The Plus Size Maid Was Slapped for Moving His Mother’s Chair—What She Found Stunned the Mafia Boss

Marco dragged Emma into a small, windowless security closet down the hall and locked the door behind them.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, checking her arms for burns.

“No, I stepped back just in time,” Emma gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Marco, it was Julian. Julian is the one running Silas. He pushed me.”

Marco’s face darkened, but he shook his head. “Julian is in the dining room with Victor. He’s been there for the last twenty minutes. He couldn't have pushed you.”

Emma froze. “If it wasn't Julian... then someone else is working for him inside the staff.”

“And we need to find out who,” Marco said, pulling out his radio.

But Emma’s mind was already racing, putting the pieces together. The slap in the dining room. The panic over the moved chair. Harold Whitmore had been terrified that she had touched Lady Eleanor’s chair, long before the bug was found.

“Marco,” Emma whispered. “Harold knew about the listening device. He slapped me to stop me from looking under the chair.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed into lethal slits. “Are you sure?”

“He’s the senior butler. He controls the dining room. He was trying to protect the bug.”

“Stay here,” Marco commanded, drawing his weapon.

“No,” Emma argued, grabbing his arm. “If you grab Harold now, Julian will know we’re onto him. We need to catch Harold in the act. We need proof connecting him to Julian.”

Marco stared at the plus-size maid, realizing she had a sharper tactical mind than half his soldiers.

“Okay. What’s your play?”

“Harold takes a smoke break in the rose garden every night at ten o'clock,” Emma said. “If he’s passing information, that’s where he does it.”

At 9:55 PM, Emma and Marco slipped out the side door of the manor, hiding in the deep shadows of the towering hedge maze. The night air was freezing, but Emma barely felt it.

Right on time, Harold Whitmore stepped out onto the cobblestone path. He lit a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly. He walked to a stone bench, sat down, and quickly taped a small white envelope to the underside of the stone seat. A dead drop.