Chapter 2 - The Cold Marble
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By the time Mr. Moretti found me on my knees, I had already scrubbed the same patch of marble three times. Not because it was dirty. Because standing hurt too much. My left leg had swollen beneath the thin black fabric of my uniform, the bruise spreading from my knee halfway up my thigh in ugly shades of purple and blue. Every time I shifted my weight, pain shot through my hip.
So I stayed on the floor. Head down. Hands moving. Invisible. That was the safest way to survive in the Moretti estate. At least, that was what I had learned in my first six weeks working there. The house was beautiful in the kind of way that made you afraid to touch anything. White marble. Gold fixtures. Paintings that probably cost more than my mother’s house. And silence. Always silence. Until that afternoon.
"What happened to her?" His voice came from behind me. Deep. Controlled. Dangerously calm.
My hand froze around the sponge. I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Luca Moretti. Chicago businessman to the public. Something much darker to everyone who worked inside his home. I slowly looked over my shoulder. He stood near the staircase in a charcoal suit, one hand in his pocket, his dark eyes fixed on my leg. Not my face. My leg. My stomach tightened. Before I could answer, another voice cut through the room.
"She fell while cleaning." Isabella. His fiancée. She appeared behind him wearing a cream dress and a smile so polished it almost looked kind. Almost.
Luca turned his head. "I asked her."
The smile on Isabella’s face flickered. Only for a second. But I saw it. So did she. Her eyes shifted to me. And there it was. The warning. Don’t say anything. My fingers curled around the sponge. Luca walked closer. Each step echoed across the marble. When he stopped in front of me, I could see my reflection in his shoes.
"Look at me."
I swallowed. Then raised my head. His expression was unreadable. That somehow made it worse.
"Did you fall?"
The truth sat behind my teeth. No. I hadn’t fallen. Isabella had shoved me in the pantry, leaving me crippled on the floor. Now she stood ten feet away, watching me. Waiting. I forced air into my lungs.
"Yes, sir."
Luca’s eyes didn’t leave mine. "Where?"
I hesitated. "The pantry."
Behind him, Isabella went completely still. Luca noticed. I could tell by the slight shift in his jaw. Then he crouched in front of me. A mafia boss in a three-thousand-dollar suit, kneeling on the floor beside a housekeeper. His gaze moved to the bruise. His expression changed. Not much. But enough.
"That," he said quietly, "doesn’t look like a fall."
My heart stopped.
Isabella laughed softly. "She’s embarrassed. You know how staff can be."
Luca slowly stood. Then turned toward his fiancée. The room changed. It felt colder.
"What exactly happened in the pantry?"
Isabella opened her mouth. But Luca raised one hand. Not to silence her. To stop her from coming closer. Then he looked back at me.
"No one answers for you in this house." His voice was quiet. Final. "So I’ll ask you one more time."
He stepped between Isabella and me. Protecting me. Or trapping me. I still didn’t know which. His eyes locked onto mine.
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"Who hurt you?"
And behind him, Isabella whispered, "Think carefully before you answer."
