Chapter 2 - The Stranger With the Moretti Eyes |
For eleven months, I had worked in Luca Moretti's mansion without ever seeing him afraid.
I had seen him furious when a business partner betrayed him.
I had seen him grieving quietly on the anniversary of his wife's death.
And I had seen him carry his daughter upstairs after a nightmare, his tattooed arms holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
But I had never seen the expression that crossed his face when the young woman at the far end of the table stood up.
It wasn't anger.
It was disbelief.
The woman looked about twenty-eight, with dark brown hair, delicate features, and the same unusual steel-gray eyes as Luca and Michael.
She wore a modest navy dress that seemed painfully out of place among the diamonds and designer gowns.
Her hands were trembling.
"My name is Sofia Romano," she said.
"And I believe Antonio Moretti was my father."
A shocked murmur swept across the dining room.
Vanessa stood absolutely motionless.
Behind her, her father, Vittorio Bellini, slowly lowered his wineglass.
Luca didn't move.
Michael was the first to speak.
"That's impossible."
Sofia looked toward him.
"I know how it sounds."
"No," Michael said, shaking his head.
"Our father died six years ago."
"I know."
"He was married to our mother for thirty-two years."
Sofia's eyes filled.
"I know that too."
Michael looked toward Luca.
"Tell her."
But Luca said nothing.
His attention had shifted to the untouched dessert in front of Sofia.
White frosting.
Delicate almond decorations.
Exactly like the cakes prepared for Isabella and Michael.
Except Sofia wasn't a child.
And nobody had mentioned that she had an allergy.
Luca turned toward the chef.
"Matteo, tell me precisely what Vanessa ordered."
Matteo's face had gone pale.
"Three individual almond cakes, signore."
"Who were they for?"
"Your daughter, your brother, and Miss Romano."
"Why?"
Matteo swallowed.
"I was told the ingredients were part of a family tradition."
Vanessa finally found her voice.
"Because they were!"
Everyone turned toward her.
She lifted her chin.
"Antonio loved almonds."
Luca stared at her.
"My father hated almonds."
Her expression flickered.
"Well, perhaps I misunderstood."
Michael slammed his palm against the table.
"How do you misunderstand a potentially fatal allergy?"
Vanessa stepped toward Luca.
"Darling, please."
He held up one hand.
"Don't."
The word was quiet.
But it stopped her immediately.
Then Luca looked at me.
"Emily, take Isabella upstairs."
I hesitated.
Isabella was watching her father with frightened eyes.
"Am I in trouble, Daddy?"
Luca's expression softened instantly.
"No, principessa."
He knelt beside her.
"You did everything right."
"But Vanessa said—"
"Vanessa was wrong."
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Emily is going to stay with you while I figure out what happened."
Isabella looked at me.
"Will you come?"
I nodded.
"Of course, sweetheart."
But before I could take her hand, Sofia spoke.
"Mr. Moretti, please."
Luca turned.
"I didn't come here to hurt your family."
Her voice cracked.
"I came because someone told me my father had been looking for me before he died."
Something changed in Luca's face.
"Who told you that?"
Sofia looked toward Vanessa.
"She did."
Every eye in the room turned.
Vanessa laughed nervously.
"I was simply trying to help."
Luca stared at his fiancée.
"You knew about this woman?"
"Only recently."
"How recently?"
Vanessa looked toward her father.
Vittorio rose slowly.
"Luca, perhaps this conversation would be better handled privately."
Luca didn't even glance at him.
"Sit down, Vittorio."
The older man's face tightened.
Nobody in Chicago spoke to Vittorio Bellini that way.
But he sat.
Luca turned back to Sofia.
"Who invited you tonight?"
She hesitated.
"Vanessa."
"And what did she promise?"
Sofia reached into her handbag.
"A letter."
She unfolded a sheet of paper.
"She said she'd found something among your father's old documents."
Luca held out his hand.
