Chapter 2 - The Bleeding Hand
|
The pain radiated up Nora’s arm in hot, violent waves. She stayed on the cold marble floor for a long time, biting her bottom lip until it bled, just to keep from crying out loud.
She knew the rules of the Moretti estate. A maid caught loitering in the east wing during a formal dinner would be fired on the spot. A maid claiming the future Mrs. Moretti had crushed her fingers on purpose would be thrown onto the street—or worse.
Nora forced herself to stand. Her vision blurred, the edges of the corridor swimming in a dark haze. She cradled her right hand against her chest. The two fingers were swelling rapidly, turning a grotesque shade of purple, bent at an unnatural angle.
She stumbled toward the servant’s stairwell, pushing through the heavy fire door with her hip.
Once in the safety of the dim, concrete stairwell, she slumped against the wall and pulled the small piece of cardstock from her apron pocket with her good hand. It was smeared with a drop of her own blood.
“Silas Vance. Appraisals and Acquisitions.”
There was a phone number, but no address.
Why would the future wife of a mafia boss need an independent appraiser in the middle of her prenuptial dinner? The answer was obvious. The emerald. The legendary Moretti family heirloom she was supposed to wear on her wedding day. Vanessa was going to fake a robbery, sell the real stone to this man, and collect the insurance money.
Nora’s breathing hitched. She had the card. She had the proof. But proof was a dangerous thing for a maid to hold.
“Nora!”
The sharp voice of Mrs. Kessler echoed from the bottom of the stairs.
“Where are those linens? The dessert service is starting in ten minutes!”
Nora quickly shoved the card deep into her pocket. She looked at her ruined right hand. She couldn't serve. She couldn't even hold a tray. But if she told Mrs. Kessler the truth, Vanessa would know she was still a threat.
May you like
“I’m coming!” Nora called back, her voice shaking.
She wrapped a clean white cloth napkin tightly around her swelling fingers, hiding the grotesque injury as best as she could, and marched down the stairs to face the lion’s den.
