Chapter 2 - The Girl Behind the Locked Door
THE MAFIA BOSS SAW ME SERVING HIS ENGAGEMENT DINNER WITH A TORN APRON, A BRUISED WRIST, AND A LITTLE GIRL'S RED SHOE HIDDEN IN MY POCKET—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE TOOK THAT FROM THE LOCKED GUEST ROOM,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS CARRYING A CHILD'S SHOE.
“Grace?”
Luca Moretti lowered his champagne glass.
I stood beside his chair, struggling to keep a silver serving tray steady.
My right wrist was swollen.
A small tear ran across the front of my white apron.
And sticking out of my pocket was a tiny red patent-leather shoe.
The kind a little girl might wear to church on Sunday.
Twenty-six guests were seated beneath the crystal chandeliers of Luca's Chicago mansion.
“Grace, what happened to your wrist?”
Before I could answer, Vanessa Bellini gave an irritated laugh.
“Oh, darling, she hurt herself snooping around the locked guest room. Apparently, she found someone's little red shoe and decided to make a production of it.”
Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
“The locked guest room?”
“Yes. Upstairs, near the east staircase.”
He looked back at me.
Then at the shoe.
“Grace, whose is that?”
My throat tightened.
Because Vanessa had just mentioned the exact room where she'd told me never to go again.
And a seven-year-old little girl was still waiting behind that locked door.
My name is Grace Bennett.
I was twenty-seven, worked as a housemaid at the Moretti estate, and had spent the past two hours pretending I wasn't terrified.
Normally, I loved working for Luca Moretti.
He was demanding.
Quiet.
The kind of man who noticed when a chair had been moved or when someone was lying before they finished speaking.
But he'd always been fair to me.
When my grandmother broke her hip the previous winter, he gave me a week off and paid me anyway.
He'd never mentioned it again.
I hadn't forgotten.
That was why what happened that afternoon felt so wrong.
It started at four twenty.
I was carrying fresh towels upstairs when I heard something behind the guest-room door.
Three small knocks.
Then silence.
I stopped walking.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I started toward the linen closet.
Then I heard it again.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A tiny voice followed.
“Excuse me?”
I turned.
“Is someone in there?”
There was a pause.
Then a little girl whispered, “Are you the lady who brings the towels?”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Could I have some water?”
I looked at the locked door.
“Of course. Why don't you come out?”
The voice became smaller.
“I can't.”
I frowned.
“Why not?”
“Mommy said I have to stay here until everybody leaves.”
I stood completely still.
“Where's your mommy?”
Another pause.
“Downstairs.”
I looked toward the staircase.
The engagement guests would be arriving in less than two hours.
“What's your name, sweetheart?”
“Molly.”
“How old are you?”
“Seven.”
I swallowed.
“Are you alone in there?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me tightened.
I reached for the door handle.
Locked.
I knocked gently.
“Molly, I'm going to find someone with a key, okay?”
“Please don't.”
Her voice trembled.
“Mommy said I'd get her in trouble.”
I crouched beside the door.
“Sweetheart, asking for water isn't getting anyone in trouble.”
She didn't answer.
Then she whispered something that made my heart hurt.
“Could you just sit here a minute? It's scary when nobody talks.”
I sat down on the carpet.
Still holding the towels.
“Of course.”
For the next few minutes, we talked through the door.
Molly told me she liked strawberry ice cream.
That she was in second grade.
And that she'd recently lost her front tooth.
She also told me something I couldn't stop thinking about.
“I was supposed to stay with Grandma today.”
“What happened?”
“Grandma got sick.”
“I'm sorry, sweetheart.”
She hesitated.
“Mommy said I could come here, but only if I promised not to tell anybody.”
I stared at the door.
“Why wouldn't she want anyone to know?”
Molly was quiet.
Then she whispered, “Because there's a party.”
I felt cold.
A little girl.
Seven years old.
Locked upstairs while dozens of adults celebrated downstairs.
I stood.
“Molly, I'm going to bring you some water.”
“Will you come back?”
“I promise.”
I hurried downstairs.
But before I reached the kitchen, Vanessa appeared.
She was wearing a fitted red silk gown and diamond earrings.
“Grace, where have you been?”
I stopped.
“Upstairs, ma'am.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Which room?”
“The east guest room.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“What were you doing there?”
I swallowed.
“There's a little girl inside.”
Vanessa stared at me.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she stepped closer.
