Chapter 2 - The Widowed MaidFive minutes later, the study doors opened.
Emma Bennett stepped inside, her hands clasped tightly over the front of her gray uniform apron. She looked small against the grand architecture of the Moretti estate, but her posture was rigid with protective terror. Behind her, two armed security guards stood watch, while Paul, Victoria’s sleek, mid-forties chauffeur, stood near the door looking thoroughly confused and irritated.
"Mr. Moretti," Emma began, her voice trembling but clear. "Is Lily okay? The guards wouldn't let me—"
"Lily is safe in the kitchen with Mrs. Gable," Alessandro assured her, his tone noticeably softening—a subtle shift that didn't escape Victoria's sharp, envious eyes. "Sit down, Emma."
Emma hesitated, looking at the plush leather armchair opposite the desk. She had spent eleven months wiping dust off that exact chair, never once daring to sit in it. Slowly, nervously, she lowered herself to the edge of the seat.
Alessandro sat behind his desk. He placed the dissected doll, its wires exposed, directly in the center of the mahogany wood.
Paul blinked, frowning at the toy. "What is this? Is this some kind of joke?"
"Paul," Alessandro said, leaning forward. "Three weeks ago, Miss Hale gave you this doll to take to a dry cleaner. Which shop did you take it to?"
Paul blinked, wiping his brow. "Uh... the one on 4th Street, sir. 'Luxe Garment Care.' Miss Hale gave me specific instructions to drop it off with the manager, Mr. Valenti."
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed instantly.
Valenti.
The name hung in the air like a poisonous fog. Dominic Valenti was the head of the Valenti crime syndicate—Alessandro's primary rival in the eastern shipping ports, a ruthless old-world mobster who had been searching for a blind spot in the Moretti armor for a decade.
"Valenti?" Alessandro repeated softly. "A boutique dry cleaner owned by Dominic Valenti's brother?"
Paul looked pale. "I... I didn't know who owned it, sir! Miss Hale just gave me the address in a sealed envelope!"
Victoria’s breath hitched. "He's lying! I never gave him an address! I told him to take it to the hotel spa!"
"Check his phone, Marco," Alessandro commanded calmly.
Marco stepped up to Paul, pulled the driver's phone from his jacket pocket, and bypassed the security code using a handheld decryption tool. Within ten seconds, Marco held up the screen.
"Text message sent three weeks ago from Miss Hale’s private line," Marco read aloud. "'Take the package to 4th Street. Ask for Marco Valenti. Do not inform the Don.'"
Victoria gasped, taking a step backward, her back hitting the cold glass of the window. "It’s a frame-up! My phone was hacked! Someone duplicated my SIM card!"
Alessandro ignored her shrieks. He turned his attention back to Emma, who was staring at the dissected doll with wide, horrified eyes.
"Emma," Alessandro said gently. "Look at me."
Emma raised her eyes. They were deep brown, filled with an honest, unvarnished fear that no actress could ever fake.
"Did you know who built the shop on 4th Street?" Alessandro asked.
"No, sir," Emma whispered. "I... I don't go downtown. I spend all my time here, or at the clinic with Lily."
"Your late husband," Alessandro continued, leaning back in his chair, his dark gaze searching her face. "David Bennett. He was an accountant, wasn't he?"
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She gripped her apron tighter. "Yes, sir."
"He died two years ago in a hit-and-run accident in the port district," Alessandro said quietly. "An accident that was never solved by the precinct."
Tears welled up in Emma's eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to let them fall in front of the powerful men in the room. "David worked for an import firm. He found discrepancies in their shipping manifests a week before he was killed. He told me he was going to the federal authorities."
Alessandro leaned forward, his hands clasping together on the desk. "The import firm he worked for was a front company owned by Dominic Valenti."
Emma froze. The color drained from her cheeks until she looked as pale as the marble statues in the foyer. "What... what are you saying?"
"I am saying," Alessandro murmured, his voice deep and dark with realization, "that your husband was murdered by the Valentis because he discovered their illegal arms pipeline. And when you applied for a housekeeping job at my estate eleven months ago, you didn't know that my family was at war with them."
"I swear on my daughter’s life!" Emma cried out, dropping to her knees beside the desk, her hands raised in desperate supplication. "I didn't know! I just needed a job to pay for Lily's heart medication! I didn't know anything about shipping, or Valentis, or mafia wars! Please, Mr. Moretti! Don't hurt my baby!"
Alessandro stood up immediately. He rounded the desk, reached down, and took Emma by her forearms, lifting her gently back to her feet. The touch was firm, protective, and entirely devoid of the cold violence he usually showed outsiders.
"Calm yourself, Emma," Alessandro said softly, looking down into her terrified face. "I am not accusing you. I am protecting you."
He turned his head to look at Victoria, whose face was twisted into a mask of pure, bitter rage.
"You," Alessandro pointed a finger at Victoria. "You didn't just place a bug in my house. You selected Emma specifically because you knew her history. You thought if the bug were ever found, I would look at her dead husband's connections and execute her on the spot as a Valenti mole."
Victoria sneered, dropping her innocent facade entirely. The polished debutante vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating woman whose ambition knew no bounds.
"She’s a nobody, Alessandro!" Victoria spat, her voice dropping its polite accent. "A pathetic, penniless maid! What does it matter if she took the blame?! My family built this city! The Valenti organization offered my father fifty million dollars and guaranteed his senate reelection if we gave them access to your private meetings! You think you’re untouchable, Alessandro? You’re just a glorified thug in a expensive suit!"
The room went completely dead silent.
Marco looked at the guards. The guards shifted their hands toward their holstered firearms.
Alessandro didn't draw a gun. He simply smiled—a dark, slow, terrible smile that made Victoria’s heart stop in her chest.
"Marco," Alessandro said quietly.
"Yes, Don Alessandro?"
"Move Emma and Lily into the master suite on the third floor. Place four of our best men at their door. If anyone so much as breathes near that child, shoot them."
Emma gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "Mr. Moretti... the master wing? That's your private floor!"
"You and Lily are safe there," Alessandro said softly to Emma, before turning his icy gaze back onto Victoria.
May you like
"And what about Miss Hale?" Marco asked.
"Lock her in the wine cellar," Alessandro commanded smoothly. "Strip her of her phone, her jewelry, and her shoes. We are going to feed Dominic Valenti some very interesting information through that doll over the next forty-eight hours."
Related Stories
