Chapter 5 - The Gala of Knives
Three days passed in a strange, electric calm.
Under Dr. Evans’ strict orders, I wasn't allowed to lift heavy trays or do laundry, but I refused to stay locked in my room. Matteo wouldn't allow it anyway. The little boy was glued to my side, bringing his picture books to my lap and proudly helping me wrap my hand in fresh bandages every morning.
Meanwhile, Luca had completely transformed the atmosphere of the estate.
He was home for dinner every night—something the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, whispered had never happened even when Sophia was alive. He watched me with an intensity that made my skin tingle, treating me not as an employee, but as an equal. The quiet touches, the way he poured my tea before his own, the lingering glances across the library—it was a dangerous game, but one my heart was falling into with terrifying speed.
Then came Saturday evening.
The Moretti Foundation Annual Charity Gala was the premier social event of the year, hosted in the massive ballroom wing of the estate. Over four hundred of the state’s elite—politicians, CEOs, diplomats—flowed through the double doors, dressed in black tie and high couture.
Luca had insisted I attend.
“You are Matteo’s guardian,” he had told me that afternoon, presenting me with a velvet box containing a stunning, modest midnight-blue gown that flattered my figure without screaming for attention. “Tonight, you belong at our table.”
Now, the ballroom buzzed with classical music and the clinking of champagne flutes. I stood near the edge of the terrace doors, watching Matteo dance clumsily with Mrs. Gable near the dessert buffet. Matteo wore a miniature tuxedo, giggling as the housekeeper spun him around.
“Quite the Cinderella story, isn't it?”
A cold, familiar voice whispered from behind me.
I turned around.
Victor Vance, Isabella’s father, stood beside me. He was a towering man in his early sixties, with slicked-back silver hair, cold predatory eyes, and a cruel mouth that mirrored his daughter’s. Beside him stood Isabella.
She looked breathtaking and lethal. Clad in a scarlet backless gown that clung to her curves, she wore a mask of supreme confidence. The scandal of their broken engagement had been kept out of the press so far, and clearly, the Vances intended to maintain appearances tonight.
“Mr. Vance,” I said, keeping my posture straight and my chin up. “Miss Vance.”
“Enjoying the champagne on our tax dollars, Miss Ward?” Victor Vance said, his voice dripping with condescension. “I understand Luca made a rather expensive donation to Saint Jude’s recently. A pathetic attempt to buy loyalty.”
“Mr. Moretti’s generosity saved my sister’s life,” I replied evenly. “Something your family tried to use as a weapon.”
Isabella laughed, a sharp, crystalline sound. “Save your breath, nanny. You think you’ve secured your place here? You’re a hired hand playing dress-up. Look at you. You’re wearing a dress Luca probably bought off a department store rack to make you feel human.”
Before I could answer, a loud commotion broke out near the head table.
Luca was standing there, surrounded by three city council members and the chief of police. But someone had pushed past them. A private security guard was whispering urgently into Luca’s ear.
Luca’s face hardened. He immediately began walking through the crowd toward us, his tall frame parting the sea of tuxedoes and gowns like a blade.
“What’s going on?” I murmured, my stomach clenching with sudden dread.
Isabella took a slow sip of her champagne, a vile, victorious gleam lighting up her eyes. “Oh, just a minor security breach, darling.”
Luca arrived, his expression thunderous. He looked directly at Isabella, then at Victor Vance.
“What is the meaning of this?” Luca demanded.
“That’s what I should ask you, Moretti,” Victor Vance boomed, loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding guests. The music suddenly faltered as the string quartet lost their rhythm. Dozens of high-society eyes turned toward our circle. “Your head of private security just halted the charity auction because the centerpiece item is missing from the estate vault.”
A cold chill washed over my skin.
“The Starlight Empress,” Isabella announced to the gasping crowd. “Sophia’s fifty-carat heirloom sapphire necklace. The one intended to be auctioned off tonight for the pediatric oncology wing.”
Luca’s jaw set into stone. “The vault is biometrically locked. Nobody has access except me and my executive staff.”
“Is that so?” Isabella purred, her eyes shifting slowly toward me. “Then perhaps you should explain why the vault’s auxiliary service key was found five minutes ago inside the nanny’s apron pocket in the laundry room?”
The ballroom gasped.
Whispers erupted like wildfire.
*“The nanny?”*
*“A thief?”*
*“I knew she looked too cozy with him.”*
I stared at Isabella in absolute disbelief. “What are you talking about? I haven't been in the laundry room all day! My hand is injured—I can't even do laundry!”
“A convenient excuse,” Victor Vance sneered, turning to the Chief of Police who had stepped up behind Luca. “Chief Miller, I suggest you search the girl’s private quarters immediately. Before the Moretti family jewels find their way to a pawnshop to pay for her sister’s medical bills.”
“No one is searching anything,” Luca growled, stepping between me and the crowd, his massive chest a physical wall shielding me from their stares. “Emma did not steal that necklace.”
“Are you blinding yourself for a servant, Luca?” Isabella demanded loudly, playing directly to the horrified, aristocratic crowd. “Sophia’s legacy is at stake! If she has nothing to hide, she won't mind the officers searching her room!”
The whispers grew louder, more toxic. Guests were pulling out their phones. The humiliation was designed to destroy me, to strip away the protection Luca had built around me and brand me as a criminal before high society.
I looked at Luca’s back. He was ready to fight the entire room for me. He was ready to burn his social standing to the ground to keep them from touching me.
I couldn't let him ruin himself for my sake.
“Search it,” I said clearly, stepping out from behind Luca.
Luca turned to me, his dark eyes wide with warning. “Emma, no. You don't have to submit to this circus.”
“I have nothing to hide, Mr. Moretti,” I said, looking Isabella dead in her venomous eyes. “Let Chief Miller search my quarters. Right now. In front of everyone.”
Isabella’s smile was triumphant, pure poison wrapped in red silk.
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“Lead the way, Chief,” Isabella said sweetly. “Let's see what the little saint has been hiding under her mattress.”
***
