Chapter 4 - Poisoned Velvet
For three days, the fourth floor became my sanctuary and my prison.
While the lower levels of the Moretti estate buzzed with frenzied preparations for the Saturday engagement gala—caterers unloading crates of black truffles, florists constructing towering arches of white orchids, string quartets rehearsing in the ballroom—I remained buried beneath mountains of maritime paperwork.
My hand throbbed steadily beneath the gauze, but the repetitive rhythm of numbers kept the panic at bay.
And then, at midnight on Friday, I found it.
“Look at this,” I whispered, leaning over the wide drafting table Luca had moved into the study for me.
Luca, who had been reviewing legal briefs across the room, abandoned his chair immediately. He stood behind me, so close that the warmth of his chest radiated through my blazer. His hand brushed against my shoulder as he braced himself against the table.
“What did you find?” his voice was low, his breath stirring the loose strands of hair near my ear.
I pointed with my pen to a column of customs clearance serial numbers. “Every container leaving Port Newark under the Romano flag lists an average gross weight of forty-two thousand pounds. But look at the crane logs from your terminal. When those same containers were lifted from your ships, they weighed fifty-eight thousand pounds.”
Luca’s eyes sharpened. “Sixteen thousand pounds of unmanifested cargo per container. Across twenty shipments a month.”
“That’s over three hundred tons of phantom freight,” I said, looking up at him. “They aren’t just skimming money, Luca. They’re using your legitimate Moretti cargo ships as transport for untaxed, illegal shipments—weapons, untracked luxury imports, maybe worse. And if federal maritime authorities seize those ships, the Moretti name is on the hull. You take the criminal fall, while the Romanos walk away clean with the merger assets.”
Luca stared at the numbers, his jaw muscles clenching until a vein pulsed visibly along his temple.
“Brilliant,” he breathed, turning his gaze down to me. The raw admiration in his eyes sent a jolt straight through my stomach, making it hard to swallow. “You did what three corporate accounting firms failed to do in six months.”
“It’s just subtraction, Mr. Moretti,” I muttered, suddenly flustered.
“It’s genius, Emma,” he corrected, his voice dropping into a dangerous intimacy. He reached out, his thumb brushing against my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw with breathtaking slowness. “And don't call me Mr. Moretti when we’re alone.”
I froze, caught in the gravity of his gaze. For a second, the entire estate—the ballrooms, the impending merger, Isabella Romano—disappeared. There was only the sound of rain against the glass and the terrifying, magnetic pull between a billionaire and a girl who had spent her life invisible.
Before either of us could cross an irreversible line, a sharp chime broke the silence.
Luca stepped back, the mask slamming back into place as he retrieved his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, his brows furrowing.
“The port authority inspector just arrived at the east gate for a surprise audit,” Luca said, his tone turning brisk and cold. “Jennings is stalling him in the grand foyer. I have to handle this downstairs.”
“Should I come?”
“No. Stay here. Lock the study doors from the inside. Do not open them for anyone except me.” He grabbed his jacket, paused at the threshold, and looked back at me. “Good work tonight, Emma. When this is over, you and Liam will never have to worry about money again. I promise you.”
The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, and I heard the bolt slide into place.
I sat back down, trying to steady my breathing. For the first time in months, a glimmer of real hope fluttered in my chest. If Luca could break free from the Romano family using this data, my brother’s future was secured.
Twenty minutes passed. The mansion was eerily quiet.
Then, the doorknob jiggled.
I jumped to my feet, clutching the audit report to my chest. “Luca?”
A soft click echoed in the lock. The study door swung open slowly.
It wasn't Luca.
It was Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper. Behind her stood Isabella Romano, dressed in an emerald green silk dressing gown, her arms crossed over her chest. A chilling, triumphant smile curved Isabella’s lips.
“Mrs. Gable?” I stammered, backing toward the drafting table. “What are you doing? Mr. Moretti ordered this room locked.”
“Mrs. Gable works for the master of the house,” Isabella purred, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate steps. “And after tomorrow night, I am the mistress of this house. Mrs. Gable is merely following a standing protocol regarding high-value estate inventory.”
“What protocol?” My voice rose in panic.
Isabella didn't answer. Instead, she strolled toward the display case near Luca’s bookshelf—the one that held his family’s private antique collection. She casually glanced inside, then turned to Mrs. Gable with feigned shock.
“Good heavens, Mrs. Gable,” Isabella gasped, placing a theatrical hand over her throat. “The Moretti Duchess Sapphire. The family heirlooms… it’s gone.”
My blood turned to ice. “What are you talking about?”
“The diamond-encrusted sapphire pendant Luca’s grandmother left in that velvet case,” Isabella sneered, her voice dropping all pretense of gentility. “It was there this afternoon. And now, the only person left alone on the fourth floor is a desperate, impoverished maid whose brother is dying in a county hospital.”
“I didn't touch anything in that case!” I shouted, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. “Search me! Search the desk!”
“Oh, we won't need to search the desk,” Isabella said softly, reaching into the deep pocket of her emerald robe.
She pulled out a heavy, glittering pendant suspended on a platinum chain. The sapphire in the center was the size of a pigeon’s egg, deep royal blue, surrounded by a halo of blinding diamonds.
Before I could scream, Isabella lunged forward.
With vicious speed, she grabbed my bandaged right hand, ripping the sutures against the edge of the table. A scream ripped from my throat as blinding pain exploded across my palm. With her other hand, Isabella forcefully shoved the cold, heavy sapphire necklace deep into the front pocket of my tailored blazer.
“Help!” Isabella shrieked at the top of her lungs, throwing herself backward against the bookshelf, knocking over a crystal vase that shattered across the hardwood floor. “Help! Security! She attacked me! The maid is stealing the Moretti jewels!”
The study doors flew wide open.
Three estate security guards poured into the room, their hands on their holsters, followed closely by Victor Romano himself—a towering, gray-haired man with eyes like a shark.
“What is the meaning of this?” Victor boomed, his gaze sweeping the room.
Isabella was on the floor, weeping hysterically, clutching her bruised arm. “Father! She broke into the vault case! I tried to stop her, and she lunged at me! The sapphire is in her pocket!”
One of the guards moved toward me, his hand reaching for handcuffs. “Hands where I can see them! On your knees, girl!”
Fresh blood was already soaking through the white bandages on my hand, dripping onto the pristine hardwood. I stood paralyzed, the weight of the stolen necklace burning against my chest like hot coal.
“Don't touch me,” I whispered, trembling with rage and terror. “She planted it! She broke my stitches!”
“Check her pocket,” Victor Romano barked at the guard. “And when you find it, drag this gutter rat down to the cellar until the police arrive. No one steals from the Moretti family on the eve of our union.”
The guard closed the distance, his fingers reaching for my lapel.
“If you lay a single finger on her,” a voice roared from the hallway, vibrating with enough fury to rattle the windowpanes, “I will put a bullet through your skull before your hand reaches her collar.”
Luca stood in the doorway.
May you like
He had shed his coat. His sleeves were rolled up, rain dripping from his dark hair, his chest heaving. In his right hand, gripped with deadly familiarity, was a semi-automatic handgun, its barrel pointed directly at the guard’s chest.
***
