"THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE CALLED ME “A STUPID LITTLE MAID” WHEN I PULLED A HALF-BURNED WOODEN BOX FROM THE FIREPLACE—BUT WHEN LUCA SAW WHO HAD CARVED “FOR DAD” INTO THE LID, HE STOOD UP. / Chapter 4 / 9

Chapter 4 - The Midnight InvestigationThe sprawling mansion grew deathly quiet as midnight approached. The last of the caterers packed their stainless-steel chafing dishes into vans, and the elite guests had long since fled into the Chicago night, carrying the juicy gossip of the broken engagement back to their high-society circles.

Upstairs, Matteo had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the emotional rollercoaster of the evening, clutching the scorched wooden box tightly against his chest.

Down in the massive industrial kitchen, I was finishing wiping down the marble countertops when the heavy swinging doors pushed open.

Luca walked in. He had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt, exposing strong, corded forearms. He carried a heavy manila folder and a sleek, encrypted tablet under his arm.

“Claire,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the refrigerators.

I stopped wiping the counter and turned around, wiping my hands on a clean towel. “Mr. Moretti. Is everything alright? Do you need anything else?”

“No,” he said, pulling out a stool and sitting down at the island. He tossed the manila folder onto the white marble with a heavy thud. “Actually, I need your help.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. “My help, sir?”

“You’ve worked here for a year, Claire. You notice things. People think because you're the housekeeper you're invisible.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need someone I can trust to look at these records with me.”

I walked over cautiously, standing on the opposite side of the island. “What are those?”

“Financial audits of the estate operations over the last three months,” Luca said grimly. “Ever since Vanessa moved in, she’s been restructuring the household budget. I assumed she was just hiring more decorators and catering staff. But after what happened tonight... I decided to look closer at who authorized the removal of my father’s tools.”

He slid the folder across the marble. I opened it, pulling out a stack of itemized invoices and corporate logistics receipts.

My eyes scanned the paper, and my breath hitched.

“Sir... these aren't moving company invoices,” I pointed out, my finger tracing a line of text. “This is a liquidation manifest from a industrial salvage yard in the industrial district.”

Luca’s dark eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“These aren't just your father’s tools,” I said, looking up at him. “Look at the serial numbers and descriptions. Heavy-duty cast-iron lathes, antique drill presses, specialized woodworking kits... these pieces are worth tens of thousands of dollars on the antique collector market. A standard moving company wouldn't know the difference between a cheap wrench and a vintage Moretti-built lathe.”

Luca stood up slowly, leaning his palms flat against the marble counter. The fury in his eyes was ice-cold.

“She didn't want to clear an eyesore,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “She sold my father’s legacy to a private broker for quick cash, masked as a demolition clearance.”

“And she probably pocketed the cash,” I added quietly.

Luca straightened up, pulling his encrypted tablet from under his arm and tapping the screen with swift, practiced fingers. “My security chief is running the tracking numbers on the delivery truck right now. The salvage yard in the industrial district closes at midnight, but the owner owes me a very large favor from five years ago.”