Chapter 3

The crystal chandelier overhead seemed to hum in the suffocating silence.

All eyes shifted from the legal document on the table to me in my black-and-white uniform.

Luca took a slow step toward me.

“Hannah,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “What is he talking about?”

I stepped back, bumping into the edge of the heavy mahogany buffet. My hands were shaking. I looked at Teresa, who was watching me with wide, confused eyes.

“Mr. Moretti, I just came here to work,” I whispered. “My mother is sick. I needed the money.”

“She’s lying,” Arthur sneered, adjusting his cuffs. “Tell him your mother’s maiden name, Hannah.”

I refused to speak. I looked at the floor.

“Tell him,” Arthur demanded, “or I will.”

“Leave her alone!” Teresa suddenly snapped, finding a brief surge of her old strength. “Hannah has been nothing but kind to me.”

“Kindness is rarely free, Teresa,” Arthur countered. He looked back at Luca. “Her mother’s name is Elena Rossi.”

Luca’s brow furrowed, but the name clearly didn’t mean anything to him. “Who is Elena Rossi?”

“She was the head nurse at Chicago Memorial thirty-six years ago,” Arthur said softly. “The nurse who signed your birth certificate, Luca.”

Luca still looked confused. “So?”

“So,” Arthur continued, his eyes gleaming, “she was also the nurse who forged the medical records the night your sister died.”

The air left my lungs.

“That’s not true!” I shouted, dropping my professional composure entirely. “My mother was a good nurse! She never forged anything!”

“Then why did your father’s private accounts wire her fifty thousand dollars three days after the drowning?” Arthur challenged, stepping toward me. “And why did she suddenly retire and move to the suburbs? She covered up the bruising, didn’t she? The signs that the child didn’t just drown… but was pushed.”

The dining room erupted. Guests gasped; some stood up from their chairs.

“Pushed?” Luca repeated, the word tearing out of his throat. He turned to his mother. “Mom… what is he saying?”

Teresa began to hyperventilate. She clutched her chest, her face turning an alarming shade of gray. “No… no…”

“Mrs. Moretti!” I rushed to her side, grabbing her medication from my apron pocket. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Luca grabbed Arthur by the lapels of his expensive jacket and slammed him against the wall.

“If you’re lying to me,” Luca roared, “I will kill you right here.”

“Check the records,” Arthur choked out, smiling through the pain. “Your father knew. Teresa didn’t just look away, Luca. She couldn’t handle the crying. She pushed her.”

“Liar!” Vanessa screamed. “Arthur, stop this! This wasn’t the plan!”

Luca dropped Arthur and spun toward Vanessa. “The plan? What plan?”

Vanessa backed away, her hands raised. “Arthur promised me that if I married you, we could finally take what your family stole from us. But he never said anything about murder! My mother told me it was an accident!”

“Your mother was an idiot,” Arthur spat, straightening his jacket. “She took the fall for a murderer. And now, thanks to your father’s little contract, I own half this house.”

He tapped the folded document on the table.

“Sign it, Luca,” Arthur said. “Marry the girl. Give me the fifty percent. Or tomorrow morning, I take the medical records and the wire transfers to the District Attorney. Your mother will spend her final days in a federal prison for murdering an infant.”

I poured a glass of water with shaking hands and helped Teresa take her pill. She was sobbing, shaking her head endlessly.

“I didn’t,” she whispered to me. “Hannah, I promise… I didn’t.”

I looked down at the fragile old woman who had spent three weeks practicing a toast just to make her son smile. I didn’t believe she was a murderer.

But I knew my mother had received that money. She had kept it hidden in an old shoebox in her closet until the day she got sick.

“Hannah,” Luca said. His eyes were dark, devoid of the kindness he had always shown me. “Get out.”

“Mr. Moretti, please—”

“You came into my house under false pretenses,” he said coldly. “You used my mother. Get out of this house before I have you arrested for extortion.”

Tears pricked my eyes. “I didn’t know about the money until last year! I swear!”

“Get out!”

I untied my apron. My hands shook so badly I could barely undo the knot. I laid it on the back of Teresa’s chair.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered.

I turned and ran out of the dining room, the heavy oak doors swinging shut behind me.

I hurried down the hallway toward the servant’s quarters, desperate to pack my few belongings and disappear.

But as I reached the bottom of the back staircase, a heavy hand grabbed my arm and yanked me into the dark pantry.

A hand clamped over my mouth.

“Don’t scream,” a voice whispered in my ear.

It was Vanessa.