Chapter 3 - THE SHADOW AT THE DOOR
The whisper froze the blood in my veins.
It wasn't Vanessa.
It was a man's voice. Cold, raspy, and terrifyingly familiar.
Don Carlo Moretti. Luca’s father.
Oliver immediately hid behind my legs, his small hands clutching the fabric of my maid’s uniform. He was trembling so violently I could feel it through the cloth.
"Hannah," the old man’s voice slithered beneath the door again. "I know you're listening. My son is currently distracted downstairs. You are going to open this door, and you are going to give me the drawing my grandson just handed you."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
How did he know about the drawing?
I looked around the room. The baby monitor. A small camera on the bookshelf. Vanessa hadn't just been changing Oliver's words. She had been watching him.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Moretti," I lied, my voice shaking.
"Don't play games with me, girl. You send four hundred dollars every two weeks to a ground-floor apartment in the South Side. If you don't unlock this door in five seconds, I will make a phone call, and your crippled mother will be sleeping on the pavement by midnight."
Tears stung my eyes. He wasn't bluffing. The Moretti family didn't bluff.
I looked down at Oliver. He was staring at me, his wide, tear-filled eyes silently pleading. He touched his tablet. The volume was turned all the way down, but I could read the screen.
Please don't let him in.
If I opened the door, Carlo would destroy the evidence of Elena's murder. He would protect Vanessa because she was part of whatever alliance the Family needed. Oliver would never get justice for his mother.
But if I didn't, my own mother would lose everything.
"Three seconds, Hannah."
I looked at the drawing in my hand. The red-haired woman pushing Elena. The gold watch.
Then I looked at the heavy oak wardrobe in the corner of the room.
"Oliver," I whispered softly. "Get in the closet. Now."
He didn't hesitate. He scrambled inside, pulling his tablet against his chest. I shut the closet doors just as I heard a heavy click.
A master key.
The bedroom door swung open.
Don Carlo stepped into the room. He was in his late sixties, leaning on a silver-handled cane, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit. His eyes were dead.
"You're a very foolish girl," he said quietly, stepping onto the plush carpet. "Where is he?"
"He's in the bathroom," I lied, keeping my back to the closet. "He was sick."
Carlo held out his wrinkled hand. "The paper. Now."
I swallowed hard. I had shoved the drawing into my apron pocket. I slowly reached down, my fingers brushing the edges of the construction paper.
"You knew," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. "You knew Vanessa killed her. And you let her get engaged to your son anyway."
Carlo smiled. It was a chilling, soulless expression. "Elena was weak. She wanted Luca to leave the business. She was a threat to this family's future. Vanessa understands how our world works. She understands obedience."
"She abuses your grandson," I shot back, suddenly too angry to be afraid.
"The boy is defective," Carlo sneered. "He is a liability. Once Vanessa and Luca are married, the boy will be sent to a specialized facility in Switzerland. He will be well cared for. Out of sight."
My stomach violently plummeted.
They weren't just going to take Oliver's tablet. They were going to take his entire life.
"Now," Carlo stepped closer, raising his cane. "Give me the paper. Or I make the call."
I pulled my hand out of my apron. But I didn't have the drawing.
I was holding my phone.
And the screen showed an active call.
Carlo’s eyes narrowed. "Who are you calling?"
The speakerphone clicked on.
"He's not calling anyone, Father."
Luca’s voice echoed from the small speaker in my hand. He sounded lethal.
Carlo froze.
"I left my phone in my apron pocket when I served the soup," I said, my voice trembling but defiant. "I speed-dialed Mr. Moretti the second you threatened my mother through the door."
"You..." Carlo hissed, stepping toward me.
Before he could swing the cane, the bedroom door was kicked entirely off its hinges.
It crashed onto the floor with a deafening splintering of wood.
Luca stood in the doorway. His suit jacket was gone. His tie was discarded. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his hands were curled into fists so tight his knuckles were bone-white.
He didn't look like a grieving widower. He looked like the Boss.
"Step away from her," Luca ordered.
Carlo stood his ground. "Luca, you are being emotional. This maid is manipulating you. The boy is confused."
