Chapter 7 - The Spilled Tea and the Defense
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The following afternoon, the estate’s glass conservatory was flooded with pale autumn sunlight that warmed the exotic orchids.
Giovanni sat at a wrought-iron garden table, wrapped in a comfortable cashmere cardigan, reviewing shipping manifests with a magnifying glass.
Meline sat opposite him, her injured knee resting comfortably on a soft velvet cushion, carefully recording notes in a leather journal.
Despite her protests that morning, Giovanni had insisted she become his private secretary, relieving her of all cleaning duties.
“Your handwriting is remarkably elegant, Meline,” Giovanni noted, watching her neat cursive fill the margins of the paper.
“My mother was an elementary school teacher for thirty years, Mr. Giovanni,” she explained with a modest smile.
“She made sure I practiced my letters every night after my father passed away.”
The glass doors of the conservatory swung open with deliberate force, shattering the peaceful quiet of the garden.
Camilla Vance strode into the room, accompanied by two of her high-society friends, both dressed in matching designer trench coats and sunglasses.
Behind them walked a terrified junior maid carrying a heavy silver tea service with delicate bone china cups.
“Good afternoon, Giovanni,” Camilla said, offering a tight, plastic smile that did not reach her calculating eyes.
“I brought my cousins to admire the winter blooming orchids, and we thought we would join you for afternoon tea.”
Giovanni did not look up from his shipping manifests, merely turning a page with his thumb.
“The public gardens downtown are open until five o'clock, Camilla,” the old man remarked dryly.
“You are welcome to admire the flowers there.”
Camilla’s jaw tightened, but she forced a light, melodic laugh as she took a seat at the adjacent table.
Her gaze drifted immediately to Meline, raking over her simple dark blue wool dress and modest silver locket.
“Oh, I see the domestic staff is still enjoying the family furniture,” Camilla sneered, leaning back in her chair.
“Tell me, girl, does Alessandro pay you extra to play nursemaid, or are you hoping to secure a permanent pension by flattering an old man?”
Meline kept her eyes on the ledger, refusing to give the socialite the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.
“I am assisting Mr. Giovanni with his administrative correspondence, Miss Vance,” Meline replied calmly.
Camilla stood up, walking over to the table where the tea service was being arranged by the trembling junior maid.
“Well, since you’re sitting there doing nothing of real value, you can pour the tea,” Camilla commanded, pointing a manicured finger at the silver pot.
Meline began to close her ledger, preparing to stand to keep the peace, but Giovanni’s walking stick slammed against the stone floor.
“Sit down, Meline,” Giovanni ordered, his voice carrying the thunder of the old Moretti patriarch.
Camilla turned red with embarrassment in front of her giggling friends.
“Giovanni, you are treating this common girl as if she were royalty!” Camilla snapped, reaching out aggressively for the teapot herself.
In her frantic haste to prove her dominance, Camilla’s elbow caught the edge of the silver tray.
The heavy pot tipped, spilling boiling Earl Grey tea directly across the table toward Meline’s lap.
Before Meline could jump back on her injured leg, a broad shadow fell over the table like an iron shield.
Alessandro appeared from the arched doorway, his arm shooting out with lightning reflexes to sweep the leather journal into the path of the scalding liquid.
The boiling tea soaked through the thick leather, splattering against Alessandro’s dark suit sleeve while leaving Meline completely untouched.
The room gasped, Camilla’s friends leaping to their feet in sheer terror.
Alessandro did not flinch, even as steam rose from the drenched fabric of his wool jacket.
He slowly tossed the ruined leather ledger onto the table, his dark eyes fixing onto Camilla with a fury that made the air feel electrified.
“You have five seconds to leave this conservatory, Camilla,” Alessandro said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
“And if you ever enter this house again without my written permission, my men will treat you as an armed trespasser.”
“Alessandro, it was an accident!” Camilla shrieked, backing away toward the glass doors.
“She reached for the pot and knocked it over!”
Giovanni stood up, his tall frame straightening with majestic fury as he pointed his stick toward the entrance.
“I was sitting right here, you lying snake!” the old man roared.
“Get out of my sight before I have Alessandro call your father’s presiding judge and explain how you conduct yourself!”
Camilla burst into furious tears of humiliated defeat, turning on her designer heels and sprinting out through the garden with her friends.
Alessandro turned his back on the exit, dropping to one knee beside Meline’s chair, checking her hands and face for burns.
“Did any of it touch your skin?” he asked, his voice rough with genuine anxiety.
Meline looked down at his ruined jacket, her hazel eyes filling with tears at his fierce, unwavering protection.
“No,” she whispered, her hand rising instinctively to touch his damp sleeve.
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“You took all of it, Alessandro.”
Hearing her speak his given name for the first time made the mafia boss freeze, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a hunger that stole the breath from the room.
