Chapter 4 - The Housekeeper’s Warning
By noon, the study had been scrubbed clean, the broken crystal discarded, and the blood-chilling chaos of the morning reduced to hushed whispers among the staff.
Adrian had been successfully transferred to the private medical suite on the third floor of the mansion, a wing equipped with hospital-grade equipment and guarded by four men who looked like they hadn't slept since the Clinton administration.
Elena was back in the laundry wing, trying to fold a stack of guest towels with hands that wouldn't stop shaking.
Sophia sat at a small wooden table in the corner, happily coloring a new picture using a box of crayons Mrs. Bellini had grudgingly provided to keep the child out of trouble.
“You shouldn't have gone out there, Soph,” Elena murmured for the tenth time, glancing toward the heavy oak door that led to the main corridor.
“The dog was lonely,” Sophia repeated stubbornly, not looking up from her coloring book. “And the man on the floor looked like he needed a blanket.”
Before Elena could reply, the door swung open without a knock.
Mrs. Bellini stood in the doorway. The head housekeeper was a formidable woman in her late fifties with iron-gray hair styled into an unyielding bun and a face that looked as though it had been carved from northern Italian granite. She carried herself with the absolute authority of someone who had survived three different generations of Moretti family wars.
She looked at Elena, then down at Sophia, her expression unreadable.
“Mrs. Castillo,” Bellini said, her voice dropping into a low, sharp tone. “Mr. Russo wants you in the third-floor medical suite immediately.”
Elena’s stomach plummeted straight to her shoes.
“I’m finished with the linens, Mrs. Bellini, I swear,” Elena stammered, dropping the towel she was holding. “And Sophia was just—she didn't mean to wander into the study, she got past me—we can leave right now, I don't need to be paid for today, just please don't fire us—”
“Quiet yourself, child,” Bellini cut her off, though there was a strange, uncharacteristic softening in her sharp eyes. “Nobody is firing you.”
Elena blinked. “Then why does Dante want me upstairs?”
“Because,” Bellini said, stepping aside to let Elena pass, “the boss woke up ten minutes ago. And the first thing he did when Dr. Reynolds tried to check his vitals was ask where the little girl with the blue-horse notebook went.”
Elena froze, a cold shiver running down her spine.
“He... he asked about Sophia?”
“He did,” Bellini said grimly. “Which is precisely why you need to go up there and explain that your daughter has the self-preservation instincts of a reckless kitten before Mr. Moretti decides her presence is a security liability.”
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“She’s five years old!” Elena flashed back, protective maternal anger overriding her terror. “She didn't mean to breach security protocols! She just wanted to help!”
“Mr. Moretti does not care about intentions, Mrs. Castillo,” Bellini said quietly, her voice carrying a weight of warning. “He cares about survival. Walk carefully up those stairs. And keep that child behind you at all times.”