“Did you speak to her?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“What did she tell you?”
I hesitated.
“That she's seven. Her name is Molly. She asked for water.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Then gave a slow, irritated sigh.
“Wonderful.”
I stared at her.
“Miss Bellini, why is she locked in there?”
“Because she's supposed to be staying upstairs.”
“But she's alone.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Grace, I don't need a housemaid telling me how to handle a child.”
I swallowed.
“Could I at least bring her something to eat?”
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“She's hungry, ma'am.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Listen carefully.”
Her voice dropped.
“That girl is not to come downstairs tonight.”
I stared at her.
“Does Mr. Moretti know she's here?”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“That's none of your business.”
“Ma'am—”
“And if you mention her to Luca, you can collect your final paycheck tomorrow.”
I couldn't speak.
I needed this job.
My grandmother's medical bills had been piling up.
And my younger brother was helping with the mortgage on her house.
Losing my paycheck would have hurt both of them.
But I kept thinking about Molly.
Sitting alone.
Waiting for someone to open the door.
So when Vanessa returned to the dining room, I went to the kitchen.
Filled a glass with water.
Made a small peanut-butter sandwich.
And took both upstairs.
Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper, kept a spare key to the guest rooms in her office.
I borrowed it.
Then quietly unlocked Molly's door.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed.
A little girl with brown curls.
A pale-yellow cardigan.
White socks.
And one red patent-leather shoe.
The other shoe lay beside the doorway.
She looked up.
“Are you the nice lady?”
I smiled.
“I hope so.”
She climbed down from the bed.
Then stopped.
“Did Mommy say I could come out?”
My heart tightened.
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
Her face fell.
“Oh.”
I placed the sandwich beside her.
“Let's get you something to eat first.”
She climbed back onto the bed.
Then began eating so quickly I wondered when she'd last had lunch.
I sat beside her.
“Molly, who brought you here?”
“Mr. Daniel's driver.”
I frowned.
“Does your mommy work here?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.”
I looked toward the doorway.
“What's her name?”
Molly lowered her eyes.
Then whispered, “Vanessa.”
My stomach dropped.
I stared at the little girl.
“Vanessa Bellini?”
Molly nodded.
Then smiled.
“She's very pretty, isn't she?”
I couldn't speak.
Molly looked down at her sandwich.
“She said she's getting married.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“She told me the man she's marrying doesn't like children.”
I went still.
“What?”
Molly shrugged.
“So I have to be quiet until the party is over.”
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Because I knew Luca Moretti.
I'd watched him sit on the kitchen floor playing with Mrs. Carter's grandchildren.
I'd seen him spend an entire afternoon helping the gardener's little boy fix a broken bicycle.
And I'd heard him tell his mother that someday, he'd like to have children of his own.
Vanessa had lied.
Not only to Luca.
But to her own daughter.
I brushed a curl away from Molly's cheek.
“Sweetheart, Mr. Moretti isn't mean to children.”
She looked up.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Her face brightened.
“Then maybe I could meet him?”
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
Her face went white.
“What are you doing?”
I stood immediately.
“Miss Bellini—”
“I told you to stay away from this room.”
Molly jumped off the bed.
“Mommy!”
She ran toward Vanessa.
But Vanessa stepped back.
“Not now, Molly.”
The little girl stopped.
Her smile disappeared.
“I just wanted to see you.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“Get out.”
I hesitated.
“She's only seven, ma'am.”
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“Grace.”
I swallowed.
“She shouldn't be alone in here.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Leave. Now.”
Molly caught my hand.
“Please don't go.”
I looked down.
Her little fingers were trembling.
Vanessa reached for my wrist.
“Grace, I said leave.”
I tried to step between her and Molly.
“Please, Miss Bellini. Let me take her to Mrs. Carter.”
Vanessa pulled me toward the doorway.
My wrist struck the brass handle.
Pain shot up my arm.
I gasped.
The serving towel I'd tucked beneath my apron fell to the floor.
Molly started crying.
“Mommy, stop!”
Vanessa released me.
Then looked toward the hallway.
Her expression changed.
She didn't want anyone hearing.
“Grace, get downstairs.”
I stared at her.
“And if you say one word about Molly to Luca, you'll never work in this house again.”
I looked at the little girl.
She was standing beside the bed.
Crying quietly.
Vanessa pulled the door closed.
But before it shut, Molly's red shoe caught beneath the edge.
The door stopped.
Vanessa yanked it free.
