Chapter 3 - The East Wing and the Whispers
By the following evening, the entire atmosphere at the Moretti estate had drastically shifted.
The toxic, fearful environment that Beatrice had cultivated for nearly a decade was completely dismantled in twenty-four hours. The staff moved through the halls with a strange mixture of relief and immense caution. The story of the plus-size new maid who had stood up for the Don’s father—and ended up running the entire estate—had already spread like wildfire through the underground networks of Chicago.
Meline sat at the polished oak desk in her new office in the east wing.
The suite was larger than her entire family home had been growing up. It featured high arched windows overlooking the rose gardens, a private bathroom with a marble soaking tub, and a king-sized bed covered in plush cream-colored linens. A wardrobe filled with tailored, elegant clothing suitable for a household manager had been delivered that morning, personally ordered by Alessandro.
Yet, despite the luxury surrounding her, Meline felt an overwhelming sense of imposter syndrome.
She stared down at the household ledger, her fingers tracing the numbers. Tripling her salary meant she could completely clear her grandfather’s remaining funeral debts in less than two months. It meant she no longer had to worry about being thrown out onto the street.
A soft knock sounded at her open office door.
Meline looked up and saw Alessandro standing on the threshold. He had removed his tie, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, making him look less like a feared Mafia boss and more like a striking, incredibly handsome man.
“Am I interrupting?” Alessandro asked smoothly, stepping into the room.
“No, Mr. Moretti,” Meline said, quickly standing up from her desk. “Not at all. I was just reviewing the staff schedules for tomorrow’s dinner.”
Alessandro gestured for her to sit back down, walking over to stand by the high window overlooking the gardens. “I told you, Meline. When we are alone, you can call me Alessandro.”
Meline flushed slightly, her cheeks warming. “It feels... inappropriate, sir. I’m an employee.”
“You are the woman managing my home,” Alessandro replied, turning around to look at her. His gaze was intense, slow, and appreciative, taking in the way the navy-blue tailored dress hugged her soft curves. “And you are the person my father talks about nonstop. He insists on having breakfast with you every morning.”
Meline laughed softly, a genuine, radiant sound that seemed to light up the quiet office. “Your father is a wonderful man, Alessandro. He spent two hours this morning telling me stories about how he built his first delivery truck from spare parts.”
Alessandro watched her smile, something warm and unfamiliar stirring in his chest. For years, he had been surrounded by cold, opportunistic women who cared only for his money, his status, or the terrifying power of the Moretti name. None of them had ever looked at his father with genuine affection. None of them had ever cared if an old man in a frayed coat was cold.
“He likes you, Meline,” Alessandro said quietly, stepping closer to her desk. “And my father is rarely wrong about people.”
Meline looked down at her hands, suddenly self-conscious. “I know some of the staff are talking, sir. They think... they think I tricked Mr. Giovanni. They think a woman like me doesn't belong in a position like this.”
Alessandro’s dark eyes instantly narrowed, a flicker of that dangerous, icy anger returning to his face. “Who said that to you?”
“No one directly,” Meline murmured. “Just whispers in the hallway. I know what people see when they look at me, Alessandro. I’m not a slender, sophisticated high-society woman. I’m just a maid who takes up too much space.”
Before she could process what was happening, Alessandro walked around the desk, reaching out to gently touch her jawline, forcing her to lift her head and meet his dark, burning gaze.
His touch was surprisingly warm, sending a jolt of electricity straight down her spine.
“Listen to me very carefully, Meline,” Alessandro whispered, his deep voice thick with absolute sincerity. “You are breathtaking. You have more beauty, grace, and strength in your little finger than any of those hollow socialites who walk through my front door. Anyone in this house who disrespects you will answer directly to me.”
Meline’s breath hitched in her throat. She stared up into his dark eyes, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved. Alessandro’s eyes dipped down to her lips, and his hand lingered on her cheek.
Then, the sudden, sharp ring of Alessandro’s private phone shattered the silence.
Alessandro stepped back reluctantly, pulling the phone from his pocket. The warm, intimate atmosphere evaporated in a fraction of a second as his expression turned cold as steel.
“Speak, Marco,” Alessandro ordered into the phone.
His head of security spoke rapidly on the other end, his voice laced with intense urgency: “Don Alessandro! We have a breach at the North Port shipment docks. The Vance family just intercepted two of our trucks. And... someone inside the estate leaked the transport schedule.”
Alessandro’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes flashing with lethal fury. “Find out who leaked the schedule, Marco. Bring them to the holding facility. I’m on my way.”
Alessandro hung up the phone, turning back to Meline. The gentle, tender man from seconds ago was instantly replaced by the ruthless Don of Chicago.
“Stay in the east wing tonight, Meline,” Alessandro instructed firmly, his voice laced with protective authority. “Do not leave this floor until I return.”
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“Alessandro... is everything alright?” Meline asked, her heart racing with fear for him.
Alessandro looked at her one last time, a dark promise burning in his eyes. “It will be. I’m going to clean up a traitor.”
