Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO WANTED HIM BROKEN|
By sunset, the Moretti mansion had become a fortress inside a fortress.
Security guards checked every entrance.
Technicians searched the bedrooms for unauthorized cameras.
Marcus ordered every employee to surrender their electronic devices for examination.
And I was temporarily forbidden from leaving the estate alone.
I didn't like that last decision.
Neither did Dante.
"She isn't under arrest," he told Marcus across the dining room table.
"I'm aware."
"Then stop treating her like a prisoner."
"I'm trying to keep her alive."
The words silenced everyone.
I looked at Marcus.
"Why would I be in danger?"
He shifted his weight.
"Because the person who leaked those records has already crossed several boundaries."
"That isn't an answer."
Dante placed his coffee cup down.
"Marcus."
The security chief exhaled.
"Someone sent a message to three major news outlets claiming Miss Foster was hired to influence your medical treatment and obtain control of your personal assets."
For a moment, I simply stared.
Then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the accusation was so absurd that my mind couldn't immediately absorb it.
"I've spent six weeks reminding him to take his medication and arguing with him about physical therapy."
Dante's mouth twitched.
"Mostly arguing."
"Your stubbornness is a full-time medical condition."
One of the guards almost smiled.
Marcus didn't.
"The allegations are designed to destroy her credibility before she can defend herself."
I stopped laughing.
"Who sent them?"
"Anonymous source."
Dante's expression darkened.
"Find the source."
At seven that evening, a woman arrived at the mansion in a white designer coat and an expression of practiced concern.
Her name was Victoria Bellini.
I had seen photographs of her everywhere.
She was thirty-five, elegant, wealthy, and one of the most recognizable faces in Seattle philanthropy.
She also happened to be Dante's former fiancée.
Their engagement had ended shortly after his spinal injury.
Or at least, that was what the newspapers claimed.
Victoria walked into the dining room without waiting to be announced.
"Dante, darling."
He didn't rise.
He didn't smile.
"Victoria."
She bent toward him as if to kiss his cheek.
He turned his head just enough that she stopped.
Her smile tightened.
"I came as soon as I heard."
"About the medical leak?"
"About the terrible scandal involving your nurse."
Her gaze moved over me.
It stopped on my uniform.
Then on my face.
"So you're Anna."
I stood.
"Yes."
Victoria smiled as though examining a dress she would never wear.
"You look younger than I expected."
"I'm twenty-nine."
"How sweet."
Dante's voice cut through the room.
"Why are you here?"
Victoria placed a hand against her chest.
"Because your family foundation is hosting the most important charity gala of the year, and someone needs to protect your reputation."
"My reputation survived worse things than a newspaper article."
Her smile faltered.
"We both know public opinion can be cruel about your situation."
My jaw tightened.
Dante noticed.
"What situation?" he asked.
Victoria glanced toward his wheelchair.
"Oh, Dante, don't make me say it."
"Then don't."
Silence settled across the room.
Victoria recovered quickly.
"I simply think it's unwise to appear publicly while these stories are circulating."
"That's my decision."
"Of course."
She turned toward me.
"Perhaps your nurse could explain the medical risks."
I met her gaze.
"Mr. Moretti is fully capable of discussing his care and making his own decisions."
Her expression cooled.
"How admirable."
Dante leaned back.
"Was there anything else?"
Victoria produced a cream-colored folder.
"Actually, yes."
She placed it before him.
"The foundation's trustees have prepared a temporary governance agreement."
Dante didn't touch it.
"What kind of agreement?"
"Just a precaution."
"Define precaution."
Victoria hesitated.
"It would allow the executive committee to oversee your foundation responsibilities until your health stabilizes."
I felt my stomach turn.
Dante's voice remained calm.
"Who drafted this?"
"Our attorneys."
"Without consulting me?"
"We were trying to avoid placing additional stress on you."
Dante opened the folder.
He read the first page.
Then the second.
By the third, every trace of warmth had disappeared from his face.
"This gives the executive committee control of the foundation's assets."
"Temporarily."
"It also authorizes them to approve expenditures and appoint replacement directors."
"Only if necessary."
"And it requires my signature before the gala."
Victoria folded her hands.