The shoe slid into the hallway.
Then the door closed.
And the lock clicked.
I stood there.
My wrist throbbing.
Staring at the tiny red shoe.
I picked it up.
And slipped it into my apron pocket.
I didn't know what else to do.
I only knew I couldn't leave Molly there.
At six forty-five, Vanessa found me near the kitchen.
She glanced at my swollen wrist.
Then at the shoe sticking out of my pocket.
Her face hardened.
“Get rid of that.”
I shook my head.
“Please, ma'am. Just let me tell Mrs. Carter.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“You're not telling anyone.”
My throat tightened.
“She asked me not to leave her alone.”
Vanessa looked toward the dining room.
Then back at me.
“Grace, I have worked too hard to let a housemaid ruin this evening.”
I couldn't speak.
She smiled coldly.
“Remember who signs your paycheck.”
Then she walked away.
Now, nearly thirty minutes later, I stood beside Luca Moretti's engagement table.
My wrist was swollen.
My apron was torn.
And a little girl's red shoe was sticking out of my pocket.
Luca studied my face.
“Grace, did someone hurt you?”
I swallowed.
“No, sir.”
He looked toward my wrist.
“Then why is that bruised?”
Vanessa immediately spoke.
“She bumped into the door while snooping around upstairs.”
Luca slowly turned.
“Which door?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“The east guest room.”
He frowned.
“Why was she in there?”
Vanessa laughed.
“Honestly, Luca, I don't know. Perhaps she was looking for something.”
He looked back at me.
“Grace, were you?”
My mouth went dry.
I thought about my grandmother.
The bills.
The mortgage.
Then I thought about Molly sitting on that bed.
Asking whether the man downstairs hated children.
“No, sir.”
Vanessa's smile disappeared.
Luca waited.
“Then why were you upstairs?”
My eyes filled.
“Because someone needed help.”
The room went silent.
Luca looked at me.
“Who?”
I reached into my apron.
And placed the little red shoe on the white tablecloth.
Twenty-six guests stared.
Vanessa went completely still.
Luca looked down at it.
Then back at me.
“Grace?”
My voice trembled.
“There's a little girl locked upstairs.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Luca slowly stood.
“A little girl?”
I nodded.
“She's seven.”
Vanessa immediately laughed.
“Luca, this is ridiculous. Grace has completely misunderstood the situation.”
He didn't look at her.
“Is the child alone?”
My eyes filled.
“Yes, sir.”
“Right now?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Luca pushed back his chair so quickly it struck the floor.
He crossed the room.
Stopped beside me.
And gently took my uninjured hand.
“Look at me.”
I raised my eyes.
“You did the right thing telling me.”
My chin began trembling.
“Sir, I was afraid—”
“I know.”
He glanced at my bruised wrist.
Then his expression hardened.
“Daniel.”
His security chief stepped forward.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get the key to the east guest room.”
Vanessa hurried around the table.
“Luca, please. We need to discuss this privately.”
He turned toward her.
“Who's upstairs?”
She stopped.
“Darling—”
“Who's upstairs, Vanessa?”
Her face flushed.
Then she whispered, “Molly.”
Luca stared at her.
“Who is Molly?”
Vanessa looked toward the guests.
For the first time all evening, she seemed genuinely frightened.
“My daughter.”
Nobody spoke.
Luca went completely still.
“Your daughter?”
Vanessa looked away.
He stared at her.
Then at the little red shoe.
“You have a daughter?”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he asked quietly, “And you locked her in a bedroom during our engagement dinner?”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I didn't want her becoming overwhelmed by the party.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“Then why didn't you tell me she was here?”
She said nothing.
He turned toward the staircase.
And walked out.
I followed him.
By the time we reached the east hallway, Daniel had unlocked the guest-room door.
Luca entered first.
Molly was sitting beside the window.
Her little yellow cardigan was buttoned crookedly.
One shoe on.
One foot in a white sock.
She looked up when she heard us.
Then her eyes widened.
“Grace!”
She jumped off the bed.
I hurried toward her.
She wrapped her arms around my waist.
“You came back.”
My eyes filled.
“Of course I did, sweetheart.”
Luca stopped beside us.
For a moment, he simply stared at the little girl.
Then he slowly knelt.
“Hi, Molly.”
She looked at his black suit.
Then at the tattoos on his hands.
“Are you Mr. Moretti?”
He nodded.
“I'm Luca.”
She hesitated.
