Chapter 3 - Three Days Before Lorenzo
Mrs. Gable stopped pretending after that.
The next morning, she dropped two buckets beside me.
“East gallery.”
I stared at them.
“They’re full.”
“That is generally how buckets work.”
“My doctor told me not to lift anything heavy.”
“Then perhaps your doctor should pay your bills.”
I looked around.
Several maids watched.
Nobody spoke.
I grabbed one bucket.
Pain pulled across my lower back.
Mrs. Gable smiled.
“Both.”
“I can make two trips.”
“Both.”
I straightened.
“No.”
The room went quiet.
“What?”
“I said no.”
Her face flushed.
“You seem to be forgetting who employs you.”
“The Moretti family employs me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Not you.”
A maid near the doorway quickly looked down.
Mrs. Gable grabbed my shoulder.
Her nails dug through my uniform.
“I decide who works in this house.”
I pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
She stared at me.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she leaned close.
“You think that old vegetable upstairs is going to save you?”
My stomach turned.
“Don’t call him that.”
“He can’t even lift a spoon.”
“He understands you.”
Her smile vanished.
“You know nothing about this family.”
“I know enough to understand you’re scared of Lorenzo finding out how his father has been treated.”
Her hand came up.
I flinched.
She stopped herself before striking me.
“Get back to work.”
I took only one bucket.
That evening, I waited until Mrs. Gable went to dinner.
Then I slipped upstairs.
Giovanni was awake.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes dropped immediately to my shoulder.
A bruise was forming where Mrs. Gable had grabbed me.
“Don’t.”
His gaze hardened.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
One blink.
“You’re going to have a heart attack from being angry all the time.”
Two.
Despite everything, I smiled.
I set down a plate.
“Roasted chicken. Mashed potatoes.”
He looked toward the plate, then back to me.
“I stole the good gravy too.”
His eyebrow moved.
“Don’t judge me.”
As I fed him, I told him what Mrs. Gable had said.
His breathing grew heavier.
“Lorenzo is coming in two days.”
One blink.
“Can you signal him somehow?”
Giovanni stared toward the window.
“Your hand moved last week.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Can you point?”
He tried.
Nothing.
His fingers trembled.
“Again.”
His arm strained.
Barely an inch.
Then dropped.
“That’s okay.”
He looked furious with himself.
“No. Don’t do that.”
His eyes met mine.
“You’re trying.”
I placed my hand over his.
“That matters.”
For the next two evenings, we practiced.
Raise hand.
Move arm.
Point.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Sometimes his fingers moved only a fraction.
Sometimes nothing happened.
But on the second night, his arm lifted almost four inches.
I gasped.
“Yes!”
His eyes brightened.
“Again.”
He tried.
His arm dropped.
“That was still good.”
Footsteps sounded outside.
I immediately pulled his blanket over his hand.
Mrs. Gable opened the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“Bringing dinner.”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me.”
Her gaze moved toward Giovanni.
Then back to me.
“Tomorrow morning, Lorenzo Moretti arrives.”
“I heard.”
“You will stay away from him.”
“I wasn’t planning to introduce myself.”
“If he asks about his father, you say Mr. Moretti has received excellent care.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
Her jaw tightened.
“What?”
“I won’t lie.”
Mrs. Gable stepped forward.
“You have no idea who Lorenzo Moretti is.”
“His father deserves better.”
“His father is barely alive.”
Giovanni’s eyes locked onto her.
Mrs. Gable ignored him.
“Lorenzo is dangerous.”
“Then why are you lying to him?”
That silenced her.
I continued.
“If he’s as dangerous as everyone says, I’d be more worried about what happens when he discovers the truth.”
For the first time, Mrs. Gable had no answer.
She left.
The next morning, the blizzard arrived.
By six o’clock, snow had buried the long driveway.
At nine, the gates opened.
Three black armored SUVs rolled through.
Every employee was called to the main foyer.
Mrs. Gable inspected us like soldiers.
“Stand straight.”
I shifted because my back hurt.
She whispered, “If you embarrass me, you’ll be outside those gates before lunch.”
The front doors opened.
Cold air swept inside.
Then Lorenzo Moretti entered.
He was thirty-two.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Black overcoat.
Black gloves.
No wasted movement.
Four men followed him.
Nobody needed to tell me who they were.
The entire foyer went silent.
Lorenzo removed his gloves.
“My father?”
Mrs. Gable stepped forward with a warm smile.
“Mr. Moretti. Welcome home.”
“My father.”
“Of course.”
She placed one hand over her heart.
“He receives the finest care possible.”
I nearly choked.
Lorenzo’s eyes moved toward me.
Just for a moment.
I looked down.
Mrs. Gable continued.
“We’ve treated him like a king.”
My hands curled into fists.
Lorenzo nodded.
“I’ll see him after I speak with counsel.”
Mrs. Gable smiled.
“Certainly.”
He disappeared into the west study.
The moment the door closed, Mrs. Gable turned toward us.
“Back to work.”
I stepped away.
Then stopped.
A sound came from upstairs.
Metal scraping wood.
Everyone turned.
Another sound.
A wheel striking the railing.
Mrs. Gable went pale.
“What—”
A wheelchair appeared at the top of the grand staircase.
Giovanni Moretti sat inside it.
Behind him stood Thomas, one of the older groundskeepers.
He looked terrified.
“I found him in the hall.”
Mrs. Gable whispered, “Take him back.”
Giovanni’s eyes searched the foyer.
Then found me.
His right hand trembled.
My breath stopped.
His arm slowly lifted.
Everyone watched.
Higher.
Higher.
His hand shook violently.
Then—
For the first time in five years—
Giovanni Moretti pointed directly at me.
Nobody moved.
The study door opened.
Lorenzo stepped out.
His gaze followed his father’s trembling finger.
Straight to the pregnant maid standing at the back of the foyer.
“To her?” Lorenzo asked.
Giovanni blinked once.
May you like
Mrs. Gable’s face lost all color.
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