Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE RAIN

The silence in the dining room shattered instantly.

Marco’s hand flew to the holster at his waist, but Dominic was faster. In a blur of motion, the mafia boss pulled a sleek black handgun from his tailored jacket and aimed it directly at his chief of security’s chest.

Thirty-six guests erupted into chaos. Wives screamed, chairs overturned, and the clatter of breaking crystal filled the air as people scrambled away from the table.

“Daddy!” Sophie cried, burying her face into my apron.

I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms protectively around the little girl, shielding her with my own body. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would break my ribs.

“Don’t move, Marco,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Take your hand off the weapon.”

Marco froze, his fingers hovering an inch from his gun. The tall, heavily scarred man looked around the room, his eyes calculating.

“Boss,” Marco said, his voice rough. “This is a setup. You’ve known me for fifteen years.”

“I’m looking at your signature,” Dominic replied, stepping closer, the gun unwavering. “Clara pawned my father’s ring on the day she died. And you were the one who signed for it. Why?”

Marco swallowed hard. “I didn’t pawn it, Mr. Moretti. I bought it back.”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“Mrs. Moretti came to me that morning,” Marco said, keeping his hands raised where everyone could see them. “She was frantic. She said she needed fifty thousand dollars in untraceable cash, immediately. She offered me the ring as collateral. I didn’t ask questions. I gave her the money from the vault and kept the ring in my safe.”

“Fifty thousand dollars?” Anthony repeated from across the room, wiping blood from where Dominic had grabbed him. “Why would Clara need cash? She had unlimited credit cards.”

“Because credit cards leave a paper trail,” I whispered from the floor.

Dominic glanced down at me, his expression softening for just a fraction of a second before hardening again. “What do you mean, Hannah?”

I gently stroked Sophie’s hair, keeping her face hidden against my chest. “At the diner… Clara told me she had hired a private investigator. She was trying to find out who was embezzling money from the syndicate. She said she found the proof, but the investigator was demanding double his fee to hand over the documents.”

Vanessa, who had been completely ignored, suddenly let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

“Are you all blind?” Vanessa sneered, crossing her arms over her red silk gown. “Clara wasn’t trying to save the family. She was running away with her lover!”

Dominic turned his gun slightly toward Vanessa. “Shut your mouth.”

“Oh, come on, Dominic!” Vanessa yelled, her face twisted in ugly jealousy. “A secret investigator? Fifty grand in cash? A late-night car crash? She was leaving you! And she was taking the money to start a new life without you.”

“No!” Sophie suddenly shouted, pulling away from my chest.

The little girl stood up, her face red with tears, her small fists clenched at her sides.

“My mommy loved my daddy! She would never leave us!”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Listen to the brat. She’s as delusional as—”

“Vanessa,” Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “If you insult my daughter one more time, you will not leave this house alive.”

Vanessa’s mouth snapped shut. She took a step back, finally realizing the danger she was in.

Dominic looked back at Marco. “If you bought the ring from Clara that morning, how did the man in the alley have it that night?”

Marco’s face paled. “Sir… the ring never left my personal safe in the security office.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dominic asked coldly.

“I’m positive. I locked it inside myself.”

Dominic didn’t lower his gun. “Anthony. Go to Marco’s office. Open his safe. The code is my mother’s birthday.”

Anthony hesitated, then nodded and bolted out of the dining room.

For five agonizing minutes, nobody moved. The remaining guests stood pinned against the walls. I held Sophie tightly, whispering soothing words into her ear, though I was shaking just as much as she was.

Then, footsteps echoed down the marble hallway.

Anthony returned. He was completely empty-handed.

“The safe was locked,” Anthony said, breathless. “But the ring isn’t in there. It’s gone.”

Marco’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “That’s impossible. Only three people have the code to that safe. Me, you, and—”

Marco stopped abruptly. The color drained completely from his face.

Dominic’s gun faltered slightly. “And who, Marco?”

Marco looked at Dominic with absolute dread.

“Your father, sir. Before he died, he insisted on having the master code to all security safes.”

The room went dead silent.

Dominic’s father, Vincenzo Moretti, had died of a heart attack ten years ago. Long before Clara was even in the picture.

“My father is dead,” Dominic said, his voice hollow.

“Yes, sir,” Marco whispered. “But he gave his master code to one other person before he passed.”

Dominic closed his eyes. The realization hit him like a physical blow. He slowly lowered the gun, his shoulders sagging with a weight too heavy for any man to carry.

“My mother,” Dominic whispered.

At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors at the far end of the dining room swung open.

Donatella Moretti, a woman in her late sixties with piercing black eyes and a spine made of steel, walked into the room. She wore a pristine black mourning dress, as she had every day since her husband died.

She leaned heavily on a silver-handled walking cane.

And gleaming on her right index finger, catching the chandelier light, was a heavy men’s gold signet ring.

“Mother,” Dominic breathed out.

Donatella stopped at the head of the table. She looked at the broken dessert plate, the terrified guests, and finally, at me and Sophie on the floor.

Her lips curled into a sneer of pure disgust.

“I heard the commotion from the east wing,” Donatella said, her voice like cracked ice. “I see you are still letting the help ruin our family dinners, Dominic.”

She didn’t look at Vanessa. She didn’t look at Marco.

Donatella’s piercing black eyes locked onto mine.

“You,” she pointed a sharp, manicured finger at me. “I told you four years ago to keep your mouth shut. It seems you’ve forgotten your place.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Because Donatella Moretti had never spoken a single word to me in the four years I had worked here.

Until this very second.