Chapter 2 - The Locksmith Was Just The Beginning
Luca didn’t hang up the phone.
He just stared at the blue tape on my locker.
“Mr. Moretti?” Elaine Prescott’s voice sounded small through the speaker. “Are you still there?”
“Cancel the order.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
But it carried a weight that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
“Cancel the staff, cancel the uniforms, cancel the locksmith,” Luca said.
“But Miss Bellini paid a non-refundable deposit—”
“Keep it. But if a single person from your agency steps onto my property on Monday, I won’t be having this conversation with you. Understood?”
“Yes. Yes, Mr. Moretti. Of course.”
The line went dead.
The staff office was completely silent, except for the faint hum of the industrial refrigerator in the kitchen next door.
Luca slowly slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.
He didn’t look at me. He looked at the plastic-wrapped uniforms sitting on the desk.
With one motion, he swept the cardboard box off the desk.
It hit the floor. The new black uniforms spilled onto the linoleum.
I flinched, my hand instinctively going to the stitches behind my ear.
Luca saw it.
The anger in his eyes immediately shifted. The cold, calculating mafia boss vanished, replaced by a quiet intensity that made my chest tight.
“Sit down, Rachel.”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“Sit.”
I lowered myself onto the small wooden chair by the desk.
Luca pulled a clean white napkin from his pocket. He turned on the small sink in the corner, ran the napkin under cold water, and wrung it out.
He knelt beside my chair.
My breath caught.
Men like Luca Moretti didn’t kneel. Not for anyone. And certainly not for a maid making eighteen dollars an hour.
“Move your hair,” he said softly.
I did.
He gently pressed the cool, damp cloth against the back of my neck, just below the throbbing bandage. The relief was instant.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Rachel?”
“I need this job, Mr. Moretti. I have an eighty-two-dollar bank balance and a dental bill for my daughter that I can’t pay.”
The truth spilled out before I could stop it.
Luca didn’t look at me with pity. He looked at me with respect.
“How old is your daughter?”
“Seven. Her name is Lily.”
He nodded slowly. “Vanessa told you that you were fired on Monday. She hurt you. And she threatened your livelihood.”
“Yes.”
“She wants to take over the house.” Luca stared at the floor, his jaw working. “She wants to lock me out of my own estate while I’m in the air.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t apologize for her sins, Rachel.”
He stood up, tossing the damp napkin onto the desk.
“No one is losing their job. Not you. Not Mrs. Carter. Not Luis. When Monday comes, you will all be here.”
A wave of relief washed over me. I wanted to cry, but I forced it down.
“Thank you, Mr. Moretti.”
“Take tomorrow off. Fully paid. Take your daughter to the dentist.”
“I can’t. The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night. Mrs. Carter needs me.”
Luca studied my face. He saw the stubbornness. He saw the desperation.
“Fine. But you don’t lift anything heavy. And you keep your hair down.”
He turned toward the door.
But something on the floor caught his eye.
When the box of uniforms had spilled, it had knocked over the small trash can beside the desk.
Amidst the crumpled papers and empty coffee cups, a small, silver object had rolled out.
Luca picked it up.
It was a heavy silver lighter. Engraved with a crest.
I recognized it immediately.
“That’s Vanessa’s,” I said. “She was looking for it before dinner.”
Luca stared at the lighter.
His thumb ran over the engraved crest.
But it wasn’t his family’s crest.
It was a crest I had seen in the news. A crest belonging to the Romanos. The rival family that had nearly killed Luca’s brother three years ago.
“Rachel,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Vanessa doesn’t smoke.”
He flipped the lighter open.
It wasn’t a lighter at all.
It was a hollowed-out metal shell. Inside rested a tiny, black USB drive.
Luca pulled it out.
He looked at me, and the air in the room suddenly felt dangerously thin.
“Vanessa isn’t just trying to take over my house,” he said softly. “She’s trying to sell my family.”
He plugged the drive into the office computer.
The screen flickered. A folder opened.
It wasn't financial records. It wasn't hit lists.
It was a file containing hundreds of photographs.
Luca clicked the first one.
My heart stopped.
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It was a picture of my daughter, Lily, walking out of her elementary school yesterday afternoon.
TITLE: The Girl In The Photograph
