Chapter 1 - HIS FIANCÉE SAID I WALKED INTO A WINE RACK—BUT WHEN LUCA ASKED HOW SHE KNEW WHERE I HAD BEEN, HER PERFECT ENGAGEMENT DINNER BEGAN TO FALL APART
I had almost finished serving the first course.
Three more guests.
That was all I needed.
But every time I opened my mouth, the cut inside my lower lip split again.
I could taste blood.
So I stopped smiling.
Stopped talking unless someone spoke directly to me.
And kept my face slightly lowered beneath the chandeliers of Luca Moretti’s Chicago mansion.
I thought nobody would notice.
I was wrong.
My name is Emma Walsh.
I was twenty-nine, had worked at the Moretti estate for ten months, and had spent the last four hours pretending there was nothing wrong with my mouth.
My lower lip was swollen beneath a thin layer of makeup.
There was a bruise beginning to form along my jaw.
And I had exactly eighty-one dollars left until payday.
Missing the engagement dinner wasn’t an option.
Neither was telling Luca what I had discovered downstairs that afternoon.
Twenty-four guests sat around the long dining table, celebrating his engagement to Vanessa Bellini.
Vanessa wore a red silk gown.
Diamond earrings.
A beautiful smile that hadn’t left her face since the first guest arrived.
At the head of the table sat Luca Moretti.
Thirty-nine.
Black suit.
White shirt.
A man who noticed when people stopped doing things they had done every day for months.
I approached his chair with the bread basket.
Normally, Luca thanked the staff quietly whenever we served him.
Tonight was no different.
“Thank you, Emma.”
I nodded.
But I didn’t answer.
He looked up.
“You all right?”
I tried to smile.
Pain shot through my lip.
I stopped immediately.
That was enough.
Luca set down his fork.
“Emma.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
The word came out carefully.
His eyes moved to my mouth.
“What happened?”
Before I could answer, Vanessa gave a little laugh.
“She walked into a wine rack this afternoon. Honestly, Luca, I don’t know how someone manages to injure herself in a room full of stationary bottles.”
My hand stopped above the table.
For two seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
“The wine cellar?”
“Yes, darling.”
Vanessa took a sip of champagne.
“She was fetching a bottle for the kitchen.”
I stared at the tablecloth.
Because I hadn’t told anyone where I’d been hurt.
And I certainly hadn’t been fetching wine.
Luca looked back at me.
“Did you walk into a rack?”
I could feel Vanessa watching.
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“Around four.”
“What were you doing downstairs?”
“Helping the kitchen.”
Vanessa immediately added, “She was looking for the Barolo.”
Luca’s eyes moved toward her.
“The Barolo?”
“Yes.”
“You saw her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know what she was looking for?”
Vanessa smiled.
“She told me.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Did you?”
My mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
The answer came too slowly.
Luca noticed.
He leaned back.
“Interesting.”
Vanessa frowned.
“What is?”
“The kitchen doesn’t use my cellar.”
Her fingers stopped around her champagne glass.
Luca continued.
“The dinner wine came from the catering company.”
Silence.
Vanessa recovered quickly.
“Then perhaps Emma was looking for something else.”
Luca looked at me.
“Were you?”
I couldn’t answer.
Because every answer was becoming another lie.
He studied my face.
Then said quietly, “Look at me.”
My heart started pounding.
“It’s really nothing, sir.”
“Emma.”
Slowly, I raised my head.
The makeup around my lower lip had begun to separate.
A thin red line had appeared at the corner of my mouth.
Luca’s expression changed.
“Have you seen a doctor?”
I shook my head.
Vanessa sighed.
“For heaven’s sake, Luca. She bumped her face. Do we really need to interrupt our engagement dinner?”
He ignored her.
“Emma, did somebody hit you?”
My eyes immediately lifted toward Vanessa.
I regretted it before I could look away.
Because Luca followed my gaze.
And saw the warning in her expression.
He looked back at me.
“Are you afraid of losing your job?”
My eyes burned.
“Yes, sir.”
“You won’t.”
