THE TAPE BENEATH THE PIANO

The rain returned that night, thrashing against the windows of my small servant’s quarters on the ground floor. Sophia was fast asleep in her small bed, clutching her cloth rabbit. I sat in an armchair by the door, wide awake, waiting for a signal.

At 3:00 AM, my cell phone vibrated. A single text from an unknown number: Back door. Now.

I threw off my blanket and rushed down the dark servants' corridor to the rear entrance of the kitchen. I unlocked the heavy steel door and pulled it open.

Alessandro stumbled inside, collapsing heavily against the stainless-steel prep counter. He was drenched in rain and blood. His charcoal suit was ruined, torn at the shoulder, and a dark, wet stain was rapidly spreading across his ribs.

"Mr. Moretti!" I cried quietly, rushing to catch him before he hit the floor. He was incredibly heavy.

"Trap," he coughed, spitting a mixture of rain and blood onto the tile. "Dante knew. They were waiting. Half my personal guard... they turned on me."

"We need to call a doctor. The estate physician—"

"No!" Alessandro grabbed my wrist with terrifying strength, his eyes wild. "Dr. Evans is on Victoria's payroll. If you call him, he'll finish the job."

I dragged him, agonizing step by agonizing step, down the corridor and into my quarters. I locked the door behind us and helped him onto my small sofa. Sophia stirred but didn't wake.

"Towels," I whispered frantically, running to the bathroom to grab my meager first-aid kit and clean towels. When I returned, Alessandro had managed to shrug off his jacket. His white shirt was soaked crimson.

"Bullet went straight through the shoulder," he gritted out, panting heavily. "But the ribs... a grazing shot. Bled a lot."

I went to work. I had no medical training, but living in poverty meant you learned how to patch up cuts and burns without a hospital bill. I cut his shirt open, cleaned the wounds with rubbing alcohol—which made him bite through his lip to keep from screaming—and packed the shoulder with gauze.

As I bandaged his chest, my hands were shaking. He looked up at me, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Why are you doing this, Elena?" he whispered. "You could have locked the door. You could have walked away."

"You protected my daughter," I said, tying off the bandage. "You didn't let Victoria take the tape. You listened to Isabella."

At the mention of his wife's name, a profound sadness washed over his sharp features. "I failed her. I was blind. I thought power was enough to keep my family safe, but the rot was inside the walls."

"You're going to fix it," I said fiercely, wiping the blood from his cheek with a damp cloth. Our faces were mere inches apart. I could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the rain and the metallic tang of blood. For a second, his eyes dropped to my lips, and the air between us charged with a sudden, unexpected electricity.