Chapter 2 - The Name I Was Never Supposed to Hear
“Catherine Moretti.”
The name escaped my lips before I could stop it.
Forty guests stared at me.
Luca Moretti stood motionless beside his mother's chair, while Vanessa Bellini looked as though the floor had disappeared beneath her expensive heels.
“Say that again,” Luca demanded.
I swallowed.
“Yesterday afternoon, I was changing the flowers in your mother's sitting room. Vanessa was in the bedroom, speaking on the phone. She said, ‘Catherine Moretti should have stayed buried with her secrets.’”
Vanessa's champagne glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered against the marble floor.
Nobody moved.
Then Vanessa laughed.
A strange, breathless sound.
“Oh, for heaven's sake. Are we seriously going to believe a housemaid who listens outside bedroom doors?”
“I wasn't listening,” I whispered. “I was working.”
“You were spying!”
“Enough.”
Luca's voice was barely above a whisper.
But the single word silenced the entire ballroom.
He turned toward his fiancée.
“Why were you talking about Catherine?”
Vanessa pressed a trembling hand against her chest.
“Because your mother has been obsessing over her for weeks. I've been trying to help her move on.”
Teresa Moretti shook her head.
“No, Vanessa.”
“Teresa, please.”
“No.”
For the second time that evening, the elderly woman's voice grew stronger.
“You told someone Catherine's blanket had to disappear before Luca saw what was inside.”
My stomach dropped.
Luca looked toward me.
“Hannah. Where did you search?”
“Everywhere your mother asked me to. Her closet, drawers, linen cabinet, and the small storage room.”
“Did you search Vanessa's room?”
Vanessa straightened.
“You cannot be serious.”
Luca didn't look at her.
“Hannah?”
“No, sir.”
“Then we'll start there.”
Vanessa stepped directly into his path.
“You are not searching my belongings in front of our engagement guests.”
“Then tell me where the blanket is.”
“I told you. I had it discarded.”
“Who discarded it?”
“The staff.”
“Which staff member?”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Behind us, Teresa began crying quietly.
I moved to her side and helped her sit comfortably.
Her hands were freezing.
“Mrs. Moretti, breathe slowly,” I whispered.
She looked at me.
“Don't let her leave.”
Before I could respond, Vanessa turned toward the ballroom doors.
Two security guards moved instinctively.
Luca raised one hand.
“Nobody is leaving until I understand what happened.”
A murmur swept through the room.
Among the guests were Chicago businessmen, city officials, wealthy investors, and several men whose reputations made ordinary people cross the street.
Luca Moretti was not simply rich.
He controlled a network of shipping companies, restaurants, construction businesses, and private security operations. People whispered that his father had built the family fortune through organized crime, and that Luca had inherited more than a surname.
I'd never asked.
I needed my job.
But tonight, I saw why powerful men feared his silence.
Luca took out his phone.
“Marco. Come to the dining room.”
Within seconds, his head of security appeared.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a scar above his eyebrow, Marco DeSantis had always treated the household staff politely.
“Boss?”
“Find the blue baby blanket from my mother's room. Check the storage areas and any disposal records from the last forty-eight hours.”
Vanessa made a sharp sound.
“This is humiliating.”
Luca turned.
“Then imagine how my mother felt when you humiliated her in front of forty people.”
Her cheeks burned red.
“I was protecting her dignity.”
“No. You were protecting something else.”
Marco nodded and disappeared.
Luca faced the guests.
“Dinner is over. Thank you for coming.”
Nobody needed another invitation.
Chairs scraped.
Whispers spread.
Within ten minutes, the great dining room stood nearly empty.
Vanessa's father, Richard Bellini, remained near the fireplace.
He was a heavyset businessman with silver hair and cold blue eyes.
“Luca,” he said carefully, “whatever misunderstanding occurred tonight, don't destroy an important alliance over an old blanket.”
Luca looked at him.
“My mother's memories aren't a misunderstanding.”
Richard's expression darkened.
“Be careful about making accusations you can't prove.”
“Are you threatening me in my own home?”
“I'm advising you.”
“Then your advice isn't needed.”
Richard left without another word.
Vanessa followed him toward the hallway, but Luca stopped her.
“Your room. Now.”
She spun around.
“You don't order me around.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
Her eyes flickered toward Teresa.
For one terrible second, the polished mask disappeared.
I saw hatred.
Not embarrassment.
Not fear.
Hatred.
Then she smiled.
“Fine. Search whatever you like.”
We moved upstairs together.
Vanessa walked ahead, her heels striking the marble stairs.
Teresa remained downstairs with her nurse, Mrs. Alvarez, while I followed Luca and Marco into Vanessa's suite.
The room smelled of expensive perfume.
Designer dresses hung inside enormous closets.
Diamond necklaces glittered inside velvet-lined drawers.
Marco searched carefully while Luca stood beside the window.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“This changes nothing.”
Luca didn't answer.
Ten minutes passed.
Then Marco opened a narrow cabinet beside the dressing table.
Inside sat a black leather handbag.
He lifted it.
Vanessa's face changed.
“That's private.”
Marco opened the bag.
There was no blanket.
Only a small pair of embroidery scissors, several loose blue threads, and a torn piece of faded fabric.
My knees weakened.
I recognized the fabric immediately.
The little blue blanket.
Marco placed the scrap on the dresser.
Luca picked it up with both hands.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“Where is the rest?”
She stared back defiantly.
“I don't know.”
Luca lowered his voice.
“Vanessa, that blanket was the first thing Catherine ever made for our son.”
Something flashed across her face.
“Your precious Catherine.”
He went still.
“What did you say?”
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Four years dead, and she's still the most important woman in this house.”
Luca stared at her.
Then he noticed something tucked beneath the torn fabric.
A folded white paper.
He opened it.
His eyes narrowed.
It contained a handwritten storage-unit number.
And beneath it, three words.
ASK ABOUT ELENA.
Luca looked up.
“Who is Elena?”
May you like
Vanessa took one step backward.
And for the first time that night, she looked genuinely terrified.
