Chapter 4 - THE ROSARY IN THE EAST WING LIBRARY
The hallway was so quiet that I could hear the faint hum of the antique grandfather clock ticking downstairs. Luca’s hand lingered against my jawline for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he slowly dropped it back to his side, though his dark eyes never left my face.
“What secret, Mr. Moretti?” I asked, keeping my voice low so it wouldn't carry through the open door of the sitting room where Teresa and Sophie were resting.
“Mom mentioned that you found something in the East Wing library yesterday morning,” Luca said, stepping slightly closer, his presence warm and commanding. “Something related to the day my father passed away five years ago.”
I swallowed hard, the memory of yesterday morning flashing vividly through my mind. I had been dusting the mahogany bookshelves in the seldom-used East Wing library when I noticed a loose floorboard beneath the heavy Persian rug. Inside a velvet-lined recess, I hadn't found gold or documents—I had found my late employer’s heavy silver pocket watch and a handwritten ledger that Arthur Pendelton had sworn was destroyed in a fire back in 2021.
“I didn't mean to pry, sir,” I said quietly, my fingers nervously smoothing the fabric of my apron. “I was just cleaning behind the second-row shelving unit. The wood paneling had shifted because of the winter dampness. When I pushed it back into place, a small hidden compartment popped open.”
Luca’s expression darkened instantly. “The private vault behind the historical archives. Arthur told me that safe was sealed empty after the probate hearings closed.”
“It wasn't empty,” I replied. I reached into the deep pocket of my maid’s uniform and pulled out a small, tarnished silver object, holding it out flat on my palm. It was the heavy pocket watch, its crystal face cracked down the center, the hands permanently frozen at 4:14.
Luca stared down at the watch, his breath hitching. A muscle feathered in his jaw.
“My father’s watch,” he whispered, his voice rough. “The police told me it was lost in the wreckage of his car accident on the harbor bridge. They said nothing from the glove compartment survived the fire.”
“It didn't burn in a car accident, Mr. Moretti,” I said gently. “The ledger inside that compartment... it wasn't a probate document. It was a log of corporate asset transfers signed by Arthur Pendelton and a junior partner who left the firm five days after your father’s funeral. The dates show that your father’s signature on his final will was notarized two weeks after he had already passed away.”
The silence that rushed back into the hallway felt heavy enough to crush stone.
Luca didn't speak for a long time. He reached out, his large fingers closing carefully around the silver pocket watch, lifting it from my palm. His thumb traced the cracked glass, feeling the cold metal that his father had worn every day of his life.
“Arthur,” Luca said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy whisper again. “He didn't just try to help Vanessa clear out my mother and my daughter. He’s been systematically dismantling the foundation of this entire family since the day my father died.”
“And Vanessa knew,” I added quietly. “When she walked into the library yesterday while I was holding that ledger, she didn't just tell me to put it back. She threatened that if I said a single word about the dates in that book, my mother’s medical care at St. Jude’s Clinic would be instantly revoked by the hospital board—a board where Vanessa’s uncle holds the majority voting share.”
Luca’s head snapped up, his dark eyes blazing with a fury so intense it made me step back involuntarily.
“She threatened your mother’s life and health?” Luca asked, his voice shaking slightly with repressed rage.
“She said accidents happen all the time in private clinics when patients miss their insurance recertification payments,” I confessed, looking down at the floor, ashamed of how helpless I had felt in that moment. “I didn't have a choice, Mr. Moretti. I needed the paycheck, and my mother needed her doctor.”
Before I could blink, Luca closed the distance between us, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders firmly, holding me in place so I had no choice but to look right into his eyes.
“You always have a choice in this house, Claire,” he said, his voice fierce, steady, and utterly unyielding. “No one—not Arthur, not Vanessa, not any corrupt board member in this city—will ever touch your mother’s care again. Do you understand me? As long as I am breathing, your family is under my protection.”
The intensity of his gaze made my heart hammer wildly against my ribs. There was no employer-employee distance in his eyes anymore; there was only a fierce, protective man looking at me as if I were the most important person in the world.
“Thank you, sir,” I breathed, the words barely audible.
“Don't call me sir when we’re alone, Claire,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing against my shoulder.
Before either of us could say another word, the heavy oak door of Teresa’s sitting room creaked open. Sophie poked her head out into the hallway, wrapped tightly in her pink blanket, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“Daddy?” Sophie asked softly. “Can Claire sleep in the guest room next to mine tonight? I don't want to be alone in the dark.”
Luca looked down at his daughter, a slow, tender smile breaking through the hard lines of his face. He looked back at me, his eyes softening completely.
“Of course she can, sweetheart,” Luca answered, his gaze never leaving mine. “In fact, I think we’re all going to need a very secure, very close night under this roof.”
He turned back to Sophie, picking her up effortlessly once again. “Come on, let’s get you tucked into your grandmother’s suite. Claire and I will be right behind you.”
As Sophie scampered back inside, chattering happily to her grandmother about waking up for pancakes in the morning, Luca paused at the doorway and looked down at me.
May you like
“Get your things from the staff quarters tonight, Claire,” Luca instructed quietly, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. “You aren't sleeping downstairs anymore. Your new room is right here in the family wing, where I can keep you safe.”
I nodded, a warm wave of relief and unfamiliar excitement washing over me. But even as I agreed, neither of us knew that downstairs in the foyer, Arthur Pendelton had left behind something far more dangerous than an adoption decree—a single, blood-stained document tucked inside the grandfather clock that would change everything by dawn.
