Chapter 2 - The Warning Nobody Wanted Me to Read
I stared at the photograph.
The woman in it was beautiful.
Dark hair.
Warm smile.
One hand resting on Marco’s shoulder while Luca sat against her side.
The four boys were younger.
Happy.
Alive with the kind of innocence that seemed impossible in the mansion I'd seen last night.
On the back, beneath the warning, was a date.
Six years earlier.
I looked up at Victor.
“Who wrote this?”
“I don't know.”
“But it was in their room?”
“Yes.”
“And the name Serena?”
His expression became unreadable.
“You're not the first Serena to work here.”
My mouth went dry.
“What happened to the others?”
“One left.”
“And the other?”
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
I looked down at the photograph again.
The warning could have been a coincidence.
It could have been a threat.
It could have been a prank.
But the boys looked terrified.
Marco grabbed the photograph.
“You shouldn't have seen that.”
“Why?”
“Because Daddy says it's private.”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“I said no one discusses their mother.”
I handed him the photograph.
“What is her name?”
“Isabella.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead.”
The answer came quietly.
I looked at the boys.
They had all gone still.
“You told me not to discuss her,” I said.
“I don't want them to live in the past.”
I understood.
But I also understood grief.
A child doesn't stop grieving because adults stop talking.
That evening, Luca wouldn't eat.
I sat beside him.
“Do you miss her?”
He nodded.
“Did she make the soup?”
Another nod.
“She sang.”
“Do you remember the song?”
He shook his head.
Then he pointed toward the piano.
I understood.
The piano lid was closed.
I opened it.
Luca climbed onto the bench.
He played three keys.
The same three notes.
I recognized them.
Not from music.
From somewhere else.
I had heard those notes in the old recordings my mother used to play when I was a child.
A lullaby.
One she had told me came from Italy.
I looked at Luca.
“Where did your mother learn that?”
He whispered, “She said from her mother.”
I froze.
My mother's family had been Italian.
Valente.
I felt a strange chill.
That night, I called my mother.
I hadn't spoken to her in months.
When I asked whether she knew an Isabella Rinaldi, silence answered first.
Then:
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I'm working for her family.”
My mother's breathing changed.
“Serena, leave.”
“Mom—”
“Leave that house tonight.”
“Why?”
“I can't explain over the phone.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
She hung up.
I stared at the screen.
I had spent years believing my mother was simply emotionally distant.
Now I wondered how much she had hidden.
The next morning, I arrived early.
Victor was already awake.
I found him in the library.
“You knew my mother?”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“My mother knew Isabella.”
His face hardened.
“Who told you?”
“She did.”
He stood.
“Your mother should have stayed out of this.”
“Out of what?”
He walked toward the window.
“Serena, there are things about this family that you do not want to know.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It's a warning.”
“I've heard enough warnings.”
I crossed my arms.
“My daughter is about to go into court because her father thinks he can buy custody. I have thirty-six dollars. I don't have the luxury of being frightened by mysterious rich men.”
For the first time, Victor actually laughed.
It was quiet.
Almost involuntary.
“You're reckless.”
“I have to be.”
He studied me.
“Your ex-husband is Matteo Costa?”
I stiffened.
“How do you know that?”
“I know everyone who might become a problem.”
“He isn't a problem.”
“He is if he's trying to take your daughter.”
My voice sharpened.
“You don't know anything about my life.”
“I know he owes money to three people.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Men like Matteo don't suddenly want custody because they discovered fatherhood.”
My chest tightened.
“Why now?”
Victor looked directly at me.
“That is exactly what I'm trying to find out.”
He walked toward his desk.
There was a file.
Inside were photographs.
Matteo meeting strangers.
Matteo entering a private club.
Matteo receiving an envelope.
I stared.
“Why would you investigate him?”
“Because you now work in my house.”
“That doesn't give you the right.”
“No.”
He closed the file.
“It gives me a reason.”
I left angry.
But fear had replaced some of the anger.
Because my daughter's father had indeed changed.
Months ago, he had stopped calling.
Then suddenly he had hired lawyers.
He had requested immediate custody.
He had claimed I was unstable.
Claimed I had inadequate housing.
Claimed my income was unreliable.
Every accusation was designed to make me look poor instead of devoted.
Now I understood.
Someone was helping him.
And I suspected it wasn't about Lucia.
It was about me.
That evening, the boys were unusually quiet.
Marco finally asked,
“Are you going away?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Nico looked at Victor.
“Daddy said no promises.”
Victor sighed.
I sat beside the boys.
“Your father was trying to protect you.”
Marco looked down.
“People always leave.”
I understood then.
The chaos wasn't rebellion.
It was grief.
They destroyed nannies because every nanny became someone they could lose.
So I did something no nanny before me had done.
I stopped trying to control them.
I gave them a place to mourn.
That night, we built paper boats.
One for their mother.
One for every nanny who had left.
One for every person the boys missed but never talked about.
Luca asked me to make one for myself.
I smiled.
“Why?”
“So you don't leave.”
My heart broke.
Across the room, Victor watched silently.
He didn't interrupt.
He didn't speak.
But later, when the boys were asleep, he found me washing dishes.
“Why do you stay?”
I shrugged.
“They need someone.”
“You could earn more somewhere else.”
“Probably.”
“So why here?”
I looked at him.
“Because I know what it's like to have a child depending on you when the world keeps saying you're not enough.”
He stared.
“Your ex?”
“My daughter.”
He said nothing.
Then quietly:
“Your custody hearing.”
“Yes.”
“I'll arrange a lawyer.”
I immediately refused.
“No.”
“You need one.”
“I need to earn enough to pay for one.”
“You'll earn enough.”
“I won't owe you.”
“You won't.”
“Then what is it?”
He looked toward the hallway where his sons slept.
“A debt.”
“What debt?”
“To someone I failed a long time ago.”
Before I could ask, the lights went out.
A gunshot came from outside.
Victor moved instantly.
He pulled me behind the stone pillar.
The boys woke screaming.
Security rushed through the halls.
Victor drew his weapon.
Then someone shouted from outside.
“Rinaldi!”
Another shot.
Victor's face became stone.
He looked at me.
“Stay with the boys.”
He ran toward the door.
I grabbed Marco and Luca.
Then I saw something through the window.
A black car.
A man standing beside it.
And in his hand was a photograph.
The same photograph from the warning.
May you like
Except this time, one word had been written across Isabella's face.
SERENA.
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