"Dante, sweetheart, nobody expects you to carry every burden alone anymore."
He looked up slowly.
"Get out."
She blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"I said get out."
Her cheeks flushed.
"You're being unreasonable."
"That's fortunate, because the document you've brought me is insulting."
Victoria glanced at Marcus.
"Are you going to stand there while he embarrasses himself?"
Marcus said nothing.
She looked at me.
"This is what happens when caregivers encourage unrealistic expectations."
Something hot rose inside me.
I stepped forward.
"He's not a child."
Victoria stared.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Dante doesn't need someone to speak for him while he's sitting right here."
"You have no idea what you're interfering with."
"Then explain it."
Her eyes narrowed.
"For six years, his family has tried to protect him from the consequences of his condition."
I looked at Dante.
His jaw was clenched.
Then I turned back.
"His condition doesn't cancel his judgment."
Victoria's smile vanished.
"You should be careful, Nurse Foster."
"Why?"
"People who forget their place rarely keep it."
Dante's voice was quiet.
"Don't threaten her in my house."
Victoria looked genuinely startled.
"Dante—"
"You heard me."
She straightened her coat.
"Fine."
At the door, she stopped.
"But when the trustees remove you from the gala program, don't say I didn't warn you."
She left.
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then Dante picked up the folder and dropped it into the wastebasket.
Marcus stared after Victoria.
"Boss, we need to discuss that agreement."
"No."
"We should determine who authorized it."
"Then determine it."
He turned toward me.
"Anna, would you come with me?"
I followed him into the library.
The room smelled of leather, old books, and cedarwood.
Rain tapped against the windows.
Dante stopped beside a framed photograph on the mantel.
It showed him standing in front of a waterfront building, smiling beside a younger man.
Both looked carefree.
I recognized the other man immediately.
"Lorenzo," I said.
Dante nodded.
"My brother."
Lorenzo Moretti was forty-one, the chairman of the Moretti Foundation's executive committee.
He was also the person who had interviewed me before I was hired.
Dante studied the photograph.
"When I was injured, Lorenzo took over most of my public responsibilities."
"That sounds reasonable at first."
"It was."
"What changed?"
"He stopped giving them back."
I looked at him.
"Did you ask?"
"Many times."
"And?"
"He always said I needed more time."
Dante's hands rested on his lap.
"Eventually, I stopped asking."
The sadness in his voice hurt more than anger would have.
"Until now?"
He looked up.
"Until you made me put on my own jacket."
I smiled faintly.
"That jacket is going to become legendary."
He laughed.
It was a low, genuine sound.
Then his expression softened.
"Anna, I need to ask you something."
"What?"
"Why did you really accept this job?"
I considered giving the easy answer.
Good pay.
Private care.
Professional opportunity.
All of those things were true.
But they weren't the whole truth.
"Because I knew what it felt like to have people decide who you were before listening to you."
Dante remained silent.
"After the scandal involving my brother, no one wanted to hear that he hadn't been charged."
I swallowed.
"They looked at his name and saw a criminal."
"And you?"
"They saw someone guilty by association."
Dante reached for my hand.
This time, I let him.
"I know that feeling."
I looked at him.
"Do you?"
"Every time someone looks at this chair before looking at my face."
Our eyes held.
Then my phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number had sent me a message.
"VICTORIA ISN'T THE ONE GIVING THE ORDERS."
Below it was a photograph of a storage unit.
A handwritten address appeared across the bottom.
And one more sentence followed.
"IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO NOAH, COME ALONE."
My heart began pounding.
Dante saw my expression.
"What is it?"
I handed him the phone.
He read the message.
Then looked at me.
"You're not going alone."
I shook my head.
"It could be my brother."
"Or somebody using him."
I stared at the photograph.
For two years, Noah had been a ghost in my life.
Now somebody was offering me the chance to find him.
And the price was walking into an obvious trap.
"I have to know," I whispered.
Dante studied the image again.
Then he reached for the telephone on his desk.
"Marcus, I need a vehicle."
He paused.
"And get my black jacket."
I frowned.
"Dante, what are you doing?"
He looked at me with the faintest trace of a smile.
"Something everyone keeps telling me I can't."
May you like
"Which is?"
"Leaving my own house without permission."
