THE MAFIA BOSS WATCHED ME DROP THE SILVER CARVING FORK IN FRONT OF THIRTY GUESTS—THEN HIS FIANCÉE SAID, “SHE CAUGHT HER HAND IN THE PANTRY DOOR,” BEFORE HE EVEN ASKED WHY I WAS HURT. The fork struck the porcelain platter with a terrible metallic sound. Thirty guests turned toward me.
The voice echoing through the mansion's speakers belonged to Luca Moretti.
But the cruelty in the words belonged entirely to Vanessa.
“I want that girl out of my house before she tells anyone what she saw.”
In the upstairs sitting room, the silence that followed was suffocating. I stared at the phone in Luca’s hand, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it physically ached. My injured fingers throbbed, but I barely felt the pain. I was too focused on the man sitting across from me.
Luca didn't blink. He didn't shout.
He simply stood up, his dark eyes entirely unreadable, and walked to the door.
“Stay here,” he commanded. His voice was dangerously quiet.
“Mr. Moretti, wait—”
“Stay here, Grace.”
He closed the door behind him.
I was left alone in the quiet room, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Through the thick floorboards, I could hear the muted murmur of thirty guests downstairs. The music had stopped. The sudden silence from the dining room meant the guests had heard the recording. They were waiting for an explanation.
I paced the floor, cradling my bandaged hand against my chest. My mind raced. What did Vanessa want them to think I saw? Was she framing me as a thief? A spy? Or was she trying to make Luca look guilty of something terrible, using me as the imaginary witness?
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
I couldn't stay in that room. Rent was due. My mother’s medical bills were piling up on my small kitchen counter back in my cramped apartment. If I lost this job, I lost everything. I had to know what was happening.
I slipped out of the sitting room and crept toward the grand staircase.
From the landing, I had a perfect view of the foyer and the dining room beyond. The guests were standing now, holding their champagne flutes. Vanessa was clinging to Luca’s arm, her perfect face a mask of elegant distress.
“It’s truly heartbreaking,” Vanessa was saying to a heavily built man with silver hair—Donatello, one of the most powerful syndicate bosses in Chicago. “I didn’t want to ruin the evening, but I caught the maid, Grace, going through Luca’s private office this afternoon.”
My blood ran cold.
“She was trying to steal documents,” Vanessa continued smoothly, her thumb stroking Luca’s sleeve. “When I confronted her, she slammed her own hand in the door trying to escape. She’s been threatening to tell the press lies about Luca’s business unless we pay her. That audio clip... she must have spliced it together to extort us. I played it just now to expose her.”
It was a brilliant, terrifying lie. She had flipped the narrative instantly. She was the protector; I was the scheming, thieving servant.
I looked at Luca.
He was staring straight ahead. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked near his ear.
“Is this true, Luca?” Donatello asked, his voice a low rumble that carried absolute authority. “You have a rat in your house?”
Luca looked down at Vanessa. Then he looked up—and his eyes met mine through the shadows of the staircase landing.
He saw me.
For one agonizing second, something flickered in his dark eyes. An apology? A warning?
Then he looked back at the syndicate boss.
“It’s true,” Luca said flatly.
The words hit me like a physical blow. I grabbed the mahogany banister to keep from falling.
“She’s a liability,” Luca continued, his voice echoing coldly across the marble floors. “She’s fired. And if she ever steps foot on my property again, I’ll handle her myself.”
He had chosen her.
He had seen the proof on my phone, he knew Vanessa was doctoring tapes, and yet he stood in front of Chicago’s most dangerous men and threw me to the wolves to protect his fiancée.
Tears of pure humiliation spilled over my eyelashes. I didn't wait for his men to come drag me out. I turned and ran down the back servant’s stairs, my chest heaving with silent sobs. I burst into the staff locker room, ripped off my apron, and grabbed my cheap wool coat.
I had never felt so foolish. For eleven months, I had believed Luca Moretti was different from the ruthless men he did business with. He had always treated the staff with respect. He had asked about my injured hand. He had seemed to care.
It was all an illusion.
I pushed through the heavy iron kitchen doors and stumbled out into the freezing Chicago rain. The cold wind bit into my cheeks. I didn't have an umbrella. I didn't care. I just needed to get away from the mansion.
“Grace!”
A sharp whisper cut through the rain.
I turned. Mrs. Carter, the elderly head housekeeper, was standing under the awning of the service entrance. She was clutching a black umbrella and looking around nervously.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Did he send you to make sure I left?”
“Quiet,” she hissed, stepping out into the rain and shoving a heavy, dark object into my arms. It was a man’s trench coat. Cashmere. Smelling faintly of cedar and expensive cologne.
Luca’s coat.
“I don’t want anything from him,” I cried, trying to push it back.
“Put it on, you foolish girl, you’re freezing,” Mrs. Carter snapped, but her eyes were terrified. “He told me to give this to you. And he said to check the left pocket.”
She didn't wait for my response. She turned and hurried back inside, locking the heavy door behind her.
I stood alone in the freezing rain, shivering violently. Slowly, with my uninjured left hand, I reached into the deep pocket of the cashmere coat.
My fingers brushed against cold metal.
I pulled it out. It was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. I recognized it immediately. It had belonged to Luca’s late father, the former Don. It was Luca’s most prized possession. He never let anyone touch it.
Attached to the chain of the watch was a small, brass key.
And folded beneath the watch was a crisp piece of monogrammed stationery.
I backed under the dim light of a streetlamp to read the sharp, masculine handwriting.
Grace,
They are watching me. If I defended you tonight, Vanessa’s men would have killed you before you reached the subway. The key opens the apartment at 402 West Elm. Go there immediately. Do not go home. Do not call anyone. I will explain everything at midnight. Keep the watch. It’s my promise that you are safe.
— L.M.
I stared at the note, the rain dissolving the ink.
He hadn't betrayed me. He had just saved my life.
May you like
But as I looked closer at the antique silver watch in my palm, my relief froze into a spike of pure dread.
The glass face of the watch was shattered. And trapped beneath the cracked glass, smeared across the elegant Roman numerals, was a single, fresh drop of blood.
Related Stories
Chapter 3 - THE SAFE HOUSE
Chapter 4 - THE ROSARY
Chapter 5 - THE BRACELET
Chapter 6 - THE TICKET
Chapter 7 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
Chapter 8 - THE HEIRLOOM
