Chapter 3 - THE SILVER KEY
Skylar’s heart slammed against her ribs.
The conservatory felt suddenly suffocating. The cold metal of the key gleamed in Dominic’s palm.
“I…” Skylar stammered, her hand instinctively going to her bleeding cheek. “I didn’t steal it. I swear to you, Mr. Rossi.”
“No one else has seen this key in a decade,” Dominic said. The air in the room had grown heavy. “My father hid it before he passed. I have dismantled his study twice looking for it. So I will ask you once more, Skylar. Why is it in your pocket?”
Before Skylar could answer, Carmela stepped forward. She placed her frail hand over Dominic’s large one, pushing his fingers closed over the key.
“Because I gave it to her, Dominic.”
Dominic stared at his mother. “You? You knew where it was?”
Carmela’s eyes flickered with a sudden, sharp lucidity that Skylar hadn’t seen in weeks. “I found it last month. Sewn into the lining of your father’s old winter coat in the attic. I gave it to Skylar to hold.”
“Why?” Dominic demanded, though his tone softened slightly for his mother. “Why give it to a maid?”
“Because Bianca was looking for it,” Carmela said firmly. “I saw her in your study. Late at night. She was going through your father’s desk. I couldn’t trust my own memory to hide it, Dominic. I lose things. I forget where I put my own shoes. But Skylar… Skylar takes care of what matters.”
Dominic looked from his mother to the bruised, bleeding, overweight maid who still hadn’t asked for a towel or a glass of water, only checking to ensure Carmela was safe.
A complex emotion crossed his face.
“Marcus,” Dominic called out without turning around.
“Sir.”
“Escort my mother to her rooms. Make sure she has tea. Then I want two men stationed outside her door. No one enters unless I clear it.”
Carmela squeezed Skylar’s arm one last time before allowing the guard to lead her away.
Dominic turned back to Skylar. “Come with me.”
“My cheek—”
“Dr. Evans is waiting in the study. The safe is in there, too. We’re going to open it together.”
The walk to the west wing felt like a death march. Skylar kept her eyes on the floor, conscious of her heavy footsteps compared to Dominic’s silent, predatory stride.
Inside the mahogany-paneled study, the elderly estate doctor was waiting. He quickly cleaned and stitched Skylar’s cheek. She didn’t make a sound as the needle pierced her skin, though tears pricked her eyes. She had endured worse pain working double shifts with infected blisters.
When the doctor left, Dominic locked the heavy oak doors.
He walked to a massive portrait of his late father, pressed a hidden latch in the frame, and swung the painting aside to reveal a steel wall safe. He inserted the silver key.
The heavy door clicked open.
Inside lay a single, thick leather ledger and a stack of faded photographs.
Dominic pulled the ledger out and opened it on his desk. As his eyes scanned the pages, his knuckles turned white.
“Mr. Rossi?” Skylar asked quietly from the leather armchair.
“My father didn’t die of a heart attack,” Dominic murmured, his voice hollow. “He was poisoned. The Moretti family arranged it. Bianca’s father.”
Skylar gasped.
Dominic flipped to the back of the ledger. A folded piece of modern stationery slipped out. He picked it up, unfolding it. Skylar watched his expression change from shock, to anger, and finally, to utter confusion.
He looked up at Skylar.
“Who is Thomas Gallagher?” he asked.
Skylar’s blood ran cold. “My father.”
Dominic slid the paper across the desk.
Skylar stood up, her knees trembling, and looked at the document. It was a transfer of medical debt from Albany General Hospital. A massive, insurmountable sum that had been hanging over Skylar’s head for three years.
“Paid in full,” Dominic read aloud. “Six months ago. Purchased by Bianca Moretti.”
May you like
Skylar stared at the paper in horror.
“If she paid your father’s debt half a year ago,” Dominic said, his voice tightening with sudden suspicion. “Then why have you been working double shifts to pay bills that don't exist?”
