Chapter 10 - THE AFTERMATH
By 3:00 AM, the mansion was finally quiet.
The caterers had packed up the ruined engagement cake. The hired security had escorted the last of the bewildered guests to their waiting town cars. The water from the sprinklers had been mopped up, leaving the marble floors smelling sharply of pine cleaner and damp ozone.
I stood in the center of the grand foyer, holding a trash bag full of soggy red rose petals.
It felt surreal.
Just six hours ago, I was a maid preparing a mansion for the wedding of the decade. Now, the fiancée was banished, an old handyman owned the estate, a nine-year-old boy was the heir to a shipping empire, and a beaten man was sleeping in the guest wing.
Frank walked out of the kitchen, carrying two mugs of black coffee. He handed one to me.
“Drink,” he grunted kindly. “You look like you’re going to fall over.”
“I might,” I admitted, wrapping my cold hands around the warm ceramic. “Frank, what happens tomorrow? With the Bellinis?”
Frank took a slow sip of his coffee. “Tomorrow, Luca meets with the Commission. The other family heads. He’ll show them the proof of Vanessa’s attempted theft of the port. In our world, stealing from a ward is a cardinal sin. The Bellinis will be sanctioned. Disgraced. They won’t dare retaliate.”
I nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety loosen in my chest.
“And what about you?” I asked, gesturing to the grand staircase. “You own the house now. Are you going to fire me?”
Frank laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the empty hall.
“I’m putting the deed back in Luca’s name first thing in the morning,” Frank said. “I don’t want to own a mansion, Emma. I just want my workshop back.”
A comfortable silence fell between us.
Then, Luca appeared at the top of the stairs. He had changed out of his ruined tuxedo into a simple black sweater and jeans. He looked exhausted, but the hard, cold edge he always carried had softened.
He walked down the stairs and looked at us.
“Marco is asleep,” Luca said. “Julian is curled up at the foot of his bed. I put a guard outside their door.”
“Good,” Frank nodded.
Luca looked around the foyer, taking in the stripped floral arrangements and the bare tables.
“It looks better empty,” Luca said quietly.
He looked at me.
“Emma, there’s a mess in my father’s study. The books that fell when we opened the fourth door. I need them boxed up.”
“I’ll do it right now,” I said, setting my coffee down.
“I’ll help,” Luca said.
Frank raised an eyebrow, hiding a small smile behind his coffee mug. “I’ll just be in the kitchen. Guarding the leftovers.”
Luca and I walked down the basement stairs together. The air was still damp, but the heavy, oppressive feeling that usually haunted the corridor was gone.
We entered Antonio’s study.
The secret fourth door was still open. The floor was littered with old leather-bound books.
I knelt down and started picking them up, stacking them neatly. Luca knelt beside me, doing the same.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the rustling of pages.
As I reached for a thick encyclopedia, my fingers brushed against a thin piece of parchment tucked behind the heavy wooden leg of the desk. It must have fluttered out of one of the books when Marco fell.
I pulled it out.
It was a small, sealed envelope.
The handwriting on the front was faded, written in the same elegant script as the port deed. Antonio’s handwriting.
But it wasn’t addressed to Luca.
It wasn’t addressed to Frank.
I stared at the words, my heart skipping a beat.
“Luca,” I whispered, holding out the envelope.
He looked over, his eyes narrowing as he recognized his father’s handwriting. He took it gently from my hands.
He read the front, and his breath hitched.
May you like
Written in faded blue ink were the words:
To my future daughter-in-law.
