Chapter 2 - THE LIGHT IN THE HALLWAY
Luca Moretti didn't raise his voice.
He didn't slam his hands on the engagement table.
He simply stood frozen, staring at his ten-year-old son.
"The hallway light?" Luca repeated. His voice was dangerously quiet.
Mason nodded, his small shoulders trembling in his navy suit.
"You told me to keep it on. So you could find my room when you came home late in the dark."
"I did," Luca whispered.
"But Vanessa said the light was keeping her awake when she stayed over," Mason said, wiping his cheek. "She said if I really loved you, I’d turn it off so you wouldn't feel obligated to check on me when you were tired."
The silence in the dining room was absolute.
Thirty-two wealthy guests barely dared to breathe.
I watched from the shadows near the kitchen door, my hands gripping the edge of the linen napkin holding the thirty-seven wooden beads.
Luca slowly turned his head.
He looked at Vanessa.
She took a step back. Her red silk gown suddenly looked less like a symbol of power and more like a target.
"Luca, please. The boy is exaggerating. He misunderstood—"
"My son doesn't lie," Luca said.
"He's confused," Vanessa insisted, her voice pitching higher. "I merely suggested that at ten years old, he didn't need a nightlight anymore. I was thinking of his development."
"You told him I promised not to say goodnight to him."
"That was taken out of context!"
Luca took one step toward her.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"You told my child," Luca said, every word cut from ice, "to stop leaving the light on for his father. The light that tells me he is safe. The light that tells me he is waiting."
Vanessa looked around the table, desperately seeking an ally among the Chicago elite.
No one met her eyes.
"It’s just a light, Luca," she pleaded.
"It is my son's signal to me," he said. He reached down and gently placed a hand on Mason's head. "And you tried to extinguish it."
He didn't shout. He didn't have to.
The men at the table—captains of industry, politicians, and men who handled Luca's darker business—understood exactly what had just happened.
Vanessa Bellini had overplayed her hand.
Luca looked at the wedding coordinator, Patricia, who was still trembling near her chair.
"Patricia. Cancel the caterers. Cancel the florist."
Vanessa gasped. "Luca! You can't be serious. Our families—my father—"
"Your father will receive his investments back by tomorrow morning," Luca said without looking at her. "The engagement is over."
A collective murmur rippled through the room.
Vanessa's face flushed a deep, furious crimson. She looked at Mason, her eyes flashing with pure venom, and then she looked at me.
"This is your fault," she hissed, pointing a manicured finger at me. "You're the one who coddles him. You're the one who brought those stupid beads up in the first place!"
"Do not speak to my staff," Luca warned.
"She's a maid!" Vanessa shouted, losing her carefully crafted composure. "She’s a nobody who manipulates your son against me!"
"Miss Melissa didn't do anything," Mason cried out, stepping in front of me.
"Melissa," Luca said calmly. "Take Mason upstairs. Run his bath. I will be up shortly."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the hammering in my chest.
I gently took Mason's hand. He was still clutching the broken leather cord.
We walked out of the dining room, leaving the ruined engagement dinner behind. As we climbed the grand sweeping staircase, I could hear Vanessa sobbing and shouting, and the cold, terrifying silence of Luca Moretti refusing to answer her.
When we reached his bedroom, Mason sat on the edge of his mattress.
"Is Daddy really not getting married?"
"It seems that way, sweetheart," I said, going to his closet to find his pajamas.
"Vanessa is going to be really mad at you, Miss Melissa."
"I'll be fine," I promised, though my stomach was tied in knots. Vanessa’s family was powerful. She wasn't the kind of woman to just pack her bags and walk away quietly.
I went to the bathroom to start the warm water. When I came back out, Mason was standing by his heavy oak dresser.
He was trying to open the bottom drawer, grunting with effort.
"Need help, honey?" I asked.
"It's stuck," he said. "Vanessa closed it yesterday when she was looking for my extra blankets."
I crouched down and wiggled the brass handle. It was jammed tightly on its track. I gave it a hard pull.
The drawer slid open with a loud crack.
But it wasn't blankets jamming the track.
It was a heavy, silver-framed photograph that had been shoved all the way to the back, wedged against the wood.
Mason gasped. "That's Mommy."
I carefully pulled the frame out. It was a beautiful portrait of a woman with dark hair and kind eyes, holding a newborn baby. The glass was cracked down the middle.
"She took it," Mason whispered, his hands shaking. "Vanessa told me she accidentally dropped it in the trash last month. But she hid it."
Why would she hide a broken frame in his blanket drawer?
I turned the frame over to inspect the back.
The velvet backing was torn.
And tucked inside the tear, barely visible, was a folded piece of thick cream stationery.
I carefully pulled the paper out.
It wasn't a letter.
It was a plane ticket.
A one-way ticket to Switzerland.
Dated for this coming Saturday—the day the wedding was supposed to happen.
But the name on the ticket wasn't Vanessa's.
It was Mason Moretti.
Before I could process what I was looking at, the bedroom door clicked shut.
I spun around.
Vanessa was standing inside the room.
Her silk dress was torn at the hem. Her makeup was smeared.
May you like
And in her hand, she was holding the heavy iron fireplace poker from the hallway.
"Give me that," she whispered, her eyes locked on the ticket.