Vanessa gave an uncomfortable laugh.
“She’s embarrassed because she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.”
Luca slowly turned toward her.
Vanessa’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“You just said she was fetching wine for the kitchen.”
A pause.
Luca continued.
“Now she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.”
Vanessa reached for her glass.
“I meant she shouldn’t have been wandering around alone.”
Luca watched her for another second.
Then stood.
“Emma, you’re finished for tonight.”
I immediately shook my head.
“Please, sir. I need the hours.”
“You’ll be paid for the entire shift.”
“I can finish dinner.”
“No.”
He looked toward Mrs. Carter.
“Have Dr. Harris examine her lip.”
Vanessa sighed.
“She doesn’t need a doctor.”
Luca looked directly at her.
“How do you know?”
Silence.
I started toward the doorway.
“Emma.”
I stopped.
Luca was watching me carefully.
“Was Vanessa in the wine cellar when you got hurt?”
My stomach dropped.
I looked toward her without meaning to.
“Yes, sir.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“Was anyone else there?”
I couldn’t answer.
Vanessa placed her napkin beside her plate.
“Darling, surely this can wait until after dinner.”
Luca looked at me for several seconds.
Then nodded.
“Go.”
I left.
And for the next thirty-five minutes, Luca Moretti behaved as though nothing unusual had happened.
He finished dinner.
Discussed Saturday’s ceremony.
Listened patiently while Vanessa talked about the honeymoon.
Even poured her another glass of wine.
By dessert, she was smiling again.
She thought he had accepted my explanation.
At 9:53, Vanessa went upstairs.
Luca waited until she disappeared.
Then he walked downstairs.
The wine cellar sat beneath the west side of the mansion.
His father had started the collection.
His mother had added to it every anniversary.
Luca rarely opened the most expensive bottles.
Not because of their value.
Because many still had his father’s handwriting on the labels.
He unlocked the cellar.
Turned on the lights.
And stopped.
Small white stickers had been placed beneath dozens of bottles.
Numbers.
Lot 14.
Lot 15.
Lot 16.
Luca frowned.
He walked farther inside.
More stickers.
A case of Bordeaux his father had purchased when Luca was born.
The Burgundy served at his parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary.
Six bottles his mother had saved for the day Luca eventually married.
All tagged.
Then he saw a leather folder sitting on the tasting table.
Inside was a printed inventory.
Beside each bottle was an estimated price.
At the bottom:
TOTAL ESTIMATED AUCTION VALUE: $186,400.
Luca stared at it.
Then noticed the business card clipped to the folder.
THOMAS KELLER
PRIVATE WINE BROKER
He called the number.
A man answered on the third ring.
“Keller.”
“This is Luca Moretti.”
Silence.
Then—
“Mr. Moretti.”
“You were in my house this afternoon.”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I think you should speak to Miss Bellini.”
“I’m speaking to you.”
Keller exhaled.
“She asked me to appraise part of the collection.”
“For what?”
“She said the family was selling.”
Luca’s expression hardened.
“I never authorized a sale.”
The man went quiet.
Then Luca asked, “How many bottles did she want sold?”
Keller hesitated.
“All of them.”
Luca stopped moving.
“The entire cellar?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“As quickly as possible.”
Luca looked around at the bottles his parents had collected for thirty years.
“How quickly?”
“She wanted the first shipment removed Friday morning.”
Two days before the wedding.
“For what reason?”
“She didn’t give me one.”
Luca looked down at the inventory.
“How was she being paid?”
Another pause.
“Cashier’s checks.”
“Made out to whom?”
“Vanessa Bellini.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
Then the cellar door opened.
I stood there.
My lip had been cleaned and treated.
Luca ended the call.
“Emma.”
My face went pale when I saw the auction stickers.
He held up Keller’s card.
“Is this the man who was here this afternoon?”
I nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened?”
I swallowed.
“Mrs. Carter asked me to bring clean glasses downstairs for tomorrow.”
“And?”
“The cellar door was open.”
I looked toward the tagged bottles.
“Vanessa was inside with Mr. Keller.”
