Chapter 4 - THE EMPTY DRAWERS
The foyer seemed to lose all its oxygen.
Luca stared at the document in Ella’s small, shaking hand.
He didn't take it. He just stared at the heavy black ink visible through the folded paper.
“What papers?” he whispered.
Ella dropped the document on the marble floor and took a step back, shrinking into the massive coat.
“Grandma said you didn't want me anymore,” the little girl cried, the tears finally breaking free. “She said your new wife didn't like kids. She said you signed the papers so I could go live with strangers in New York.”
Luca dropped to his knees again. He snatched the paper off the floor.
He snapped it open.
It was a legal Transfer of Guardianship. It surrendered all his parental rights to a private adoption agency funded by the Bellini family.
At the bottom of the page, scrawled in unmistakable, bold black ink, was Luca Moretti’s signature.
“No,” Luca breathed, shaking his head. “No, Ella. I never signed this.”
“It’s your name!” she sobbed.
I looked at the top of the stairs. Vanessa had stopped crying. She was watching Luca with a strange, detached expression.
“Who packed your room?” Luca asked suddenly, his voice lethal.
Ella wiped her eyes with the oversized sleeve. “I don't know. When Grandma picked me up, all my boxes were already in the hallway.”
Luca stood up. He didn't look at Vanessa. He didn't look at his driver.
He looked at me.
“Grace. Take Ella to her bedroom. Lock the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gently touched Ella’s shoulder. She didn't pull away from me. I guided her past her father, keeping myself between her and the top of the stairs where Vanessa stood.
We walked down the long, carpeted hallway of the first floor to Ella’s suite.
When I pushed the door open, my breath hitched.
The beautiful pink and white room had been stripped bare. The bookshelves were empty. The closet doors were wide open, showing nothing but bare hangers.
Four large cardboard boxes sat in the center of the room.
Ella let out a small whimper and buried her face in my apron.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, wrapping my good arm around her. “We’ll fix this. I promise.”
I walked her to the bed—the only piece of furniture left untouched—and sat her down.
Then I walked over to the boxes.
They weren't packed haphazardly. The clothes were perfectly folded. The books were stacked by size.
I knew this folding style.
Every housemaid has a specific way of working.
I looked up as heavy footsteps approached the open doorway. Luca walked in, his face a mask of cold fury.
Behind him was Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper. She looked terrified, wringing her hands in her apron.
“Tell me why my daughter's room is packed,” Luca demanded softly.
Mrs. Carter trembled. “Mr. Moretti, I was only following orders.”
“Vanessa’s orders?”
Mrs. Carter shook her head, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. “No, sir. Miss Bellini didn't order this.”
Luca stepped closer. “Then who did?”
“Carlo.”
Luca stopped breathing.
Carlo was Luca’s second-in-command. His oldest friend. The man who had stood beside him at his first wedding.
“Carlo told you to pack my daughter's room?” Luca asked, disbelief fracturing his iron control.
“He came in this afternoon,” Mrs. Carter cried. “He said the guardianship transfer was complete. He said you couldn't bear to do it yourself. He told me to have her things ready for the courier by midnight.”
The reversal hit me like a physical blow.
This wasn't just a Bellini plot.
Luca’s own syndicate was betraying him from the inside.
I looked down at the box at my feet. Resting on top of a stack of folded sweaters was a torn piece of paper.
I reached down and pulled it out.
It was a child's drawing. Ella had drawn it. It showed three stick figures holding hands: A tall man with dark hair, a little girl in a blue dress, and a woman with angel wings floating above them.
Someone had ripped the drawing perfectly in half, separating the father from the daughter.
I handed the torn drawing to Luca.
He stared at it, his thumb gently brushing over the image of the little girl in the blue dress.
Then he looked at Mrs. Carter.
“Where is Carlo right now?”
“He’s in the dining room, sir. With the other guests.”
Luca folded the drawing and placed it in his breast pocket, right next to his heart.
He didn't yell. He didn't throw anything. He just looked like a man who had finally realized he was standing in a burning house.
“Grace,” he said, his voice completely void of emotion.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stay here with Ella. Do not open this door for anyone but me.”
He turned to leave.
But as he reached the doorway, my eyes caught something glinting in the trash can next to the empty desk.
“Mr. Moretti, wait.”
I knelt down, ignoring the shooting pain in my bandaged hand, and pulled an object out of the wastebasket.
I held it up.
May you like
It was a small, empty glass vial. The label had been peeled off, but the smell of heavy sedatives still lingered around the rim.
“Somebody didn't just pack her room,” I whispered, staring at the vial. “They were planning to make sure she didn't fight back when they took her.”