Sofia passed it to him.
I watched his expression as he read.
First confusion.
Then shock.
Then something that looked almost like grief.
Michael stepped closer.
"What is it?"
Luca handed him the letter.
Michael read the first line aloud.
"My dearest Sofia, there is something I should have told you years ago."
His voice stopped.
Luca closed his eyes.
Because beneath the letter was a signature.
Antonio Moretti.
Their dead father.
I took Isabella upstairs before the argument began.
The moment her bedroom door closed, she grabbed my hand.
"Emily?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Am I going to die?"
My heart nearly stopped.
I knelt in front of her.
"No, sweetheart."
She looked at me with enormous gray eyes.
"Vanessa said almonds could make me stop breathing."
I tried to keep my voice calm.
"That's why we never let you eat them."
"But she said sometimes people get sick because God doesn't want them around anymore."
I stared at her.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I gently held both her hands.
"Listen to me carefully, Isabella."
She nodded.
"Getting sick never means someone isn't loved or wanted."
Her lower lip trembled.
"Really?"
"Really."
I brushed away a tear.
"Your daddy loves you more than anything."
"And you?"
My throat tightened.
"I care about you very much."
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck.
I held her carefully.
For nearly a year, I had helped her with homework, braided her hair, and listened when she missed her mother.
Sometimes she called for me in the middle of the night.
Sometimes she asked me questions I didn't know how to answer.
And sometimes, when she thought nobody was watching, she left little drawings outside my bedroom door.
I had tried not to become too attached.
I was an employee.
She was the daughter of one of America's wealthiest men.
But love doesn't always respect the boundaries people place around it.
"Emily?" she whispered.
"Yes?"
"Please don't let Vanessa come upstairs."
I kissed the top of her head.
"I won't."
Then someone knocked.
Three sharp taps.
I turned toward the door.
"Who is it?"
A man's voice answered.
"Gabriel."
Luca's security chief.
I opened the door a few inches.
Gabriel Russo stood outside with a grim expression.
"Mr. Moretti has ordered that Isabella remain in her room with you until the situation is resolved."
I nodded.
"Is something wrong downstairs?"
He hesitated.
"Security is securing the dessert service."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Because the chef has discovered something."
I looked at him.
"What?"
Gabriel lowered his voice.
"Someone entered the kitchen after the cakes were prepared."
I froze.
"Who?"
"We're reviewing the cameras."
Then he added something that made the room feel suddenly cold.
"Emily, did you taste any of the desserts?"
"No."
"Good."
He looked toward Isabella.
"Don't accept food or drinks from anyone until the kitchen has been cleared."
And then he closed the door.
Downstairs, Luca Moretti stood beside the dessert cart.
The fifty guests had been asked to move into the adjoining ballroom while security and medical personnel verified that no one had eaten the questionable desserts.
Michael's pregnant wife, Olivia, remained with her husband.
Sofia sat near the fireplace, looking as though she wished she'd never come.
Vanessa stood beside Vittorio.
And Matteo Ricci was examining the three plated cakes with the expression of a man who had just discovered his life's work being used for something terrible.
"Signore," he said, "I must tell you something."
Luca turned.
"Go ahead."
"The cakes contain almond cream because that was the written order."
"We know that."
"But these decorations are not mine."
He pointed toward tiny white sugar flowers placed along the edge of each plate.
Luca frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I finished the cakes myself."
Matteo swallowed.
"Someone added those flowers after I left the pastry station."
Gabriel approached.
"We've secured the kitchen and preserved the surveillance recordings."
Luca looked at the three desserts.
"Can you determine what's in them?"
"Not safely by appearance," Matteo said.
"They should be sent for proper testing."
Luca nodded.
"Then that's what we'll do."
Vanessa suddenly stepped forward.
"This is ridiculous!"
Luca turned slowly.
"Ridiculous?"
"You've turned our engagement dinner into a police investigation because a maid decided to embarrass me!"
