THE HOUSEKEEPER’S SECRET AND THE GOLD-FRAMED MIRROR

“I don't know, sir.”

My voice barely broke a whisper, but in the dead silence of Luca Moretti’s study, it sounded like a shout. The ice pack against my lower back had begun to melt, sending a cold bead of water down my spine. I gripped the armrests of the heavy leather chair, suddenly painfully aware of the space I was taking up.

Luca didn't move. He stood perfectly still by the massive mahogany desk, the tiny black recording device resting near his knuckles.

“You’re certain?” he asked quietly. “You didn't hear her mention a specific contract? A deed? A name?”

“No, Mr. Moretti. I only heard her say Saturday. And then…” I hesitated, my mind racing back to the terrifying moments behind the mirror. “She mentioned a child.”

Luca’s dark eyes locked onto mine. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “A child.”

“Yes. She said, ‘Once the boy is legally mine on Saturday, the trust is unlocked. He can’t stop it.’”

Luca slowly closed his eyes. The breath he took was ragged, entirely unlike the composed, untouchable mafia boss the rest of Chicago knew. When he opened them again, the quiet fury in his gaze made my stomach turn over.

Saturday wasn't just the wedding. Saturday was the day the finalized adoption papers for Leo—his six-year-old orphaned nephew—were scheduled to be signed. Leo’s parents had died in a tragic accident fourteen months ago, leaving behind a sprawling shipping empire in a trust. A trust that only his legal guardians could manage until he turned twenty-five.

“Daniel,” Luca said, his voice dangerously soft.

The head of security stepped forward from the shadows near the door. “Boss.”

“Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves. Not the catering staff, not the guests, and especially not Vanessa’s people.”

“Already done. But boss, the server upload…” Daniel glanced at me, then back to Luca. “The audio files aren't going to an offshore account. They’re being routed to a local IP address. To a property in the South Loop.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “Who owns it?”

Daniel hesitated. “It’s a commercial front. But the lease was signed by Marcus Vance.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Marcus Vance wasn't a rival boss. He wasn't an enemy. He was Luca’s oldest friend, his second-in-command, and the man scheduled to be his best man in three days.

The first question was answered: Vanessa was working with Marcus. But two terrifying new questions instantly took its place. Why was Marcus betraying a man he’d bled for? And how long had he been planning to take control of Leo’s fortune?

“Are you sure?” Luca asked.

“The digital footprint is undeniable,” Daniel replied softly. “And Marcus is currently in the dining room, drinking your champagne.”

Luca looked at the recording device. Then he looked at me. I was just a housekeeper. I made twenty dollars an hour. I was drowning in medical bills for my mother’s kidney treatments, and I was currently sitting in the middle of a mafia civil war.

“Claire,” Luca said, his tone softening just a fraction. “You need to go to your room. Lock the door. Do not speak to anyone.”

“Mr. Moretti, if I don't go back to the kitchen, Mrs. Carter will—”

“I don't care about the kitchen,” he interrupted, stepping closer. The scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne washed over me. He wasn't looking at me like an employee anymore. He was looking at me like someone he had to protect. “Marcus is out there. If Vanessa realizes you know what she said behind the mirror, you are not safe.”

I tried to stand. The sharp, blinding pain in my lower back flared so intensely that my knees buckled.

Before I could hit the floor, Luca caught me. His large, strong hands gripped my waist, steadying me with an unexpected gentleness. His chest was hard against my shoulder, his breathing steady.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

I looked up. We were so close I could see the faint silver flecks in his dark brown eyes. My heart hammered wildly against my ribs, and for a split second, I completely forgot about the pain in my back.

“Luca?” a woman’s voice called out from the hallway.

The spell shattered. It was Vanessa. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floors, growing closer to the study doors.

Luca’s expression instantly turned to stone. He released me, gently pushing me toward the heavy velvet curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Hide. Do not make a sound.”

I slipped behind the thick fabric just as the study doors swung open.

“Darling, what on earth are you doing?” Vanessa’s voice flowed into the room, sweet and dripping with artificial innocence. “The guests are asking for you. And Marcus wants to make a toast.”

Through a narrow gap in the curtains, I could see Luca leaning casually against his desk, the black recorder nowhere in sight.

“I had a headache,” Luca said smoothly. “I just needed a moment.”

Vanessa stepped further into the room. Her red silk gown rustled. “Well, you must come back out. People are beginning to whisper. And where did that clumsy housekeeper go? The doctor left twenty minutes ago.”

“I sent her home,” Luca lied without blinking. “She’s in no condition to work.”

Vanessa let out an exaggerated sigh. “Honestly, it’s impossible to find good help these days. I’ll fire her tomorrow.”

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” Luca said. He pushed off the desk and walked toward her.

As he passed the leather armchair where I had been sitting, his foot kicked something small and metallic on the carpet. It skidded across the floor and stopped inches from Vanessa’s open-toed designer heels.

My blood ran cold.

It was a heavy, sterling silver lighter. Engraved with a crest.

I had been dusting the bookshelves earlier today when Vanessa pushed me. That lighter had fallen from the top shelf. I had picked it up just before the argument started. In the chaos of injuring my back, I must have dropped it on the rug.

Vanessa looked down. She slowly bent and picked it up. Her flawless smile vanished.

“Luca,” she said, her voice dropping its sweet cadence. “Why is Marcus’s silver lighter on the floor of your study?”

I stopped breathing. The lighter didn't belong to Luca. It belonged to the man she was secretly conspiring with.

Luca didn't miss a beat. “He was in here with me before dinner. We had a cigar.”

Vanessa stared at him. The tension in the room was a living, breathing thing. We all knew that wasn't true. Marcus hadn't smoked a cigar in five years.

She slowly slipped the lighter into her diamond-encrusted clutch. “I see. Well. Don't be long, darling.”

She turned and walked out. But just before she cleared the doorway, I saw her slip a hand into her pocket and pull out a sleek, disposable cell phone. She furiously typed a message and hit send.

The door clicked shut.

Luca stood silently for a moment. Then he walked to the curtains and pulled them back. I was trembling.

“She knows,” I whispered.

“She doesn't know everything,” Luca corrected quietly. He looked down at the carpet where the lighter had been. “But she just realized she made a mistake. And a cornered animal is dangerous.”

He looked at me, his gaze dropping to the plain silver cross necklace I wore—a cheap trinket my mother had given me.

“Take off the apron, Claire,” he commanded softly.

“Sir?”

“You aren't working the kitchen tonight.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a heavy set of brass keys. “You’re coming with me to the South Loop. We are going to find out exactly what my best friend and my fiancée are planning to do on Saturday.”

He tossed me the keys. But as I caught them, a small, folded piece of paper slipped from between the brass rings and fluttered to the floor.

I reached down and unfolded it.

It was a faded photograph of Vanessa. But she wasn't wearing designer clothes. She was standing in front of a rundown motel, holding a newborn baby. And standing right next to her, with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, wasn't Marcus.