“What were they doing?”
“He was photographing bottles.”
My voice trembled.
“I thought you were having them insured.”
Luca waited.
“Then I heard Vanessa tell him not to send anything to the house.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“She said no invoices. No letters. No calls to the main number.”
Luca looked back at the inventory.
“What happened when they saw you?”
“Mr. Keller left.”
“And Vanessa?”
My eyes filled.
“She asked how long I’d been standing there.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her I’d just arrived.”
My voice broke.
“She didn’t believe me.”
Luca looked at my swollen lip.
“That’s when you were hurt?”
I nodded.
“I tried to go upstairs.”
I swallowed.
“She stepped in front of me. I backed away and hit the edge of the tasting table.”
Luca’s expression hardened.
“Did she push you?”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he reached for his phone.
“Daniel. Nothing leaves this cellar. I want someone at both entrances tonight.”
He looked at me again.
“Emma, did you hear why Vanessa was selling the wine?”
My throat tightened.
“I heard part of it.”
“What?”
“Mr. Keller asked why she needed the money so quickly.”
Luca waited.
I looked toward the cellar door.
Then whispered the sentence I’d been terrified to repeat since four o’clock.
“She said she needed the money before the wedding because once you signed the papers, it would be too late.”
Luca did not move.
“What papers?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re sure those were her words?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
I nodded.
“Mr. Keller asked why Friday mattered. Vanessa said, ‘Because once Luca signs the papers Saturday, it’ll be too late.’”
His gaze shifted toward the rows of bottles.
Saturday.
Their wedding day.
“What else?”
“I heard something about Lake Geneva.”
His head snapped toward me.
“What about Lake Geneva?”
“I couldn’t hear everything. Mr. Keller asked about the lake property. Vanessa told him not until after the ceremony.”
The Moretti family owned a house on Lake Geneva.
Even I knew that.
Luca’s mother had spent her final summer there before cancer took her.
His expression emptied.
“She said anything else?”
I shook my head.
“She realized I was listening.”
Luca looked at my mouth again.
For the first time that night, I saw something beneath his anger.
Guilt.
Not because he had hurt me.
Because someone he had brought into the house had.
He picked up his phone.
“Daniel.”
A voice answered immediately.
“Get Adrian Cole here. Bring every document Vanessa has asked me to sign in the last six months.”
He disconnected.
I stepped backward.
“Can I go now?”
He looked surprised.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
I turned.
“Emma.”
I stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
The words sounded unnatural coming from him.
I looked back.
“For what?”
“For putting you in a house where you thought telling me the truth would cost you your job.”
“You didn’t push me.”
“No.”
His gaze hardened.
“But I brought the person who did into your workplace.”
I didn’t know how to answer that.
So I nodded and left.
Adrian Cole arrived twenty-eight minutes later.
He was Luca’s attorney.
Silver-haired.
Expensive coat.
Expression of a man who had spent thirty years cleaning up other people’s disasters.
Daniel escorted him into the study.
Luca placed the wine inventory on the desk.
Adrian read it.
His eyebrows rose.
“She tried to sell this?”
“Yes.”
“Does she have authority?”
“No.”
“Then Keller couldn’t transfer title legally.”
“That isn’t what concerns me.”
Luca leaned forward.
“What am I signing Saturday?”
Adrian frowned.
“Several things.”
“Everything.”
“Marriage certificate. Estate planning acknowledgment. Revised insurance beneficiary paperwork. The Bellini charitable foundation agreement—”
“Stop.”
Luca looked up.
“What foundation agreement?”
Adrian stared.
“The document Vanessa’s attorney sent last month.”
“I thought that was the prenuptial amendment.”
“No.”
The room changed.
Adrian opened his briefcase.
He removed copies.
Luca read.
The Bellini-Moretti Cultural Preservation Foundation.
Vanessa had described it as a nonprofit that would restore historic Italian-American properties.
Luca had agreed to contribute five million dollars after the wedding.
But buried in the attachments was something else.
A management authorization.
One that would allow Vanessa, as executive chair, to approve the transfer of certain “non-operating heritage assets” donated to the foundation.
