Chapter 3 - The Cold War Under One Roof
The east wing suite was larger than the entire apartment I had rented during my college years.
Silk sheets draped a king-sized canopy bed. A roaring marble fireplace warmed the room, chasing away the autumn chill that always swept off Lake Michigan. But despite the luxury, sleep refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vanessa’s eyes widening in fury when she saw me standing in the doorway of the guest room, clutching those towels.
*“You stupid, worthless little rat,”* she had hissed, grabbing my collar with manicured nails that dug into my skin. *“You didn't see anything. You hear me? If you utter one word to Luca, I won't just have you fired. I’ll make sure you can’t get a job sweeping sidewalks anywhere in Illinois.”*
Then Mercer had moved. A heavy, clumsy shove intended to push me back into the corridor so they could slip out the service exit. My foot had caught the edge of the hallway runner, and the solid oak corner of the doorframe had met my cheekbone with a sickening crack.
I touched my face gingerly. The ointment Dr. Harris had given me smelled of lavender and menthol, cooling the fire beneath my skin, but the ache ran deep into the bone.
At 7:00 AM, the sunlight had barely begun to filter through the heavy velvet drapes when a soft knock rattled my door.
I sat bolt upright, pulling the plush robe tighter around my throat. "Who is it?"
"It's Mrs. Carter, dear. Open up."
I hurried across the cold hardwood and turned the brass lock. Mrs. Carter stood in the hallway holding a tray with freshly brewed coffee, poached eggs, and fresh fruit. The elderly housekeeper looked at me with a mixture of profound relief and anxious caution.
"Good morning, Olivia," she said gently, slipping into the room and setting the tray on the round mahogany breakfast table. She turned and inspected my cheek, clucking her tongue in disapproval. "The swelling has gone down slightly, thank God. Mr. Moretti asked me to check on you before he left for the downtown offices."
"He left already?" I asked, feeling an odd, hollow sensation in my stomach.
"Left at six sharp," Mrs. Carter replied, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He had Daniel and four of the security boys in tow. And that wasn't all. Miss Vanessa came down for breakfast at six-thirty expecting to see him. When I told her Mr. Moretti had departed early for an urgent meeting at the syndicate offices, she nearly threw her teacup across the dining room."
"Did she ask about me?"
"She did," Mrs. Carter said, her lips thinning into a grim line. "She asked if the 'clumsy maid' was still nursing her bruised pride. I followed Mr. Moretti's strict instructions: I told her you were confined to bed rest in the staff quarters with a mild concussion and wouldn't be working today."
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you, Mrs. Carter."
"Don't thank me, child. Thank the boss. In all the years I've run this household—even during his first marriage—I have never seen Luca Moretti care about an employee's well-being like this. You must tread very carefully, Olivia. Miss Bellini comes from old money and older cruelty. Her father’s family controls half the shipping docks along the river. She is not a woman who accepts being undermined."
"I never wanted to undermine anyone," I said honestly. "I just wanted to do my job, save enough money to clear my mother’s medical arrears, and keep my head down."
"Well, the time for keeping your head down is over," a cold, sharp voice sliced into the room from the doorway.
My blood ran instantly cold.
Mrs. Carter spun around, her face draining of color.
Vanessa Bellini stood in the open threshold of the east suite. She wore an ivory cashmere sweater draped over silk trousers, her blonde hair styled in flawless, sweeping waves. But her eyes—pale blue and freezing—were fixed squarely on me, taking in the luxurious canopy bed, the marble fireplace, and the fact that I was not in the staff quarters at all.
"So," Vanessa murmured, stepping across the threshold, her designer heels clicking sharply against the floor like the cocking of a pistol. "The 'concussed' maid is sleeping in the family guest wing. Drinking estate coffee. Being waited on by the head housekeeper."
"Miss Bellini," Mrs. Carter stepped between us, her posture stiffening. "This room was prepared under the direct orders of Mr. Moretti. I must ask you to respect his instructions."
Vanessa didn't even look at Mrs. Carter. Her gaze remained pinned on me, dripping with poisonous disdain. "Leave us, Carter. Now."
"Miss Bellini, I cannot—"
"I said get out!" Vanessa snapped, her voice ringing off the high ceilings. "Before I remind Luca that you are seventy years old and well past your retirement expiration date."
Mrs. Carter hesitated, looking back at me with genuine fear. I gave the older woman a subtle, pleading nod. I didn't want Mrs. Carter losing her pension or her safety on my account. "It's alright, Mrs. Carter. Please. Step outside."
Reluctantly, the housekeeper backed out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
Vanessa closed it with a soft, decisive click.
The moment the latch engaged, the poised, elegant heiress vanished. Vanessa crossed the distance between us in three long strides, stopping an inch from where I sat. She leaned down, her perfume—heavy, cloying jasmine—choking the air between us.
"You think you're clever, don't you?" Vanessa hissed, her voice vibrating with venom. "You ran straight to him with that photograph."
My heart hammered violently against my ribs, but I forced myself to meet her glare. "I told him the truth."
"The truth?" Vanessa scoffed, a mocking smile twisting her lips. "In this city, the truth is whatever the person with the most money says it is. You think Luca cares about you? You think a billionaire mafia Don looks at a girl who scrubs his toilets and sees anything more than an insect? He's using you to buy time, you foolish little peasant."
"If he's using me, then why are you so terrified, Miss Bellini?" I whispered.
The slap came so fast I didn't have time to flinch.
Her palm struck my *uninjured* right cheek with enough force to turn my head, leaving a stinging red print behind.
"Watch your tongue," Vanessa snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head backward so I had no choice but to stare into her manic, trembling eyes. "Mercer isn't answering his phone. That means Luca intercepted him. But whatever Mercer told him doesn't matter. Tonight is the Bellini Foundation Gala at the Drake Hotel. Two hundred members of the five families will be there to announce our formal wedding date. If you breathe one more word to Luca, if you show your pathetic, bruised face outside of this room today, I will make sure your mother’s hospital turns off her life support before midnight. You think I don't know who you are? You think I don't know where she sleeps?"
The world seemed to spin on its axis.
*My mother.*
She knew about St. Jude’s Long-Term Care facility. She knew about the respiratory bills.
May you like
Before I could speak, before I could even scream, the brass handle of the suite door didn't just turn—it rattled violently as the heavy wood burst inward with a thunderous crack.
***