Then whispered, “Mommy said you don't like kids.”
Luca's expression changed.
He looked toward the doorway.
Where Vanessa stood silently.
Then back at Molly.
“Sweetheart, that's not true.”
Molly studied his face.
“Really?”
“Really.”
She glanced at the little red shoe in his hand.
Then smiled faintly.
“You found my shoe.”
Luca nodded.
“Grace kept it safe.”
He gently placed it beside her foot.
Then asked, “Would you like to come downstairs and get something to eat?”
Molly hesitated.
“Am I allowed?”
His jaw tightened.
“Of course.”
She looked toward Vanessa.
“Mommy?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
Molly lowered her eyes.
“I promise I won't bother anybody.”
Something changed in Luca's face.
He reached forward and gently touched her shoulder.
“Sweetheart, you're not bothering anyone.”
Her chin trembled.
Then she whispered, “Can I sit with Grace?”
I began crying.
Luca looked at me.
Then nodded.
“Absolutely.”
He stood.
And for the first time that evening, his eyes were wet.
He looked toward Vanessa.
“Why didn't you tell me about your daughter?”
Vanessa glanced at Molly.
Then lowered her voice.
“Luca, this isn't the time.”
He stepped closer.
“You told a seven-year-old girl I wouldn't want to meet her.”
She looked away.
“Because I didn't know how you'd react.”
Luca shook his head.
“Then you should've asked me.”
Vanessa's expression tightened.
“You don't understand how complicated this is.”
He looked toward Molly.
She was holding my hand.
Still watching her mother.
Then he turned back.
“No.”
His voice broke slightly.
“What I don't understand is how you could leave your own child wondering whether she was allowed to be loved.”
Vanessa stopped speaking.
Luca looked at my swollen wrist.
Then at her.
“And you hurt Grace because she tried to help her?”
Vanessa gave a small, uncomfortable laugh.
“She was interfering.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“She was protecting a little girl.”
Nobody moved.
Then he said quietly, “Something you should have been doing yourself.”
Vanessa's face went white.
For several seconds, the hallway remained silent.
Then Molly tugged gently on my sleeve.
“Grace?”
I looked down.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we go downstairs now?”
I smiled through my tears.
“Of course.”
Luca stepped aside.
But before we reached the staircase, Molly looked back at her mother.
“Mommy?”
Vanessa looked up.
“What?”
The little girl's voice became very small.
“Do I still have to call you Aunt Vanessa when we're around people?”
I stopped walking.
Luca went completely still.
He slowly turned toward his fiancée.
“Aunt Vanessa?”
She closed her eyes.
Molly looked confused.
“That's what Mommy said I had to call her tonight.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Luca asked, “How long has she been telling you that?”
Molly looked down at her shoe.
“Since she started getting ready for the wedding.”
Luca stared at Vanessa.
And I watched the anger return to his face.
Not the loud kind.
Something deeper.
Because he finally understood.
Vanessa wasn't simply hiding her daughter from the engagement guests.
She'd been teaching Molly to pretend she wasn't her mother.
Luca looked toward Daniel.
“Please take Molly and Grace downstairs. Have Mrs. Carter prepare something for them to eat.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Then Luca turned toward Vanessa.
“We need to talk.”
But as I guided Molly toward the staircase, she suddenly stopped.
She looked down into the dining room.
Twenty-six guests were still seated around the long table.
Several men were standing near the fireplace.
Molly's eyes widened.
Then she squeezed my hand.
“Grace?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She pointed toward one of the men.
The tall man in a charcoal suit standing beside Luca's oldest business associate.
“That's my daddy.”
My heart stopped.
I followed her finger.
And recognized the man immediately.
He'd been sitting at Luca's engagement table all evening.
Laughing.
Drinking champagne.
Congratulating Vanessa on her upcoming marriage.
Behind us, Luca slowly turned.
“Molly, sweetheart?”
She looked up.
“Yes?”
He swallowed.
“Are you sure that's your father?”
Molly nodded.
Then she said the words that made Vanessa grab the doorframe to steady herself.
“Of course. Mommy told me he couldn't come see me anymore because he was going to marry someone else.”
I stared at the man downstairs.
Then at Vanessa.
May you like
Because suddenly, the little red shoe wasn't the biggest secret in the Moretti mansion.
And Luca was about to discover why one of the men he'd trusted for years had been sitting at his engagement dinner pretending he'd never met the woman Luca was about to marry.
