Chapter 5 - THE STUDY OF SECRETS
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The grandfather clock in the main hall struck eight when I tapped softly on the dark mahogany door of Luca Moretti’s private study.
I had barely slept three hours.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vanessa’s hateful glare and heard the sickening crack of Lorenzo Bellini’s jaw hitting the floor.
"Enter," a deep voice commanded from within.
I pushed the heavy door open, stepping onto an antique Persian rug that muffled my footsteps completely.
The study smelled of aged leather, cedarwood, and rich pipe tobacco.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, filled with ancient leather-bound volumes, legal encyclopedias, and historical accounts of Chicago.
Luca sat behind an enormous walnut desk, illuminated by the pale morning light streaming through high arched windows.
He was already dressed in a crisp black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal dark tribal tattoos wrapping around his forearms.
A pair of reading glasses rested on his nose as he reviewed a thick stack of manila folders.
"Close the door, Hannah, and sit," he said without looking up from the documents.
I closed the door gently until the brass latch clicked, then walked across the room and sat stiffly on the edge of a tufted leather armchair.
For two minutes, the only sound in the room was the scratching of his fountain pen across legal parchment.
Finally, he closed the folder, took off his reading glasses, and leaned back, locking his piercing gray-green eyes onto mine.
"How is my mother this morning?" he asked.
"She slept through the night, Mr. Moretti," I replied promptly.
"I checked on her at six. She was sitting by the window in her sitting room, reading her prayer book."
"Did she mention last night?"
"Only that she was grateful you were safe."
A faint, almost imperceptible softening touched the corners of Luca’s lips before vanishing back into his usual stone mask.
"She always worries about the wrong things," he muttered.
He picked up a manila folder from the side of his desk and slid it across the polished wood toward me.
"Open it."
My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out and flipped the folder open.
Inside were medical charts, color-coded scans, and a transfer authorization bearing the official seal of Mercy General Hospital.
"Your father was moved to the fourth-floor private suite at one o'clock this morning," Luca explained smoothly.
"Dr. Vance, the chief of orthopedic surgery, personally examined him at dawn."
"His hip surgery will be revised on Thursday by the best specialists in the Midwest."
"All past debts, hospital fees, and subsequent rehabilitation costs have been cleared in full."
Tears burned behind my eyelids, blurring the black-and-white text on the page.
"Mr. Moretti... this is hundreds of thousands of dollars," I choked out, looking up at him in sheer disbelief.
"I don't have that kind of money. It would take me three lifetimes to pay this back."
"I don't recall asking for reimbursement," Luca said flatly.
"Then why?" I asked, needing to understand the motive behind such overwhelming generosity.
"Men like you don't give away fortunes without expecting something in return."
Luca leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his eyes boring into my very soul.
"Men like me spend millions of dollars surrounded by people who would poison our coffee for a higher payout," he said, his voice dropping low.
"Vanessa Bellini came from an ancient family with a sterling reputation, and she treated my mother like vermin the second my back was turned."
"You earn twenty-two dollars an hour cleaning toilets and changing bed linens."
"Yet you risked your entire livelihood to protect an old woman who couldn't offer you a single dime in protection."
"Loyalty like that cannot be purchased on the stock market, Hannah."
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a brass key attached to an engraved leather fob.
He pushed it across the desk until it tapped against the edge of the medical folder.
"What is this, sir?"
"The key to the third-floor master suite in the east wing," Luca replied.
"You are no longer residing in the staff quarters behind the garage."
"Starting today, you live in the main house, right next door to my mother’s chambers."
"Your salary has been increased to five times your previous rate, deposited weekly into an offshore account in your name."
"Your sole duty is to protect Teresa Moretti from anyone who tries to make her feel small again."
"Including the members of my own organization."
My heart raced wildly against my ribs.
"You want me to be her bodyguard?"
"I want you to be her eyes, her companion, and her shield," Luca corrected.
"Teresa trusts you. She doesn't trust the armed men outside her door, and she certainly doesn't trust society women."
"She needs someone with a clean heart."
I looked down at the brass key, feeling the immense weight of the responsibility settling upon my shoulders.
"Mr. Moretti, if Vanessa’s family is as dangerous as they say, won't being in the main house put a target on my back?"
"You were already a target the moment you took the silver platter from Mama’s hands," Luca said bluntly.
"Lorenzo Bellini is a coward, but he has cousins in Detroit who deal in blood."
"Here, inside these walls, you are under my personal protection."
"Anyone who raises a hand against you answers directly to me."
I took a deep, steadying breath, closed the folder, and picked up the brass key.
The cold metal felt heavy and permanent in my palm.
"I won't let her down, Mr. Moretti."
"I know you won't," he said.
He opened another folder on his desk, signaling that the meeting was nearing its end.
"One more thing, Hannah."
I paused, waiting.
"A package arrived for you twenty minutes ago via courier."
Luca gestured toward a tall, rectangular wooden crate standing in the shadowed corner beside the mahogany bookcase.
"It was addressed to 'The Maid Who Spoke Out.'"
A chill ran down my spine.
"Did you open it, sir?"
"My security team did," Luca said, his expression darkening into a grim, menacing scowl.
"They scanned it for explosives and toxins."
"It's clean."
"Then what is inside it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Luca stood up from his desk and walked over to the wooden crate, pulling off the loose lid to reveal its contents.
Inside, shredded into a thousand bloody ribbons, was the dark-blue evening dress Teresa had worn the night before.
Pinned to the ruined fabric was a handwritten note scrawled in red ink.
May you like
Luca pulled the note free and read it aloud, his voice dripping with venomous ice:
"The maid wears rags, and the old whore will soon wear a shroud. Tell Luca the wedding was just the beginning."
