Chapter 3 - The Signature On The Yellowed Paper
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought my chest might crack open.
Twenty-eight pairs of eyes shifted from Vanessa’s cruel smile to my plain, starched uniform.
I was just a housemaid. I scrubbed floors. I polished silver. I helped an elderly woman practice her dancing steps.
I had no idea what Vanessa was talking about.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered, stepping backward until my shoulders hit the dining room wall.
Luca didn’t look at the document in Vanessa’s hand. He looked at me, seeing the genuine terror in my eyes, before turning his dark, furious gaze back to his fiancée.
“You’re out of your mind,” Luca said. “My father wouldn’t trade a human life to settle a debt.”
Vanessa walked forward, her red silk dress gliding over the Persian rug. She slapped the yellowed paper onto the white tablecloth, right next to Teresa’s blue dancing shoes.
“Read it yourself,” Vanessa said, her voice dripping with triumph. “It’s a promissory note. Dated twenty years ago. Signed by Antonio Moretti and Emily’s father.”
My breath caught in my throat.
My father?
He had died in a car accident when I was seven. My mother passed away from illness a few years later. I grew up in foster care until Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper at the Moretti estate, gave me a job when I was eighteen.
Teresa leaned forward, her trembling hands reaching for the paper.
“Don’t touch it, Mom,” Luca said softly.
He picked it up.
I watched his eyes scan the faded ink. I watched his jaw tighten. I watched the veins in his neck bulge against his collar.
“Well?” Vanessa asked, crossing her arms. “Is it his signature?”
Luca didn’t answer her. He looked at his mother.
“Mom, did Dad ever mention a man named Arthur Parker?”
Teresa’s face went pale. The name seemed to physically strike her.
“Arthur?” she whispered. She looked at me, her eyes filling with sudden, horrifying realization. “Emily... your father was Arthur Parker?”
I nodded slowly, tears pricking my eyes. “Yes, ma'am. He was an accountant.”
Teresa pressed both hands against her mouth, a muffled sob escaping her lips.
“Mom,” Luca said, his voice thick with dread. “What did Dad do?”
Teresa couldn’t speak. She just shook her head, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks.
Vanessa laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound.
“I’ll tell you what he did,” Vanessa said loudly, ensuring every guest heard. “Arthur Parker was Antonio’s accountant. When Antonio was caught embezzling from the Bellini family twenty years ago, he needed a fall guy.”
“Shut your mouth,” Luca snarled, stepping toward her.
Vanessa didn’t flinch. She was banking on the power of her family’s name.
“Antonio forced Arthur to take the blame,” Vanessa continued. “And in exchange, Antonio promised to look after Arthur’s daughter. He signed a contract stating that if the Moretti family ever failed to merge their assets with the Bellinis—through our marriage, Luca—Emily Parker would be handed over to my father to work off the stolen money.”
I felt physically sick.
My father hadn’t died a random death. He had died a disgraced man, carrying the weight of a Mafia boss’s crime.
And I hadn’t been hired by Mrs. Carter out of the kindness of her heart. I had been brought here as a prisoner in waiting.
I looked at Teresa. The sweet, gentle woman who had laughed with me, who had shared stories of her husband’s clumsy dancing.
“Did you know?” I whispered.
My voice was so quiet, but it cut through the room like a knife.
Teresa looked at me. Her eyes were shattered.
“I didn’t know about the contract, Emily,” she cried. “I swear on my life, I didn’t know about the contract. But I knew Arthur took the fall.”
A tear slipped down my cheek.
“You let me clean your house,” I said, my voice trembling. “You let me serve your meals. My father went to his grave a criminal so your husband could stay in this mansion... and you let me scrub your floors.”
Teresa reached out a shaking hand. “Emily, please—”
I stepped away from her.
Luca dropped the yellowed paper onto the table. He looked at his mother, his expression one of profound betrayal.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“You think this piece of paper gives you power over her?” Luca asked quietly.
Vanessa smirked. “It’s a blood debt, Luca. In our world, a blood debt is law. You marry me, the debt is forgiven. You cancel this wedding, my father takes the girl.”
She picked up her champagne glass, swirling the golden liquid.
“So,” Vanessa said. “Are we still having a wedding?”
Luca stared at her. The silence stretched until it felt like the air was suffocating us.
Then, Luca moved.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t threaten her.
He calmly picked up the yellowed contract from the table.
He walked over to the nearest candelabra.
And he held the corner of the paper over the open flame.
Vanessa dropped her glass. It shattered against the hardwood floor.
“Are you crazy?!” she screamed. “My father will destroy you!”
Luca watched the fire consume the paper, his face illuminated by the orange glow. He dropped the burning ashes onto a silver tray.
“Tell your father,” Luca said, his voice echoing in the dead-silent room, “that Antonio Moretti’s debts are dead. And if he comes near Emily, I’ll burn his empire down just like I burned that contract.”
Vanessa was shaking with rage. “You’re throwing away an alliance for a maid?!”
Luca turned to me. His dark eyes were filled with a fierce, protective heat that made my breath hitch.
“She’s not a maid,” Luca said softly. “She’s under my protection.”
Before anyone could react, Mrs. Carter burst through the dining room doors, her face completely pale.
“Mr. Luca!” she gasped, out of breath.
Luca frowned. “What is it?”
Mrs. Carter held up a small, worn leather diary.
“I was packing up Mr. Antonio’s old suits for charity, like you asked,” she said frantically. “I found this sewn into the lining of his winter coat.”
Luca took the diary.
He opened the first page.
I saw his face change. The fierce anger vanished, replaced by complete and utter shock.
He looked up at Vanessa.
“You lied,” Luca whispered.
Vanessa took a step back. “What are you talking about?”
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Luca turned the diary around so we could all see the faded handwriting.
“My father didn’t embezzle anything,” Luca said, his voice shaking. “He was paying off a blackmailer. And the person blackmailing him twenty years ago... was your mother.”