Including the Lake Geneva property.
The wine collection.
Three paintings.
And a warehouse on the Chicago River.
Luca looked at Adrian.
“Did you review this?”
“Not this version.”
“What?”
“The version I approved didn’t contain Schedule C.”
Luca held up the pages.
“This does.”
Adrian went pale.
“Where did you get that?”
“Vanessa gave it to my assistant yesterday.”
Adrian reached for it.
The signature page had been replaced.
The footer numbering was slightly different.
Someone had modified the document after legal review.
“Luca.”
Adrian’s voice became serious.
“Do not sign anything Saturday.”
Luca almost laughed.
“There won’t be a Saturday.”
Then Daniel entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found something in Miss Bellini’s car.”
Vanessa’s Mercedes was parked in the mansion garage.
Daniel placed a small envelope on the desk.
Inside were two passports.
One belonged to Vanessa.
The second belonged to a man named Nicholas Bell.
There were also airline confirmations.
Chicago to Zurich.
Sunday morning.
Two first-class seats.
Luca stared at the second name.
“Who is Nicholas Bell?”
Daniel’s expression was grim.
“We’re checking.”
Adrian said quietly, “Luca.”
But Luca was already looking at the engagement photograph on the mantel.
Vanessa smiling beside him.
Perfect.
Beautiful.
Trusted.
He removed the photograph.
Turned it facedown.
“Find Nicholas Bell.”
At 1:12 in the morning, I was sitting on the edge of my bed in the staff wing when someone knocked.
I expected Mrs. Carter.
It was Luca.
I immediately stood.
“You don’t need to do that.”
Habit.
“What is it?”
He held something in his hand.
An envelope.
“Your pay for tonight.”
I looked at it.
“You can give it to payroll.”
“I could.”
He placed it on the dresser.
Then looked around.
My room was small.
Single bed.
Secondhand dresser.
One window facing the kitchen garden.
For the first time, I wondered if Luca had ever actually entered it.
Probably not.
His gaze landed on the nursing textbook beside my lamp.
“You’re studying?”
I hesitated.
“Trying to.”
“For what?”
“Nursing.”
His eyes moved back to me.
“I didn’t know.”
“There’s no reason you would.”
“How far?”
“I finished two years before my father died.”
My father had been a union electrician.
A heart attack took him at fifty-six.
He left debts.
Not enough insurance.
My younger brother, Owen, was nineteen.
Someone had to pay rent.
Someone had to keep him in community college.
That someone became me.
“I’m taking classes again,” I said. “One at a time.”
Luca nodded.
Then his expression changed.
“Why did you think Vanessa could fire you?”
I looked away.
“She told me she could.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“What exactly did she say?”
I hesitated.
“Emma.”
“She said if I told anyone what I saw, I’d be gone before breakfast.”
His jaw tightened.
“She said you wouldn’t believe a maid over your future wife.”
Luca looked toward the window.
“And you believed her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I laughed softly.
Not because anything was funny.
“Because she’s your fiancée.”
“And?”
“And I serve dinner.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“That doesn’t make your version of the truth worth less.”
“Maybe not to you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve worked in houses like this before.”
“When people with money have a disagreement with people who need money, everybody says the truth matters until the truth becomes inconvenient.”
He was silent for several seconds.
Then:
“That happened before?”
“Yes.”
He did not ask for details.
Instead, he moved toward the door.
“Lock this tonight.”
My shoulders tightened.
He noticed immediately.
“Not because I’m ordering you where to stay.”
A pause.
“Because I don’t yet know what Vanessa is involved in.”
That distinction mattered.
“Okay.”
He reached the door.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He looked back.
“Are you still marrying her?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
I nodded.
He left.
I locked the door.
At 1:38 a.m., my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
Below the words was a photograph.
My brother Owen leaving his apartment.
My heart stopped.
Then another message appeared.
THE WINE WAS NEVER THE REAL MONEY.
May you like
And for the first time, I understood that the engagement dinner had not exposed the whole secret.
It had only opened the first door.
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