Chapter 1 - The Service Door (800 words)“Get her out of here before Luca sees her.”
Vanessa Bellini’s voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of the air conditioning at the mansion's service entrance. She stood in her crimson silk gown, her diamond necklace catching the warm light, looking down at the young woman standing beside me as if she were a piece of stray trash that had blown through the door.
Emily Moretti was twenty-seven years old. She wore a simple navy dress under an old wool coat that had seen better days. Her hand rested protectively over her abdomen, where an unmistakable six-month swell pressed against the fabric. In her other hand, she clutched a small, pastel-colored paper gift bag.
“Mrs. Bellini,” I said, keeping my voice steady and professional despite the sudden pounding in my chest. “She’s Mr. Moretti’s daughter.”
“I know exactly who she is,” Vanessa snapped without a second of hesitation.
Emily lowered her eyes, her shoulders drawing inward. “I can just leave. It’s fine.”
Vanessa gave a thin, victorious smile that didn't reach her eyes. “That would be best.” She turned her sharp gaze onto me. “Claire, call her a cab.”
My name is Claire Dawson. I was twenty-nine, and for eleven months I had worked as a live-in housekeeper at Luca Moretti’s Gold Coast estate in Chicago. I knew people were terrified of Luca. He was a man who owned half the commercial real estate in the city and had a reputation for dealing with problems swiftly and without mercy. But I also knew there was one person on earth who could call him at three in the morning, and he would answer on the very first ring.
His daughter.
Emily’s mother had passed away seven years ago from illness. After that, Luca and Emily had become inseparable. He kept her college graduation photo framed on his mahogany desk. He drove out to her modest home in Oak Park every spring to fix her porch or help with her garden—tasks he could easily have paid a dozen contractors to handle.
So why was his daughter standing at the back door of his engagement dinner, looking like an uninvited stranger?
Emily glanced past me toward the frosted glass doors leading to the grand dining room. “Dad really doesn’t want me here?”
Vanessa didn’t flinch. “He said tonight would be much easier without family complications.”
I watched Emily’s face fall, her complexion turning pale. I couldn't stop my eyes from dropping to her stomach again. “What complications?”
Vanessa’s eyes whipped back to me, full of dark warning. “This is none of your business, Claire.”
Emily swallowed hard, her knuckles whitening around the handles of her gift bag. “He means the baby.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. “Mr. Moretti knows?”
Emily let out a small, hollow laugh. “I’ve been trying to tell him for six weeks.”
Vanessa took a step closer to the young woman. “And Luca has made his feelings about your timing very clear.”
Emily stared at the floor, tears pooling in her eyes. “He hasn’t returned a single one of my calls.”
That was a lie.
Just three days ago, while serving breakfast in the sunroom, I had heard Luca turn to Vanessa and ask, “Have you heard from Emily? She stopped answering my messages last week.” And Vanessa had simply smiled, buttered her toast, and replied, “She told me she’s just busy with school and work, darling.”
Now I was standing in the hallway, watching Vanessa tell Emily the exact opposite.
“When did you last speak to your father directly?” I asked Emily, ignoring Vanessa’s growing fury.
“Almost two months ago,” Emily whispered.
“Claire!” Vanessa hissed, stepping into my space. “You step out of line again and you are fired on the spot.”
I ignored her. “Emily, have you been calling his personal cell phone?”
Emily nodded slowly. “Whenever I dial it, Vanessa usually picks up.”
There it was. The gatekeeper had closed the gate.
Vanessa pulled a wad of hundred-dollar bills from her silk clutch. “Take a cab home, Emily. Don't make this embarrassing.”
Emily didn't touch the money. “I drove three hours from up north to be here.”
“Then drive three hours back,” Vanessa sneered. “Your father has spent his whole life cleaning up family mistakes. Don’t make him start again with yours.”
Emily flinched as if she’d been struck.
Something inside me snapped. I thought about my own mother, struggling alone to pay property taxes in her tiny house, and I thought about what it meant to have a father who loved you.
“Mrs. Bellini,” I said, stepping between her and Emily.
May you like
“Call the cab, Claire,” Vanessa ordered, her chin raised.
Instead, I turned around and took Emily’s coat. “Come with me.”
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