Chapter 4 - THE SCENT OF LAVENDER
The floral scent choked the air in the bedroom.
Lavender.
Sweet, cloying, and terrifying.
Diane stood in the doorway, her navy-blue evening dress practically blending into the shadows of the hallway.
Her eyes were fixed on the silver recorder in my hands.
"Give that to me," Diane said.
Her voice wasn't nervous anymore. It was flat and cold.
I pushed Noah behind my back.
"Get out," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You have no idea what you've just uncovered, Hannah," Diane stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
"I know you were in this house three years ago," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I know you're the one who blinded him."
Noah let out a small, terrified sob from behind me.
His little hands gripped the back of my apron.
Diane smiled—a sad, patronizing smile.
"I didn't blind him, Hannah. I was simply the nurse hired to administer his medication."
My eyes widened. "You were his nurse?"
"Under a different name, of course," she said smoothly. "Vanessa paid me exceptionally well to swap the prescription. A chemical agent that causes slow, irreversible retinal scarring. Virtually undetectable unless you know exactly what to test for."
I felt physically sick.
"Why?" I demanded. "He was a seven-year-old boy!"
"Because of the trust," Diane snapped, losing her patience. "Caroline's father was old money. Billionaire status before Luca even made his first mafia dime. Caroline's will put everything into an iron-clad trust for Noah."
She took another step closer.
"But the trust had a clause. If Noah was deemed medically incompetent or institutionalized, control of the billions reverted to his primary caregivers. Luca doesn't care about the money. He has his own."
Diane pointed a manicured finger at the floor.
"But Vanessa does. And so does the man she really works for."
My breath hitched. "Who?"
Diane didn't answer.
She Lunged forward.
She was surprisingly fast. She grabbed my wrist, twisting it hard, trying to pry the silver recorder from my grip.
"Let go!" I screamed.
Noah yelled, "Leave her alone!"
He dropped to his knees, his hands frantically feeling the floor.
He found his white cane.
With a fierce, desperate cry, the ten-year-old boy swung the cane as hard as he could.
The heavy handle cracked directly against Diane's shin.
She shrieked in pain, her grip loosening just enough.
I yanked my arm back, shoved her hard in the chest, and grabbed Noah's hand.
"Run!" I yelled.
We burst out of the bedroom, sprinting down the grand hallway.
"Mr. Moretti!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "LUCA!"
I didn't care about protocol. I didn't care that I was a maid.
We reached the top of the grand staircase just as Luca and his security guards appeared at the bottom.
Luca looked up, his eyes locking onto mine, then dropping to his son.
"Hannah? What's wrong?"
"It's Diane!" I yelled, practically carrying Noah down the steps. "She was the nurse! The one who gave him the drops!"
Luca froze.
The mafia boss in him completely took over.
"Lock down the house," Luca barked to the men beside him. "Nobody leaves. If she resists, break her legs."
Two guards drew their weapons and charged up the stairs, brushing past us.
I collapsed at the bottom step, pulling Noah into my lap.
He was crying hysterically, his little hands clutching his white cane so tightly his knuckles were white.
Luca dropped to his knees in front of us.
"Noah. Buddy, look at me."
Luca realized his mistake and gently cupped his son's face instead.
"I've got you. You're safe."
"Daddy," Noah sobbed, his voice breaking. "She put it in my eyes. She made the dark come."
Luca’s face went completely pale.
He looked up at me.
I held out the silver recorder.
"Caroline left a tape hidden in the window seat," I whispered, my voice shaking. "She figured it out before she died, Mr. Moretti. Diane was the nurse. Vanessa paid her to do it so they could institutionalize Noah and take Caroline's family trust."
Luca took the recorder.
His hands—hands that had built an empire, hands that had destroyed men—were trembling.
He pressed play.
He listened to his dead wife's voice.
He listened to the terror in her words.
And then, he closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down the cheek of the most feared man in Chicago.
When he opened his eyes, there was no sadness left.
Only a terrifying, bottomless rage.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the back of the house.
A gunshot rang out.
Then another.
One of the guards rushed into the foyer, bleeding from his shoulder.
"Boss!" he yelled, leaning against the archway. "It's an ambush. They hit the back gate. Vanessa had men waiting outside."
Luca stood up, pulling a sleek black handgun from a holster hidden beneath his suit jacket.
"How many?"
"At least a dozen," the guard gasped. "They're coming for the boy."
Luca turned to me.
His eyes burned with absolute command.
"Hannah."
"Yes?"
"Take Noah through the servant's passage in the kitchen. It leads to the old stone boathouse by the lake. Do not come out until I come for you."
"But what if they find us?" I panicked.
Luca handed me a heavy metal key from his pocket.
"Lock the steel door from the inside."
He reached out and gently touched Noah's hair.
"I love you, buddy. Go with Hannah."
"Daddy, no!" Noah cried, reaching for him.
May you like
"Go!" Luca yelled, raising his gun as the front door suddenly shattered inward.
I grabbed Noah and ran.
