Chapter 2 - The Man in Room 4B
Giovanni Moretti had been silent for five years.
But his silence was not emptiness.
It was imprisonment.
His stroke had damaged his speech and much of his movement, leaving him unable to explain what remained perfectly intact inside his mind.
Memory.
Judgment.
Anger.
He remembered Mrs. Gable bringing visitors upstairs and telling them he was confused.
He remembered cold meals being placed beside him and removed hours later untouched.
He remembered employees laughing outside his door.
“Old man doesn’t know where he is anyway.”
He remembered one orderly roughly pulling him upright after he slipped sideways in his chair.
“Stop making my job difficult.”
Giovanni had wanted to speak.
He had wanted to tell the man exactly whose house he was standing in.
But his mouth had betrayed him.
Eventually, people stopped treating him like Giovanni Moretti.
They called him Old John.
Then I walked through his door.
I didn’t know any of that.
To me, he was simply an elderly man nobody should have abandoned.
A week after I began visiting him, I entered his room carrying sliced pears.
“You’re getting spoiled.”
His eyes followed the plate.
“Don’t look so innocent. I know you like pears.”
His eyebrow shifted.
I laughed.
“There. I saw that.”
I placed the plate beside him.
“You think I talk too much, don’t you?”
One blink.
I stared at him.
“Wait.”
I leaned forward.
“One blink means yes?”
He blinked once.
I almost dropped the plate.
“John.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Can you understand everything I say?”
One blink.
My breath caught.
“Oh my God.”
I sat across from him.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
His eyes shifted toward the door.
I understood immediately.
“They don’t know?”
One blink.
Or perhaps they didn’t care.
I lowered my voice.
“Okay.”
He watched me carefully.
“One blink for yes. Two for no.”
One blink.
“Are you in pain?”
Two.
“Are you cold?”
One.
I pulled the heated blanket higher.
“Are they taking proper care of you when I’m not here?”
Two.
My jaw tightened.
I already knew the answer.
“Does Mrs. Gable know you understand people?”
His expression changed.
Then—
One blink.
A chill ran through me.
“Why would she pretend you don’t?”
Giovanni couldn’t answer.
I sat back.
“That woman scares me.”
His eyes dropped toward my wrist.
I followed his gaze.
Purple fingerprints were visible beneath my sleeve.
I pulled it down quickly.
“It’s nothing.”
He stared at me.
“Mrs. Gable grabbed me earlier.”
His eyes hardened.
“I was carrying laundry too slowly.”
His nostrils flared.
I almost laughed.
“You look angry.”
One blink.
“Don’t be.”
Two blinks.
That made me smile.
“You’re stubborn.”
One blink.
“So am I.”
He seemed almost amused.
For the first time, Room 4B didn’t feel like a place someone had been sent to disappear.
It felt like ours.
Then, three days later, everything changed.
I was folding linens in the laundry room when two maids rushed inside.
“He’s coming home.”
“Who?”
They both stared at me.
“Lorenzo Moretti.”
The name meant little to me.
Their faces told me it should have.
Mrs. Gable entered behind them.
“Enough gossip.”
One maid whispered, “His father’s son.”
I turned.
“John has a son?”
Mrs. Gable went still.
For half a second, her face betrayed something close to panic.
Then she recovered.
“Get back to work.”
I stared at her.
“You said his name was John.”
“It is.”
“Then why—”
She slammed a stack of towels onto the table.
“Do not concern yourself with matters above your position.”
That evening, I went straight to Room 4B.
“John, does Lorenzo Moretti have something to do with you?”
His eyes locked onto mine.
One blink.
My heart began beating harder.
“Is he family?”
One blink.
“Your nephew?”
Two.
“Your brother?”
Two.
I stared at him.
“Your son?”
One blink.
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
His gaze didn’t move.
“You’re Giovanni Moretti.”
One blink.
I stood so quickly my chair scraped across the floor.
The stories came rushing back.
Even people outside New York knew the Moretti name.
Giovanni had once controlled shipping companies, construction unions, restaurants, private security firms, and businesses no newspaper could ever prove belonged to him.
And Lorenzo Moretti—
His son had inherited everything.
I looked at the quiet old man in the wheelchair.
“You’re him?”
One blink.
I covered my mouth.
“Oh my God.”
His brow lifted slightly, as if my reaction amused him.
“I’ve been calling you John.”
One blink.
“I fed one of the most feared men in New York soup.”
Another blink.
I started laughing nervously.
“This is insane.”
Then my laughter disappeared.
“If you’re Giovanni Moretti, why are they treating you like this?”
His eyes moved toward the door.
Mrs. Gable.
I lowered my voice.
“Does Lorenzo know?”
Two blinks.
That scared me more than anything else.
I moved closer.
“Then you have to tell him.”
Giovanni looked at his useless hand.
“I know.”
I crouched beside him.
“But you understand everything. Maybe there’s another way.”
His eyes moved to me.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Footsteps sounded outside.
Mrs. Gable entered without knocking.
Her gaze moved from me to Giovanni.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping him eat.”
“He has staff assigned to him.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Her expression hardened.
“What did you say?”
“He was freezing when I first came here. His meals were cold. Nobody opened his curtains.”
Mrs. Gable stepped closer.
“You are becoming far too comfortable.”
I stood.
“He understands us.”
Her face changed.
Only for a second.
But Giovanni saw it.
So did I.
Then she laughed.
“Of course he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Enough.”
“He can answer yes or no.”
Mrs. Gable grabbed my arm.
Hard.
“Downstairs. Now.”
“Let go.”
“You are finished in this room.”
Giovanni’s breathing changed.
I looked at him.
His eyes were blazing.
“Mrs. Gable, you’re hurting me.”
She squeezed tighter.
“I said downstairs.”
I pulled free.
“Fine.”
Before leaving, I turned toward Giovanni.
“I’ll come back.”
Mrs. Gable slammed the door behind us.
In the hallway, she leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume.
“You will never enter that room again.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“He needs someone.”
“He needs nothing.”
“He’s Giovanni Moretti.”
Silence.
Her eyes widened.
Then narrowed.
“Who told you?”
“He did.”
For the first time since I had arrived at the estate, Mrs. Gable looked frightened.
Then she smiled.
And that frightened me even more.
“Lorenzo arrives in three days.”
She moved closer.
May you like
“If you want to keep your job until then, I suggest you forget everything you think you know.”
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