mother had written. “I heard him arguing with his father. Luca does not want war. He wants to merge the families. He told his father he intends to marry Catherine to legitimize his claim to the throne.”
The room suddenly felt ice cold.
Luca hadn't married Catherine to save her from the fire.
He had planned to marry her before the fire ever happened. He married her to steal her birthright.
“Emily?”
I jumped, dropping the letter.
Luca was standing in the doorway of the study, wearing a sharp charcoal suit for the christening. He looked at the spilled box on the floor, then at the yellowed letter in my trembling hands.
“What did you find?” Luca asked, his voice entirely casual.
I looked up at him. The man who had begged for forgiveness in the flooded basement. The man who had played the repentant husband for six months.
“It’s a letter,” I stammered, frantically trying to hide the paper behind my back. “From Sabrina’s mother.”
Luca’s casual expression vanished. His dark eyes locked onto the paper in my hand.
He stepped into the room and closed the heavy oak door behind him.
Click.
“Give it to me, Emily,” Luca said softly.
“No,” a voice said from behind him.
Luca spun around.
Catherine was standing in the study, having entered through the adjoining library doors. She was no longer holding the baby.
She walked forward, her eyes fixed on Luca.
“Read it to me, Emily,” Catherine ordered.
Luca stepped between us. “Cath, don't. It’s just lies Sabrina left behind to poison us.”
Catherine looked at her husband. The trust they had spent six months rebuilding hung by a microscopic thread.
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“If it’s a lie, Luca,” Catherine said coldly, “then you have nothing to fear. Emily. Read it.”
TITLE: THE DIAMOND BROOCH
