Chapter 2 - THE TATTOOED MAFIA KING ORDERED A DOCTOR FOR HIS INJURED MAID—BUT WHEN HE DISCOVERED THE TRUTH ABOUT HER WOUNDS, HE REALIZED HIS BEAUTIFUL FIANCÉE HAD BEEN HIDING SOMETHING FAR WORSE
Emma called Luca at 12:17 a.m.
He answered on the second ring. “Emma?”
“I'm sorry it's late.”
“Don't apologize. What's wrong?”
She stared at the photograph. “I think someone arranged for me to get hurt.”
For a moment, she heard only the low rumble of a car engine. Then Luca said, “Are you alone?”
“My neighbor's next door.”
“Lock your door. I'm sending Marco to the building. Don't open it unless you recognize him.”
“I don't want armed men outside my apartment.”
“Then Marco will come alone and stay downstairs. You can decide whether to speak with him.”
Emma took a breath. “I have a picture. The man in it is wearing a watch like Adrian Voss's.”
The engine noise changed, as though Luca had turned sharply in his seat. “Send it to me.”
She did. Three dots appeared, disappeared, then returned.
“Do not delete the messages,” he said. “And Emma? Thank you for telling me.”
Luca ended the call and looked at the photograph on his phone. Adrian Voss had worked beside him for seven years. He handled legal contracts, private acquisitions, and the complicated accounts Luca had inherited after his father's death. Adrian had introduced Vanessa at a charity auction eighteen months earlier. Luca had never questioned why the two got along so well.
He questioned it now.
At the mansion, the last guest had left, but Vanessa was waiting in the library with a glass of wine. “You made me look like a monster tonight.”
Luca placed his keys on the desk. “You made an injured employee work until she collapsed.”
“She was being dramatic.”
“The hospital disagrees.”
Vanessa set down her glass. “You believe a maid over your future wife?”
“I believe the doctor. And I believe Emma when she says she asked for help.”
“You barely know her.”
“I know she didn't deserve what happened.”
Vanessa stepped closer. “There are people who will exploit your guilt, Luca. Your mother used to collect strays. Look what it did to her.”
The room went cold.
“Don't speak about my mother.”
Vanessa lifted her chin. “Someone has to. You've turned this house into a shrine.”
“Go to bed.”
“Luca—”
“Now.”
When she left, he opened the photograph again. The silver watch was distinctive: a vintage rectangular case, dark leather strap, and a chipped blue stone in the crown. Adrian wore it every day. Luca called Marco.
“Get the original greenhouse footage. Every camera, every backup, every maintenance log.”
“Someone erased the afternoon feed from the primary recorder,” Marco said. “I found the deletion request under a housekeeping account.”
“Whose?”
“Emma Collins.”
Luca closed his eyes. “She was injured during the window when the request was entered.”
“Exactly. Someone used her credentials.”
“Find out who.”
By morning, Emma had slept perhaps two hours. Her leg throbbed beneath the bandage. Mrs. Patel brought oatmeal and offered to take her to the pharmacy. Emma accepted. She was tired of refusing kindness because she was afraid of owing someone.
At ten, Rosa D'Amato arrived with a basket of groceries and a face full of worry.
“Sweetheart, I am so sorry,” she said. “I should never have left you there.”
“Vanessa ordered you downtown.”
“She told me Luca needed the orchids urgently. He hadn't asked for them at all.”
Emma looked up. “What?”
Rosa sat at the little kitchen table. “I spoke with him this morning. He said he didn't care about flowers. He asked why Vanessa had sent me away.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Every word.”
Emma's phone buzzed. Marco asked whether she was willing to provide the photograph and threatening messages to the police. Emma hesitated. She had worked hard to keep her life ordinary. Police reports, criminal investigations, and mafia families did not fit into the small future she had imagined for herself.
But someone had hurt her deliberately. If she stayed silent, another maid might be next.
She replied: YES. I WANT A FORMAL REPORT.
That afternoon, Detective Lena Ortiz met her at a neighborhood precinct. Ortiz had a practical haircut and the watchful eyes of someone who had heard every excuse for cruelty. She listened without interrupting as Emma described the broken door, the wound, Vanessa's threats, and the photograph.
“Do you know why someone would target you?” Ortiz asked.
“No.”
“Any recent arguments? Anything you saw?”
Emma shook her head, then stopped. “There was something strange in the greenhouse last week.”
“What kind of strange?”
“Mr. Voss came through the side entrance after midnight. He was carrying a narrow metal case. I was watering the orchids because the timer had broken. He seemed surprised to see me.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked whether I knew how to keep my mouth shut. Then he laughed and said he meant about the surprise engagement arrangements.”
Ortiz wrote something down. “Did you see where he put the case?”
“Under the potting bench. The next morning it was gone.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Vanessa. She said I was imagining things and threatened to fire me for wandering after hours.”
Ortiz tapped her pen. “That changes things.”
Meanwhile, at Moretti House, Luca sat across from Adrian in the study. A fire burned behind the grate although the day was warm. Adrian wore a navy suit, a practiced expression of concern, and the silver watch.
“I heard the maid had an accident,” Adrian said. “Terrible luck.”
“Emma Collins,” Luca corrected. “She has a name.”
“Of course.”
“Someone accessed the greenhouse cameras using her credentials.”
Adrian's expression did not change. “Then she may have something to hide.”
“She was bleeding on my foyer floor when the request was logged.”
“An accomplice could have done it.”
Luca studied him. “You sound prepared.”
“I sound cautious. It's why you pay me.”
“Where were you at three yesterday afternoon?”
Adrian smiled. “Are you interrogating me over a servant's scraped leg?”
“No. I'm asking a question.”
“At the Bellini Foundation office. Vanessa can confirm.”