Michael stared at her.
"My daughter could have died," Luca said.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"Nothing happened."
Luca approached her.
For the first time, I would later learn, he looked at her as though she were a complete stranger.
"That's your defense?"
She opened her mouth.
He continued.
"That nothing happened because Emily stopped my daughter from eating the cake?"
Vanessa's expression hardened.
"You've always favored that girl."
Luca went still.
"What girl?"
"Emily."
She laughed bitterly.
"The pathetic little housekeeper who follows you around like a lost puppy."
Michael looked disgusted.
"Vanessa, stop."
But she continued.
"You think I haven't noticed the way she looks at you?"
Luca's jaw tightened.
"This conversation is over."
Vanessa stepped closer.
"She's manipulating you."
"No."
His voice dropped.
"She protected my child."
Vanessa stared at him.
Then she said the words that would end their engagement.
"Your daughter has been ruining everything since the day I moved in."
Nobody spoke.
Luca looked at her for a long moment.
Then he removed the engagement ring from his pocket.
Vanessa blinked.
He had asked for it earlier when she'd taken it off to avoid damaging it during dinner preparations.
Now he placed it on the table between them.
"We're finished."
Her face drained.
"Luca."
"Leave my house."
Vittorio stood.
"You can't humiliate my daughter in front of these people."
Luca turned toward him.
"Your daughter tried to serve food containing a known allergen to my child."
Vittorio's eyes narrowed.
"Be careful what you're accusing her of."
Luca held his gaze.
"I intend to be."
At eleven forty, I was still sitting beside Isabella's bed when Luca appeared.
His black suit jacket was gone.
His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing the tattoos across his forearms.
He looked exhausted.
Isabella was asleep, hugging her stuffed rabbit.
I stood.
"Mr. Moretti."
He raised one hand.
"Please don't."
I froze.
He looked at me.
"Not tonight."
I swallowed.
"Is everything okay?"
He glanced toward his daughter.
"She's safe."
Relief washed through me.
"Thank God."
Luca looked back at me.
"Emily, why didn't you tell me you spoke Italian?"
I hesitated.
"Nobody asked."
He almost smiled.
Then his expression grew serious.
"You risked your job tonight."
"Yes, sir."
"Why?"
I looked toward Isabella.
"Because she trusted me."
Luca followed my gaze.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said quietly:
"You may have saved her life."
My eyes filled.
"I just did what anyone should have done."
"No."
He shook his head.
"Not everyone would have stood there while fifty people laughed."
I looked down.
He stepped closer.
"I'm sorry."
I raised my head.
"For what?"
"For allowing Vanessa to treat you that way."
I didn't know what to say.
The most powerful man in the house was apologizing to the woman who washed his dishes.
Luca continued.
"I should have seen it sooner."
My throat tightened.
"Mr. Moretti—"
"Luca."
I blinked.
"Sir?"
"When we're speaking privately, you can call me Luca."
I felt my cheeks warm.
He glanced at Isabella again.
Then toward the hallway.
"There's something else."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"The cameras show Vanessa entering the kitchen after Matteo finished the desserts."
I stared at him.
"Did she touch the cakes?"
"We're still reviewing the footage."
He paused.
"But that's not what concerns me most."
"What does?"
Luca reached into his pocket.
Then placed a folded photograph in my hand.
It showed Sofia Romano standing beside Antonio Moretti.
The photograph looked years old.
On the back was a handwritten message.
I read it.
Then read it again.
My hands began trembling.
Because the message wasn't written in English.
It was written in Italian.
And the final sentence said:
"If anything happens to me, the truth is hidden with the girl who wears the silver key."
I looked up.
Luca was watching me.
"Emily," he said quietly, "do you own a silver key?"
I stopped breathing.
May you like
Because beneath my uniform, on a chain around my neck, hung the little silver key my grandmother had given me before she died.
And somehow, Antonio Moretti had known about it.
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