Chapter 1 - The Recording Vanessa Never Expected Him to Hear
The fork struck the porcelain platter with a terrible metallic sound.
Thirty guests turned toward me.
And I stood beside Chicago's most feared Mafia Boss with my injured right hand trembling beneath my white serving glove.
“Pick it up, Grace.”
Vanessa Bellini didn't bother lowering her voice.
I bent toward the floor.
Pain shot through my fingers so suddenly that I nearly lost my balance.
Then a man's voice stopped me.
“Leave it.”
Luca Moretti had been watching me from the head of the table.
Black suit.
Dark hair.
One hand resting beside his untouched dinner.
He wasn't looking at the fallen fork.
He was looking at my hand.
My name is Grace Parker.
I was twenty-eight, had worked in Luca Moretti's Chicago mansion for eleven months, and had spent the last four hours pretending three of my fingers weren't badly injured.
I had wrapped them together beneath my glove.
Every time I tried to close my hand, pain traveled straight into my wrist.
But rent was due Friday.
And Vanessa had already warned me that another complaint about my work would be my last.
So when she ordered me to carve the roast at their engagement dinner, I obeyed.
Even though she knew exactly what had happened to my hand.
Especially because she knew.
Twenty-eight guests sat beneath the chandeliers, surrounded by white roses and crystal glasses.
Vanessa wore a red silk gown.
Diamonds at her throat.
A perfect smile that hadn't left her face since the first guests arrived.
Luca looked at the serving fork on the floor.
Then at me.
“Grace.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Why are you using your left hand?”
My stomach tightened.
I had forgotten something.
Luca remembered how I served.
He remembered that I was right-handed.
And apparently, he remembered that I had carved the roast at his last family dinner without the slightest difficulty.
“My hand is a little sore, sir.”
Vanessa spoke immediately.
“She caught it in the pantry door.”
My heart nearly stopped.
Luca slowly turned toward her.
“The pantry door?”
Vanessa continued cutting her food.
“Yes. Earlier this afternoon.”
He looked back at me.
“Did you?”
I could feel Vanessa watching me.
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“Around four.”
Vanessa reached for her glass.
Luca noticed.
“What were you doing?”
“Putting supplies away.”
“She wasn't paying attention,” Vanessa added. “The door closed on her fingers.”
Luca put down his fork.
“Were you there?”
Vanessa finally looked up.
“Excuse me?”
“When the door closed.”
“No. Grace told me what happened.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Did you?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
The lie came out too quietly.
Luca watched me for several seconds.
Then he held out his hand.
“Take off your glove.”
My heart began pounding.
“It's nothing serious.”
“Grace.”
His voice remained calm.
That somehow made it harder to refuse.
Slowly, I pulled the white glove from my right hand.
The bandage had slipped.
My middle and ring fingers were swollen.
A dark bruise stretched across my knuckles.
And near my thumb was a narrow red mark I had desperately tried to hide.
Luca leaned forward.
“That's more than a sore hand.”
Vanessa sighed.
“For heaven's sake, Luca. She had an accident. Does this really need to become the entertainment for our engagement dinner?”
He didn't look at her.
“Grace, did somebody hurt you?”
I stared at the tablecloth.
“No, sir.”
Vanessa relaxed.
Only slightly.
But Luca saw it.
He looked at his fiancée.
Then back at me.
“Are you afraid of losing your job?”
My eyes immediately filled.
“Yes.”
That answer, at least, was true.
Luca nodded.
“You won't.”
Vanessa gave a small, irritated laugh.
“She's just dropped silverware in front of every guest we have.”
“And she's finished working for tonight.”
I looked up in panic.
“Mr. Moretti, please. I need the hours.”
“You'll be paid.”
“I can finish dinner.”
“No.”
Vanessa set down her glass.
“Luca, you're making an unnecessary scene.”
He finally looked at her.
“Then stop talking.”
Her smile disappeared.
For a moment, nobody at the table seemed to know where to look.
Luca turned back toward me.
“Go upstairs. Mrs. Carter will call the doctor.”
I nodded.
But as I started toward the door, he spoke again.
“Grace.”
I stopped.
“Were you alone when you hurt your hand?”
My throat closed.
I looked toward Vanessa without meaning to.
She was staring directly at me.
Not angry.
Warning me.
I quickly lowered my eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
Luca didn't answer.
He simply watched me leave.
And for the next forty minutes, he behaved as though nothing unusual had happened.
He finished dinner.
Discussed the wedding.
Listened to a guest talk about his new restaurant.
Even complimented the dessert.
By the time the last course arrived, Vanessa was smiling again.
She thought he had accepted my explanation.
She was wrong.
At 10:24, Luca found me sitting alone in the upstairs sitting room.
The doctor had examined my hand and advised me to rest it.
Luca closed the door.
Then he placed something on the table.
My white serving glove.
“Mrs. Carter found this downstairs.”
I stared at it.
Luca sat opposite me.
“Grace, I checked the pantry.”
My stomach dropped.
“The door doesn't close automatically.”
I looked down.
“And nobody reported an accident this afternoon.”
My eyes began to burn.
“Please, Mr. Moretti. I really need this job.”
“You have it.”
