Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN

The dining room of the Moretti mansion felt like a tomb.

Thirty-six elite guests, the city’s most dangerous men, and their wives, were holding their breath.

Vanessa’s red high heels were still surrounded by the shattered porcelain and ruined vanilla custard.

But nobody was looking at her anymore.

Dominic Moretti, the ruthless head of the New Orleans syndicate, was staring directly at me.

“What did you just say?” Dominic’s voice wasn’t a shout. It was a low, dangerous whisper that made the crystal glasses vibrate.

He stepped away from Vanessa, ignoring her completely, and walked toward the end of the table where I stood holding Sophie’s hand.

I instinctively stepped in front of the eight-year-old girl.

“Mr. Moretti,” I started, my voice trembling.

“No.” He stopped two feet away from me. His dark eyes were wide, filled with a storm of grief and rage I had never seen before. “What did my daughter just say, Hannah? What do you know about my wife?”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

For four years, I had kept this secret. Four years of scrubbing these marble floors, ironing his shirts, and tucking his motherless daughter into bed.

“Dominic, this is ridiculous!” Vanessa shrilled, her face flushed with panic. “She’s a maid! She’s probably lying to get money out of you. Throw her out!”

Dominic didn’t even blink. He raised one hand in the air, a silent command.

Instantly, Marco, the towering chief of security, stepped out of the shadows and clamped a heavy hand onto Vanessa’s shoulder.

“Don’t speak again, Vanessa,” Dominic said softly.

He looked back at me.

“My wife died in a car accident on a rainy Tuesday,” Dominic said, his voice breaking on the edges. “Three weeks before you applied for this job. You said on your resume you moved here from Chicago. So how did you meet Clara?”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

The memory rushed back, cold and sharp.

“It wasn’t an accident,” I whispered.

The entire room gasped.

Dominic’s face drained of color. “What?”

“I didn’t live in Chicago, Mr. Moretti. Four years ago, I was working the graveyard shift at a diner on Route 9. The night of the storm.”

I opened my eyes and met his gaze. I owed him the truth. I owed Clara the truth.

“It was 2:00 AM. The diner was empty. A woman came in. She was soaking wet, shivering, and bleeding from a cut on her forehead. She wasn’t wearing a coat, just a silk evening gown.”

Dominic took a shaky breath. “A blue gown. She was wearing a blue gown that night.”

“Yes,” I said, tears pricking my eyes. “She sat at the counter. She wouldn’t let me call the police. She said if I called the police, they would kill her daughter.”

Sophie’s little hand tightened around my fingers. She looked up at me, her brown eyes wide with innocent fear.

“I brought her a cup of tea and a first-aid kit,” I continued, my voice steadying. “She was terrified, Mr. Moretti. She kept looking out the window at the highway. She told me her name was Clara. She said her husband was a powerful man, a good man, but that someone in his inner circle was trying to destroy him from the inside.”

Dominic’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Who?”

“She didn’t know their name. But she knew they were planning something terrible. She said they had tampered with her car, but she managed to jump out before it went off the bridge.”

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the dining room.

For four years, the police report had stated Clara Moretti lost control of her vehicle on slick roads and drowned in the river.

“She survived the crash?” Dominic’s voice cracked. The ruthless mafia boss was suddenly just a heartbroken husband.

“Yes. But she knew they were looking for her in the woods. She knew she didn’t have much time.”

I reached into the pocket of my black maid’s apron. My fingers traced the cold metal I had carried with me every single day for four years.

“She gave me this,” I whispered.

I pulled my hand out and opened my palm.

Resting on my skin was a heavy, silver locket. It was deeply scratched, covered in dried mud that I had never washed off, preserving the exact state she had given it to me.

Dominic let out a choked sound. He reached out with trembling fingers and picked up the locket.

“This was her grandmother’s,” he whispered. “The police never found it. I thought it washed away in the river.”

“She told me to keep it hidden,” I said, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “She told me to apply for a job at this house. She said, ‘He won’t check the maids. Please, just watch over my little girl. Keep Sophie safe until the truth comes out.’”

Dominic stared at the locket.

“But if she survived the crash,” Dominic said, his eyes darkening with a terrifying realization, “how did she end up back in the river?”

“Because someone found her at the diner,” a new voice echoed.

Everyone turned.

Anthony Moretti, Dominic’s younger brother, was standing in the archway of the dining room. His face was ashen, his hands shaking.

Anthony was the one who had slipped the note to Vanessa to get me fired.

“I found her,” Anthony whispered, stepping into the light.

Dominic’s head snapped up. “You?”

“I was tracking her phone,” Anthony confessed, his voice breaking. “I got to the diner ten minutes after she gave Hannah the locket.”

I stared at Anthony in shock.

“You weren’t there,” I said, my brow furrowing. “I was the only one on shift.”

“I didn’t come inside,” Anthony said, looking at the floor. “I waited in the parking lot. I watched Clara walk out the back door into the alley.”

Dominic lunged forward, grabbing his brother by the lapels of his expensive suit.

“You watched her? You watched my wife in the freezing rain and you didn’t help her?!”

“I couldn’t!” Anthony screamed, tears streaming down his face. “Dominic, I swear to God, I couldn’t! I was there to save her, but someone beat me to it!”

“Who?!” Dominic roared, shaking him violently.

Anthony looked terrified. He glanced at Vanessa, then back to Dominic.

“I didn’t see his face,” Anthony sobbed. “But I saw his hand when he grabbed Clara and forced her into a black SUV. He was wearing your father’s gold signet ring, Dominic. The one you lost five years ago.”

Dominic froze. He slowly released his brother’s coat.

“My ring?” Dominic whispered.

The entire room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Because I knew exactly where that gold signet ring was.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He turned to me, his eyes hollow.

I looked down at the locket in his hand. “Clara didn’t just give me the locket to keep safe. She gave it to me because there’s something inside it.”

Dominic frowned. He pressed the small latch on the side of the silver heart.

The locket clicked open.

Inside, there wasn’t a picture.

Folded tightly into a tiny square was a piece of paper.

Dominic pulled it out and carefully unfolded it with shaking hands.