Chapter 3 - The Unspoken Rule
The next morning, the Moretti estate was swallowed by a dense New England fog that pressed against the high bay windows.
I woke up at five in the morning in the small staff quarters at the rear of the estate. Lily was still fast asleep, clutching her ragged stuffed bunny. I kissed her forehead, my mind racing through the events of the night before. I had expected security guards to knock on my door with my final paycheck at sunrise. But nobody came.
At seven o’clock, Mrs. Higgins, the elderly head housekeeper, pushed open the kitchen swing door, carrying a silver tray with Dominic’s morning espresso and dark roast coffee. Her face was pale.
"He wants you to serve breakfast in the private dining room today, Isabella," she said quietly, her eyes darting nervously toward the main hall.
I paused while chopping fresh strawberries. "Me? But that’s always your duty, Mrs. Higgins."
"He asked for you specifically." She gave me a warning look, pressing a hand against my forearm. "Keep your eyes on the plates, girl. Don't look at his hands. Don't mention last night. And above all, if the boy is at the table, do not interfere."
My pulse hammered in my ears as I carried the heavy tray through the vaulted gallery. The estate was built like a fortress—reinforced walls, bulletproof glass, and armed men dressed in tailored suits stationed discreetly near every exit. Everyone knew Dominic Moretti ran legitimate shipping lines and commercial real estate, but everyone also knew that no cargo moved through the Boston harbor without his permission.
When I entered the private dining room, the silence was deafening.
Dominic sat at the head of the long oak table, dressed in a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit. He was reviewing a stack of documents, a gold pen dancing between his long fingers. At the far end of the table sat Leo, sitting rigidly on his chair, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate with a silver fork.
Between them stretched fifteen feet of polished mahogany—a chasm disguised as furniture.
"Good morning, Mr. Moretti," I said softly, stepping up to his right side to place the espresso and coffee pot.
He didn't look up from his papers. "Leave the coffee. Take the fruit to Leo."
"Yes, sir."
I walked down the length of the table and set the bowl of sliced strawberries in front of Leo. The boy looked up at me, giving me a tiny, secretive smile that melted my fear. I winked back at him, leaning down slightly. "Eat up, buddy. Strawberries give you super speed."
Leo let out a tiny, stifled giggle.
Instantly, the scratch of Dominic’s pen stopped.
The silence that followed was suffocating. I froze, cursing myself internally for breaking protocol. I braced for the reprimand.
"He likes blueberries," Dominic spoke, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
I turned around, surprised. Dominic was finally looking up, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at his son.
"His mother used to give him blueberries," Dominic continued, his gaze unwavering, cold yet brimming with an unreadable tension. "Strawberries give him a rash on his neck. Didn't Mrs. Higgins inform you?"
My heart plummeted. "N-no, sir. I apologize immediately. I will take them away—"
"I don't get the rash anymore, Daddy," Leo's small voice piped up.
Dominic’s breath hitched. He stared at Leo as if the boy had just spoken in a foreign language. Leo had spoken directly to his father—something the staff claimed hadn't happened in months.
"The doctor said I grew out of it on my birthday," Leo whispered, shrinking back slightly into his oversized chair.
Dominic stared at his son for several long, agonizing seconds. The papers beneath his hand crinkled under the sudden pressure of his grip. He stood up abruptly, buttoning his jacket, the towering figure casting a shadow over the entire table.
"Get him dressed for his tutor," Dominic told me, his tone clipped, refusing to acknowledge the boy's words. "And Isabella."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Your daughter. Bring her to the playroom on the second floor when Leo does his lessons. He needs someone to keep him focused."
May you like
Before I could process the command, Dominic turned and walked out of the room, leaving me staring after him in disbelief. He hadn't fired me. He had just invited my daughter deeper into his home.
***
