Chapter 4 - The Nursery Wing
By two in the morning, the rain was lashing against the tall arched windows of the nursery wing.
My new room was vast, far removed from the cold, cramped basement quarters I had occupied for the past six months. It sat directly between Sofia’s bedroom and the second-floor library, connected by a heavy white door with an antique brass latch. The bed was fitted with cream-colored Egyptian cotton sheets, and a plush wool throw blanket was folded neatly at the foot. A private en-suite bathroom gleamed with marble and warm brass fixtures.
It felt like a cage disguised as a palace.
I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the old mansion made me jump. My wrist throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache, but the painkillers Dr. Marco had given me took off the razor-sharp edge.
Soft padding footsteps outside my door made my breath hitch.
I sat upright in the massive bed, clutching the duvet to my chest. The brass door handle slowly turned.
The door pushed inward, and a small silhouette appeared against the faint nightlight of the corridor. Sofia stood there, clutching her ragged stuffed rabbit by one ear. Her dark eyes were wide and anxious.
“Emma?” she whispered.
I let out a shaky breath, the tension draining from my shoulders. “Sofia? What are you doing awake, sweetie?”
She padded across the hardwood floor on bare feet, her pajamas dragging slightly on the ground. She climbed onto the edge of my bed, curling her knees to her chest.
“I had a bad dream,” she said, her voice small. “The red lady was yelling at Daddy.”
My heart softened. I shifted closer to her, using my uninjured left arm to pull the blanket over her cold feet. “Miss Isabella isn’t going to yell at anyone tonight, Sofia. Your daddy is downstairs. He’s taking care of everything.”
“She’s mean,” Sofia said fiercely, burying her chin into the rabbit’s soft head. “She told me last week that when she marries Daddy, she’s going to send me to a school far away across the ocean. In Switzerland. So she and Daddy can have real babies.”
A shockwave of cold rage washed over me.
*A school across the ocean.* Isabella had been systematically terrorizing this child long before she ever touched my wrist. Luca was a powerful man, feared by politicians and criminals alike, but he was blind to the insidious cruelties happening right under his roof while he was away managing his empire.
“She won't send you anywhere,” I promised, my voice firmer than I felt. “Your daddy would never let that happen. He loves you more than anything in this world.”
Sofia looked up at me, her brown eyes remarkably like Luca’s, but entirely innocent. “Do you love Daddy?”
The question caught me completely off guard. My breath hitched in my throat.
“I work for your daddy, Sofia,” I stammered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks despite the chill in the room. “He is a very good man who keeps us safe.”
“He likes you,” Sofia said simply, settling down onto the spare pillow beside me. “He never lets anyone in his study. Not even Miss Isabella. But he let you in. And he told the guards that if anyone touches you, he will feed them to the fish in the harbor.”
I couldn’t help a quiet, startled laugh. “He said that?”
“He said something like that,” Sofia murmured, yawning softly. “He said you are family now.”
*Family.* The word hung in the quiet room, heavy and dangerous. Servants were not family. In high-society Boston, bloodlines and dynasties ruled everything. I was an orphan from south of the river, a girl with no name, no money, and nowhere else to go. To call me family was to invite ruin.
Within ten minutes, Sofia’s breathing slowed into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep. I lay beside her, careful not to jostle my bandaged wrist, watching the rain streak down the glass panes.
Suddenly, a floorboard groaned in the hallway outside the master suite.
I froze.
It wasn't the light, cautious step of a maid, nor the heavy, disciplined tread of Luca’s security detail. It was slow, deliberate, and dragging.
Carefully, so as not to wake the child, I slipped out from under the covers. I pulled on a heavy knit cardigan and walked quietly toward the doorway. I opened the door just a crack, peering down the dimly lit second-floor corridor.
At the far end of the hall, standing in front of Luca’s closed master bedroom doors, was Isabella.
She wasn't in her evening gown anymore. She wore a black silk robe, her blonde hair tangled around her shoulders. In the dim light of the wall sconces, her face looked hollow, grotesque with fury. She wasn't knocking. She wasn't trying the handle.
She was sliding a folded piece of paper beneath his door.
As she straightened up, she turned her head. Her gaze scanned the dark hallway, moving deliberately until it landed squarely on my door.
She saw me.
Even from thirty feet away, in the dim amber light, I could see the terrifying smile spreading across her lips. It wasn't the smile of a defeated woman sent to her room. It was the smile of someone who had just lit a fuse and was simply waiting for the powder keg to explode.
She raised one manicured finger to her lips, miming a silent *shh*.
May you like
Then she turned and vanished down the gallery stairs.
***