He leaned forward.
“But I need to know why you're frightened of the woman I'm supposed to marry.”
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered something that made his expression change.
“Because I heard your voice this afternoon.”
Luca frowned.
“My voice?”
I nodded.
“In the music room.”
He stared at me.
“I wasn't home this afternoon.”
“I know.”
Silence.
I looked toward the closed door.
“That's why I went inside.”
Luca didn't move.
“What did you find?”
My good hand tightened around the edge of my uniform.
“Vanessa was playing a recording of you.”
“What recording?”
“I don't know. She kept stopping it and playing the same sentence again.”
His expression hardened.
“Which sentence?”
My eyes filled.
I shook my head.
“Grace.”
I finally looked at him.
“She was trying to make it sound like you said something you never said.”
Luca stood.
For the first time that evening, something in his expression frightened me.
Not anger.
Recognition.
“Is that how you hurt your hand?”
I nodded.
“She caught me listening.”
I swallowed.
“She tried to take my phone. My fingers got caught when she closed the music-room cabinet.”
Luca looked at my bandaged hand.
Then at the apron folded beside me.
“Did you record anything?”
For a moment, I couldn't answer.
Then I reached into my apron pocket.
And placed my phone on the table.
“I only got the last few seconds.”
Luca picked it up.
“Play it.”
The recording began with a man's voice.
His voice.
But the words sounded strange.
Broken.
Separated by tiny pauses.
Then Vanessa spoke.
“That's better. Nobody will know the difference.”
Luca went completely still.
A second later, she said something else.
Something that made him stop the recording immediately.
“Once they hear it, he'll have no choice but to marry me.”
Luca slowly looked up.
“Who is supposed to hear it?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
He replayed the recording.
This time, he listened to every second.
Then he reached for his own phone.
But before he could make the call, music began playing downstairs.
The engagement party.
Vanessa was preparing her toast.
Luca heard her voice through the mansion's sound system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, before we finish tonight, there's something very special I'd like you all to hear.”
His face changed.
He looked at my phone.
Then toward the door.
And from the speakers downstairs came a recording of Luca Moretti's voice.
A recording he had never made.
“I want that girl out of my house before she tells anyone what she saw.”
Luca stared at me.
And downstairs, Vanessa asked thirty guests to raise their glasses.
My blood ran cold.
Luca moved first.
He crossed the room, opened the door, and walked into the corridor.
I followed.
We reached the ballroom just as Vanessa raised her champagne glass.
The guests were smiling.
Waiting.
She looked at Luca.
Her smile faltered.
“What are you doing up here?”
He didn't answer.
The recording continued.
“I'll handle Grace myself.”
A few guests shifted uncomfortably.
Luca looked toward the sound system.
Then at Vanessa.
“You're going to turn that off.”
Her face went pale.
“Luca, I don't know what you're talking about.”
He walked toward the podium.
“I do.”
He took the microphone.
The room fell silent.
“Who authorized this recording?”
Vanessa looked around.
Nobody answered.
“Luca…”
“You've been playing a manipulated audio file of my voice.”
A guest laughed nervously.
“It's probably some kind of joke.”
Luca's eyes turned toward him.
The man stopped laughing.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“I found it on his phone.”
Luca looked at her.
“My phone?”
“Yes.”
“You never had my phone.”
“I—”
He stopped her.
“Interesting.”
Then he turned toward his head of security.
“Marco.”
A broad-shouldered man near the back immediately approached.
“Boss.”
“Pull every security recording from the music room between three and five.”
Vanessa's expression changed.
“Why?”
“Because that's where Grace says she heard you.”
Vanessa turned toward me.
Her eyes promised consequences.
Luca saw it.
That was the second mistake she made.
He moved between us.
“Don't look at her.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You trust a maid over me?”
Luca's answer came without hesitation.
“I trust evidence.”
Nobody spoke.
Marco returned with a tablet.
He played the footage.
Vanessa entered the music room at 3:16.
She carried an audio recorder.
She closed the door.
At 3:41, I entered carrying a stack of folded tablecloths.
Vanessa startled.
The camera captured her taking my wrist.
Then pushing me into the cabinet.
My hand disappeared between the door and the frame.
The room filled with gasps.
Vanessa whispered:
“That isn't what happened.”
Luca stared at the screen.
Then at her.
“What did you do to her?”
Vanessa's face went white.
I expected rage.
Instead, Luca turned to me.
“Come here.”
I stepped forward.
He looked at my hand.
Then spoke quietly enough for only me to hear.
“You don't have to protect anyone anymore.”
I almost cried.
Because for the first time, someone had said the words I needed to hear.
Then the front doors opened.
A man in a dark coat entered.
He looked at Luca.
Then Vanessa.
Then me.
“Boss,” Marco whispered.
Luca's expression hardened.
“Who let him in?”
The stranger smiled.
“You're going to have bigger problems than a damaged recording.”
He tossed an envelope onto the floor.
It landed at Luca's feet.
On the front was a single line.
THE GIRL KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED AT THE HARBOR.
Luca looked at me.
I had never told anyone about the harbor.
Nobody knew.
Except Vanessa.
And one other person.
May you like
My father.
Who had been dead for six years.
