Chapter 1 – The Missing Initials

I carried the vase downstairs, holding the delicate glass carefully as if it contained something far more valuable than a single yellow rose.

The engagement party was over. The catering crew was quietly packing up in the grand dining room, and Daniel was directing the staff to extinguish the candles in the conservatory.

I set the vase on the kitchen island where Luca would see it the next morning.

Just as I turned to leave, the heavy oak doors to the kitchen swung open.

Vanessa walked in.

She was still wearing her silver evening gown, but her perfect composure was completely gone. Her hair was slightly damp from standing outside, and her makeup was smeared under her eyes.

She stopped when she saw me. Her eyes immediately darted to the yellow rose on the counter.

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?” Vanessa asked, her voice dropping to a low, venomous whisper.

I took a step back, maintaining my professional distance. “I was just doing what Mrs. Moretti asked, ma’am.”

“Mrs. Moretti,” Vanessa mocked bitterly, crossing the kitchen. “You really think she’s just a sweet old lady who likes gardening? You have no idea what this family actually is, Hannah. You’re just the maid.”

“I know she loves her garden,” I replied evenly.

Vanessa stopped just inches from me. The smell of expensive perfume and champagne was overwhelming.

“I didn’t tear out the trellis because it was old,” Vanessa hissed, her eyes locking onto mine with a cold fury. “And I didn’t order the yellow roses removed because they needed replacing.”

I frowned, confusion cutting through my anxiety. “Then why?”

Vanessa smiled, but it was a terrifying, hollow expression.

“Because Teresa didn’t plant those yellow roses with Antonio,” Vanessa whispered. “And those initials on the trellis… A.M. + T.M.? They don’t stand for Antonio and Teresa.”

My stomach dropped.

Before I could ask what she meant, the kitchen door swung open again.

Luca stood there, his dark eyes instantly assessing the tension between us.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his voice deadly calm.

Vanessa instantly straightened, masking her anger with a tired sigh. “No, darling. I was just telling Hannah to make sure the kitchen is spotless before she leaves.”

Luca didn’t look at her. He looked at me. “Hannah, you can go home. It’s late.”

“Yes, sir,” I said quickly, untying my apron.

I hurried out the back entrance, the cold October air biting at my cheeks. As I walked down the long driveway toward the front gates, my mind raced.

They don’t stand for Antonio and Teresa.

If A.M. stood for Antonio Moretti… who did T.M. stand for?

I arrived the next morning at six. The sky was still gray, the rain having settled into a persistent, miserable drizzle.

When I walked into the kitchen, the vase with the yellow rose was still sitting on the island. But it had been moved. Beside it lay a folded piece of heavy cardstock.

Daniel walked in, carrying a silver tray. He looked exhausted.

“Morning, Hannah,” he said quietly.

“Good morning,” I replied. “Is Mr. Moretti awake?”

“He’s been awake all night,” Daniel murmured, glancing toward the hallway that led to Luca’s private study. “And Mrs. Bellini left at 4:00 AM with three suitcases.”

My eyes widened. “She left?”

Daniel nodded, his expression tight. “The engagement is suspended. That’s all I know.”

He walked away, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

I looked down at the folded piece of cardstock next to the rose. It was an old photograph, slightly yellowed around the edges. I knew I shouldn’t look, but my curiosity overpowered my professionalism.

I carefully opened the fold.

It was a picture of Antonio Moretti, looking much younger, standing in the garden beside the newly built wooden trellis.

But he wasn’t standing with Teresa.

He had his arm around a beautiful, dark-haired woman holding a baby. The woman looked nothing like Teresa.

I flipped the photograph over. On the back, in faded blue ink, were the words:Antonio, Tessa, and baby Luca. June 14, 1978.

Tessa.

Tessa Moretti. T.M.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Teresa wasn’t Luca’s biological mother.

“She was my father’s first wife.”

I spun around, dropping the photograph onto the counter.

Luca was standing in the doorway, holding a cup of black coffee. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. The tattoos on his forearms were visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

“I… I’m so sorry, sir,” I stammered, my face burning. “I shouldn’t have looked.”

Luca walked slowly toward the island and picked up the photograph. He traced his thumb over the dark-haired woman’s face.

“Vanessa found this in the attic three days ago,” Luca said, his voice flat. “She brought it to me last night after you left.”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

“My father was married to Tessa before he met Teresa,” Luca explained, setting the photo down next to the yellow rose. “Tessa died when I was six months old. Teresa married my father a year later and raised me as her own. She is the only mother I have ever known.”

I looked at the yellow rose. “So… Antonio planted the rose for Tessa?”

“Yes,” Luca said quietly. “And he built the trellis for her. Teresa has spent her entire life tending to a garden that was built as a monument to another woman. And she never complained. She never asked for it to be removed.”

My chest ached for the older woman. The quiet dignity she had shown, carefully preserving the memory of the woman who came before her, simply because she loved Antonio and Luca so much.

“But why did Vanessa want to destroy it?” I asked.

Luca’s eyes hardened into something cold and dangerous. The mafia boss people whispered about in Chicago finally showed his face.

“Because Vanessa didn’t just find a photograph in the attic,” Luca said. “She found a lockbox.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, tarnished iron key.

“My father’s lockbox,” Luca continued, his voice dropping. “Vanessa forced it open. She told me last night that Tessa didn’t die of natural causes, Hannah. She was murdered.”

I gasped, taking a step back.

Luca stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

“And according to the diary Vanessa found inside,” Luca said softly, “the person who ordered the hit… was Teresa.”