“Of course she can.”
For the first time, Adrian's smile faded.
Luca opened a folder. “I also want the records for the East Harbor redevelopment trust. Full records, not summaries.”
“That's unrelated.”
“Then it should be easy.”
Adrian stood. “You are making an enemy out of a friend.”
Luca remained seated. “If asking for my own records makes us enemies, we weren't friends.”
After Adrian left, Luca walked to his mother's old music room. He had avoided it for years. Sofia Moretti had died in a highway collision three winters earlier, and Luca had spent the years since burying himself in work. He could control warehouses, contracts, men who lied to his face. He could not control the empty chair beside the piano.
On the mantel stood a photograph of Sofia smiling in the greenhouse. Emma had once mentioned that Sofia's favorite orchids were white with yellow throats. Luca had been surprised she knew. Now he wondered what else the staff had noticed while the family looked past them.
Marco entered with a laptop. “I found a second recorder.”
Luca turned. “Where?”
“Security installed it after the electrical fire last year. It feeds a separate backup. Adrian didn't know about it.”
The video showed the greenhouse at 2:41 p.m. Adrian entered through the side gate carrying a small metal case. Vanessa followed four minutes later. They spoke near the potting bench. There was no audio, but the picture was clear. Adrian knelt by the door hinge and worked with a tool. Vanessa watched. Then Adrian pulled something from the case and tucked it into the wooden frame.
At 3:06, Emma appeared with an armful of orchid stems. She tried the door. It jammed. She moved toward the narrow side opening exactly as Vanessa had instructed. The metal bracket tore through her stocking. Emma staggered and pressed her hand to her leg.
Luca's hands curled into fists.
The footage continued. Emma limped away. Adrian returned and removed the object from the doorframe. Vanessa took a white envelope from the potting bench and slipped it into her purse.
“What's in the envelope?” Luca asked.
“We don't know.”
“Send the original footage to Detective Ortiz. No edits.”
Marco looked at him. “That will expose parts of the house security system.”
“Then expose them.”
Luca called Vanessa to the study. She entered irritated, carrying her phone.
“I have a fitting in twenty minutes.”
“Cancel it.”
He played the video without a word.
Vanessa watched herself enter the greenhouse, watched Adrian sabotage the door, watched Emma stumble. The color drained from her face.
“That's not what it looks like.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“Adrian said Emma was stealing.”
“Stealing what?”
“Documents. He said she was sneaking around the greenhouse.”
“So you injured her?”
“I didn't know she'd get hurt.”
“You watched him tamper with the door.”
Vanessa pressed a hand to her throat. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From a maid who brought home barely enough money to pay her father's medical bills?”
Vanessa stared. “How do you know about her father?”
“I asked whether she had support. Something you never bothered to do.”
“She's turning you against me.”
“No. Your actions are.”
Luca removed the engagement ring from the small velvet box on his desk. He had planned to give it to Vanessa at the end of the month, replacing the temporary ring she wore. Now the diamonds looked like pieces of ice.
“The engagement is suspended,” he said. “You'll stay away from Emma and the staff while the police investigate.”
Vanessa's face twisted. “You can't do this to me.”
“I just did.”
She moved toward the door, then stopped. “You think your mother was a saint? Ask Adrian why she was in the greenhouse the night before she died.”
Luca went still.
Vanessa saw the effect and smiled without warmth. “There are things about your family you don't know.”
She left before he could answer.
At six, Detective Ortiz called Emma. “We have footage supporting your account. We need you to stay somewhere secure while we investigate.”
Emma looked around her apartment. The knitted blanket her father had given her lay across the sofa. A cheap lamp illuminated the little kitchen. It was not much, but it was hers.
“Can I stay with my sister?” she asked.
“If your sister agrees, we'll discuss precautions.”
“My sister lives in Milwaukee. I don't want to bring danger to her.”
Ortiz paused. “Mr. Moretti has offered a guest apartment on a property with security. You don't have to accept.”
Emma considered the irony of seeking refuge in the household where she had been hurt. “Is Vanessa there?”
“No. She's left the property.”
“I'll think about it.”
That evening Luca called, not to persuade her but to apologize. “I should have noticed what was happening in my house,” he said.
“You couldn't see every corridor.”
“I could have listened sooner.”
Emma looked down at her bandaged leg. “You listened when it mattered.”
“That's not enough.”
“No,” she said quietly. “But it's a beginning.”
Before ending the call, Luca asked one more question. “Do you have someone you trust who knows what's happening?” Emma considered saying no. She had kept the trouble from her sister because her sister was juggling two children and a second job. But secrecy had already made her vulnerable. “I will call my sister tonight,” she said. “And Mrs. Patel knows.” Luca sounded relieved. “Good. Whatever happens next, you should have people who are yours, not mine.” The distinction mattered to Emma. She didn't want to trade Vanessa's control for anyone else's, even if the new person was kinder. She wanted to remain the author of her own decisions.
There was a silence that felt less like awkwardness than understanding.
Then Emma remembered something. “Luca, the greenhouse has an old drainage hatch beneath the potting bench. Mrs. Moretti used to hide birthday presents there for the staff's children. I found an empty velvet ribbon in it last month.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because the envelope Vanessa took from the bench was white. The ribbon was white too. And it had your mother's initials stitched into it.”
Luca turned toward the photograph on the mantel. “S.M.?”
“Yes.”
“Emma, don't go near the greenhouse again.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“I'll have Marco check it.”
After the call, Emma received a message from an unknown sender. This time there was no photograph, only a sentence.
YOUR EMPLOYER IS LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE. THE DEAD WOMAN LEFT TWO LETTERS, NOT ONE.
May you like
A second message followed before she could respond.
ASK HIM WHAT HIS FATHER DID TO THE FIRST.
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