Luca walked slowly into the room. "I just had a very interesting conversation with Vanessa downstairs. She was quite talkative once I showed her the security footage of her slipping something into Hannah's apron tonight. A stolen diamond bracelet."
My breath caught. Vanessa had tried to frame me for theft to get me fired before the wedding.
"She was terrified, Father," Luca continued, his voice deadly calm. "So terrified, she told me exactly who told her to take the gold watch from Elena’s body three years ago."
Carlo tightened his grip on his cane. "You are making a mistake, Luca. I am your father."
"You ordered the murder of my wife," Luca said, stopping inches from the older man. "You arranged to have my son locked away in a foreign asylum. You are no longer my father. And as of tonight, you are no longer Don."
Carlo laughed bitterly. "You think the Captains will follow you? Over a dead woman and a mute child?"
Luca pulled a heavy, black handgun from his waistband and pressed it directly against his father's chest.
"They already have. My men are escorting Vanessa out of the city as we speak. She will never be seen again. And you are going into permanent retirement."
Luca signaled, and two massive guards stepped into the room. They grabbed Carlo by the arms, dragging him toward the hallway.
"You'll regret this, Luca!" Carlo spat. "You can't protect them forever!"
When the room was empty, Luca slowly lowered the gun. His shoulders slumped. The terrifying mafia boss disappeared, replaced by a broken man.
He looked at me. "Hannah... where is he?"
I rushed to the closet and opened the doors.
Oliver was huddled in the corner, his tablet glowing in the dark.
Luca dropped to his knees on the floor. He didn't reach for Oliver. He just waited.
Oliver slowly crawled out of the closet. He looked at his father. Then he looked down at his tablet.
He pressed a single button.
"Safe?"
Luca broke. Tears spilled over his dark lashes as he pulled his son into a desperate, crushing hug. "Yes, buddy. You're safe. Forever. I promise."
Oliver buried his face in his father's shoulder.
I wiped my own tears, turning to leave them to their moment. I needed to pack my things. The job was over. The wedding was off. I had to get back to my mother.
"Hannah."
Luca’s voice stopped me at the door.
I turned back. He was still holding Oliver, but he was looking directly at me. The gratitude in his eyes was overwhelming.
"You saved my son's life tonight," Luca said quietly.
"I was just doing my job, Mr. Moretti."
"No. You did what no one else in this house had the courage to do." Luca stood up, holding Oliver’s hand. "You're not a maid anymore, Hannah."
I blinked, confused. "Sir?"
"Oliver needs someone he trusts. Someone who will protect his voice, not silence it. I need you to stay. As his full-time guardian. Name your salary. Your mother will be moved into a secure, ground-floor luxury apartment paid for by the estate by tomorrow morning."
My jaw dropped. "Mr. Moretti... I... I don't know what to say."
Oliver tugged on my apron. I looked down.
He held up his tablet. He had typed a new sentence.
Please stay.
I looked at the little boy who had endured so much. Then I looked at the powerful, dangerous man who had just dismantled an empire to protect him.
I smiled, the first real smile I'd had in months.
"Okay, Oliver," I whispered. "I'll stay."
But as I reached down to hold his hand, a sharp, buzzing sound interrupted us.
It was Luca’s private cell phone. The one only his inner circle had the number for.
He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His expression instantly hardened into stone.
"What is it?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
Luca looked up, his eyes suddenly terrifyingly blank.
"Vanessa wasn't acting alone," he whispered, staring at the text message. "She wasn't taking orders from my father."
He turned the phone screen toward me.
There was a photo. A grainy, surveillance image of a woman sitting in a dark car outside my mother's apartment building.
The woman had bright red hair.
And the text beneath the photo read:
Did you really think it would be this easy, Luca? Tell the maid to check her pockets.
My blood ran cold.
I plunged my hand into my apron pocket. Beneath the fabric where I had hidden Oliver's drawing, my fingers brushed against something hard and cold.
I pulled it out.
It was a small, silver locket.
May you like
Not Elena's. Not Vanessa's.
It was the locket I had given my mother for her fiftieth birthday.
